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Chapter Text

SNAKE & SONGBIRD

𓆙 𓅪

The rat in your brain

Turns a wheel connected to your guts

And all your faults are in me

And all your faults in me

What would you say if we lived on TV

Besides all the things they told you

And all the things they told you to

We’re stuck inside our own machine

PART ONE 

THE ENCORE 

𓆙 𓅪

i.

Whenever the scar on his left temple starts to ache, he uses the technique that the doctors suggested, and starts to think of the simplest things he knows to be true, and work towards the more complicated. 

This exercise is always difficult because the concussion he sustained from Ochaco Uraraka smashing him in the head with a metal coil of wire hasn’t completely subsided, so his thoughts still had a tendency to jumble together. 

The drugs the doctors used to control his pain and his mood make him see things sometimes, too. He thinks. Maybe. He’s still not entirely convinced that he was hallucinating the night that the floor of his hospital room transformed into a carpet of writhing snakes. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I’m nineteen years old. My home is District Twelve. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Deku…Deku was… 

Katsuki grips the sides of his head in both hands, fingers pulling at his hair as he rocks back and forth. 

He thinks back to Shoto Todoroki, who kept Deku alive in the clock arena when Katsuki couldn’t. Who stayed in the room next to Katsuki in District 13’s hospital when they first arrived. Katsuki often heard him crying through their adjoining wall, in the five minutes or so Todoroki was able to stay conscious. 

Everyone has to say everything to Todoroki at least three times to get it to stick in his brain. The doctors say it’s from the electrical shock he received in the arena, the same that incapacitated Katsuki when the lightning hit. But Katsuki knows it’s more complicated than that. Todoroki can’t focus on anything that happens in District 13 because all he’s been able to think about is his mother, ever since it was confirmed she was taken prisoner by the Capitol, too.

“I wish she was dead,” Todoroki had whispered one day, as Katsuki stood at the foot of his bed, watching him wring a bundle of rope through his raw fingers. “I wish they were all dead and that we were, too.” 

Despite serious reservations, Katsuki had to forgive Todoroki for his role in the conspiracy that landed him in District 13. Because Todoroki is the only one who has at least some idea about what Katsuki is going through. And it honestly just takes too much damn energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much. 

Katsuki is no longer neighbours with Todoroki in the hospital, as Katsuki has been recently discharged and moved into his new living quarters. Katsuki now stays in Compartment 307 with his mother, and now that he’s no longer completely bedridden, he’s expected to adhere to the rigorously precise schedule that District 13 and the rest of its inhabitants follow. 

For now, though, he’s left alone since he’s classified as ‘mentally disoriented’—it says so right on the plastic medical bracelet on his wrist—so everyone tolerates his disregard for the schedule that gets imprinted onto his arm each morning and washed away by 22:00–Bathing. 

Other than showing up for scheduled mealtimes, Katsuki just wanders around District 13, goes back to Compartment 307, or finds someplace hidden to fall asleep. An abandoned air duct, or behind the water pipes in the laundry. The closet in the Education Centre is a particularly good spot because everyone is so frugal in 13 that they hardly ever need school supplies. And it’s the one spot the doctors never thought to come looking for Katsuki to drag him back to bed when he was still hospitalised and snuck out of his room. But right now, he’s just sitting on the edge of his bed in Compartment 307, dressed in his underclothes and trying to sort through his scrambled thoughts. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I’m nineteen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. District 13 is real…

By hovercraft, District 13 is only about forty-five minutes away from District 12. A mere week’s journey on foot. In the seventy-five years since the Dark Days—when District 13 was said to have been obliterated in the war between the Capitol and the districts—all new construction has been beneath the earth’s surface. There was already a substantial underground facility here, developed over centuries to either be a clandestine refuge for government leaders or a last resort for humanity if life above the surface became unlivable. 

Katsuki had always thought there was nothing left of District 13 other than the rubble on the surface. But in actuality, District 13 was the centre of the Capitol’s nuclear weapons development program; not mere graphite mines like everyone had been told. During the Dark Days, the rebels in District 13 wrested control from the government forces, trained their nuclear missiles on the Capitol, and struck a bargain: leave them alone, and they would play dead. The Capitol, forced to accept their deal, demolished the visible remains of the district and cut off all access from the outside. Perhaps the Capitol thought that District 13 would eventually die off on its own. It almost did, a few times. But its people were military, so through strenuous discipline, a strict sharing of resources, and constant vigilance against any further attacks from the Capitol, they learned to survive underground. And that’s how they have lived for all these years in secrecy. Preparing, training. 

For District 13, the war never stopped. 

Which is why everyone keeps talking at Katsuki. Talking, talking, talking. A mishmash of district leaders and military officials. The former Head Gamemaker, Hawks. His assistant, a girl Katsuki’s age from the Capitol, with freaky black scleras with piercing yellow pupils, and skin and hair dyed bubblegum pink, aptly going by the trendy Capitol code name of Pinky. Sometimes Katsuki listens, but most of the time he simply tunes them out until his head starts to hurt, or it’s time to eat, or if he doesn’t get aboveground he might start screaming. He never bothers to say anything. He simply gets up and walks out.

 But there was one person who Katsuki has only seen glimpses of but has never spoken with since he arrived. He has white hair that falls down to his shoulders, with bright green eyes. Similar to Deku’s in a way that Katsuki found discomfitingly uncanny, but the colour was too unnatural. They weren’t a dark and soft forest-green, but strangely vibrant, almost neon when they caught the fluorescent lights just so. 

Even more uncomfortable than the man’s eyes was his name. Shigaraki. 

Yoichi Shigaraki, the President of District 13, and the little brother of the President of Panem, All For One. 

The door to Compartment 307 slides open soundlessly, but Katsuki jumps out of his skin all the same from the sudden movement in his peripheral vision, snapping his head towards the door and lowering his hands from his head. Standing in the doorway is President Yoichi’s second in command and head of security, Colonel Kudo. He has a shock of spiky orange hair, and a large scar splashed across the centre of his face. 

“Bakugou,” Kudo says, “The president has requested to meet with you. I’m here to escort you.” 

Katsuki drags himself out of bed, pulls on the slate-grey jumpsuit that everyone in District 13 is issued to wear, and then follows Colonel Kudo out of the room and down the hall. Neither of them say a word as they head to Command, a high-tech meeting/war council room complete with computerised talking walls, electronic maps showing the troop movements in various districts, and a giant rectangular table with control panels that Katsuki isn’t allowed to touch. 

Sitting at this table when Katsuki and Kudo enter is Yoichi, and across from him is Kaminari. Katsuki has hardly seen him since he was pulled down to weapons development the minute he could sit upright—literally, they even wheeled his hospital bed down there. He recently upgraded to a wheelchair, however. On Yoichi’s left is Hawks, who gets up out of his chair and walks over to thump Katsuki on the shoulder. 

“There he is, the boy on fire himself,” Hawks says, a sly smile across his face. He turns to Yoichi, who walks across the room towards them. “President Yoichi, may I present you with The Mockingjay, Katsuki Bakugou.” 

Yoichi offers Katsuki a soft, gentle smile as he reaches out to shake his hand. “It’s an honour to officially meet you. You’re a courageous young man. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to live through the atrocities of the Games.” 

Now that Katsuki is seeing him properly up close, he can see now how frail Yoichi looks. The man was downright sickly, and his hand around Katsuki’s was ice-cold. But his voice was as soft and gentle as his smile. 

“Please know how welcome you are,” Yoichi says, “I hope you find some comfort with us. I know how disorienting this must be for you. We’ve known loss in Thirteen, as well.” 

Katsuki has no idea what to say to any of that, and finds himself too preoccupied not getting lost in those freaky neon-green eyes, so much like and yet so unalike Deku’s. Seeing them again brings a fresh wave of pain over Katsuki so intense it threatens to knock him to the floor. 

Yoichi seems to sense this in Katsuki’s own eyes, because his expression turns sympathetic. “I apologise. I wish you had more time to recover, but I’m afraid we don’t have that luxury. Please, have a seat.” 

Yoichi gestures to the head of the table, and Katsuki slowly sinks down in the chair. Colonel Kudo stays standing, waiting over in the corner of the room, half-secluded in shadow with his hands behind his back, staring off at nothing. Katsuki looks briefly at Kaminari, who gives him a tiny smile and a nod in greeting. Katsuki nods back in response, then looks back at Yoichi and Hawks as they return to their seats adjacent to Katsuki. 

“When you fired your arrow at the force field, you electrified the nation,” Yoichi begins, “There have been uprisings, riots, and strikes in seven districts. We believe if we can keep this energy going, we can unify the districts against the Capitol. If we don’t act soon, if we let this dissipate, we could be waiting another seventy-five years for another chance.” 

“Is Deku alive?” Katsuki asks. 

Yoichi imperceptibly frowns at this response, and next to him, Hawks rubs two fingers into his temple. “There’s no way for me to contact my operatives inside of the Capitol,” Hawks says, “I wish I had more information for you, Katsuki, but right now…we don’t know.” 

“But I know their system like the back of my hand,” Kaminari chimes in, “I’ve managed to break through. It’s the first step in getting some more details about Midoriya, and everyone else the Capitol took prisoner. All we need now is the perfect message to send to them.” 

“We need to show the Capitol and All For One that The Mockingjay is alive and well,” Yoichi goes on, “That you’re willing to stand up and join this fight. We need every district to stand up to the Capitol the same way you did.” 

Hawks leans forward intently, elbows resting atop the glowing tabletop. “What I propose is that we shoot a series of propaganda clips on The Mockingjay. I like to call ‘em ‘propos’ for short. Anyway, these propos are gonna stoke the fire of this rebellion, the fire you started. You’ll be the person that the people in the districts can count on to blaze a path to victory. And you won’t have to do it alone. We already have an entire team of people ready when you are to get this underway. They’ll get you ready for the cameras, write your speeches, orchestrate your appearances. All you have to do is play your part.” 

Well, doesn’t that all sound horribly familiar. 

Katsuki’s face sours into a deep scowl. “You left him there,” he grits out, “You left Deku in that arena to die.” 

Hawks sighs wearily. “Katsuki—“ 

Katsuki slams his hand down on the tabletop. “Deku was the one who was supposed to live!” 

The room falls silent for a time. Yoichi and Hawks share a quiet look between each other, before Yoichi turns back to Katsuki. 

“Private Bakugou, this revolution needs a voice.”

Katsuki’s scowl deepens. Despite being considered the ‘face of the rebellion’, he was apparently the bottom of the barrel in Yoichi’s little army. Katsuki leans forward in his seat, his eyes flashing with fury. 

“Then you should have saved Deku,” he snarls. 

Yoichi leans back in his chair, folding his arms. He looks back to Hawks, and the two of them start to speak as though Katsuki isn’t even there, which pisses Katsuki off even further. 

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should have rescued the other boy instead,” Yoichi murmurs. 

“No. Nobody else can do this but him,” Hawks insists, pointing to Katsuki. 

“This is not the boy you described to me,” Yoichi says. 

“With all due respect, Mr. President, people don’t always show up the way you want them to,” Hawks retorts, “But this boy’s anger, and the defiance driven by that anger, that’s exactly what we need. The kid is a lightning rod. We just have to remind him who the enemy is, so we can redirect his rage.”

“He knows who the enemy is,” Yoichi says tersely, “That’s not the issue here.”

“There’s explaining and there’s showing,” Hawks says, “So let’s show him. Send him home. Let him see what the Capitol did to District Twelve.” 

Yoichi’s eyes harden. “He can’t handle it. The Games destroyed him.” 

Katsuki bristles at that. “Who the fuck are you to say what I can and can’t handle?” Katsuki snaps, “I want to go. I need to see it for myself.” 

Hawks flashes Katsuki a triumphant grin, and then grabs Yoichi’s shoulder. “Y’see? The kid wants to go! So let him go home. This could be exactly the kind of motivation he needs. And better to waste a day than another month, right?” 

Yoichi sighs. “Fine. He can go. But I want the entire area swept top to bottom before anyone even thinks of dropping him down there. Go through the Victor’s Village, make sure it’s not bugged or rigged with any more explosives. And I want eyes on him from above the entire time. The second that things look even remotely suspicious, or if he starts shutting down, pull him out of there.” 

Finally, Yoichi turns to address Katsuki, as though finally remembering he’s still in the room. 

“Private Bakugou, you may return to your regular schedule until further notice. Colonel Kudo will come to collect you when they’re ready to depart for District Twelve. You are dis—“ 

Katsuki shoots up from his chair and walks out of the room before the president can finish dismissing him, and doesn’t bother to wait for the colonel to escort him back to his compartment. 

Katsuki watches a fine layer of ash settle on the worn leather of his boots. He’s standing in the place where the bed he slept in for the first eighteen years of his life used to be. Over there was the kitchen table, and over there was the melted heap of the coal stove. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed in a charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest of the house; the only way to orient himself in the sea of grey. 

Almost nothing remains of District 12. The Capitol’s firebombs had destroyed all the houses in the Seam, the shops in town, even the Justice Building. The only area that escaped incineration was the Victor’s Village. 

“Should I come down?” The voice of Katsuki’s best friend, Kirishima, comes through the earpiece in his right ear. He’s up in one of the dozen invisible hovercrafts circling in the sky overhead for Katsuki’s protection, watching Katsuki carefully, ready to swoop in if anything goes amiss. Katsuki’s been standing in the same spot for some time now, so he probably thinks he’s gone into some state of shock seeing the ruins of his old home. 

Kirishima had asked to be dropped off in District 12 with Katsuki, but hadn’t forced the issue when Katsuki refused his company. He of all people understands that Katsuki doesn’t want anyone with him for this. Some walks you have to take alone. 

Katsuki reaches up to click the mic button for the earpiece on just long enough to reply, “No. I’m fine.” 

To reinforce this, he begins to move away from his old house and towards town. The early August air is scorching hot and dry as a bone. There’s been next to no rain to disturb the piles of ash left by the attack, no breeze to scatter them. Katsuki keeps his eyes on what he remembers to be the road, because when he first landed in the meadow, he wasn’t careful and walked right into what he thought was a rock. Only it wasn’t a rock, but someone’s skull. It rolled over and over and landed face up, and for a long time Katsuki couldn’t stop looking at the teeth, wondering whose they were. 

Although Katsuki sticks to the road out of habit, it’s a bad choice, because it’s full of more remains of those who tried to flee. Some were incinerated entirely. But others, who escaped the worst of the flames but were likely overcome by the smoke, lie reeking in various states of decomposition, blanketed by flies. 

I killed you, Katsuki thinks as he passes by another pile of rotting corpses, their stench heavy and foul in the summer heat. And you. And you. 

Because he did. It was his arrow, aimed at the chink in the armour of the force field surrounding the arena, that brought on this firestorm. That sent the entire country into chaos. 

Katsuki hears the voice of All For One in his head, and the words he said to him the morning Katsuki was about to embark on the Victory Tour. 

Katsuki Bakugou. Boy on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to ignite an inferno that will destroy all of Panem. 

But Katsuki had already set something in motion that he had no ability to control. 

The fires at the coal mines belch black smoke in the distance, but there’s no one left to care. More than ninety percent of the district’s population is dead. The remaining eight hundred or so survivors of the firebombs are all refugees in District 13—which as far as Katsuki is concerned, is the same as being homeless forever. 

Some survivors think it’s good luck to be free of District 12 at last. To have escaped the endless hunger and oppression, the perilous mines, and the lash of the tyrannical new Head Peacekeeper, Commander Muscular. They were all grateful for District 13, a place that none of them had even known still existed, for taking them all in; sick, wounded, starving, and empty-handed as they were. And Katsuki should be, too. But he can never get around the fact that District 13 was instrumental in District 12’s destruction. Without them, Katsuki would never have been part of a larger plot to overthrow the Capitol or had the wherewithal to do it. The citizens of District 12 had no organised resistance movement of their own. No say in any of this. They only had the misfortune of having Katsuki. 

And the fortune of having Kirishima, for the credit to the survivor’s escape has landed squarely on his shoulders, though he refuses to accept it. As soon as the Quarter Quell was over—as soon as Katsuki was lifted out of the arena—the power in District 12 was cut, the televisions went black, and the Seam was so silent that people could hear one another’s heartbeats. 

Within fifteen minutes, the sky was filled with hoverplanes and bombs were raining down. 

It was Kirishima who thought of the meadow, one of the few places not filled with old wooden homes embedded with coal dust. He herded everyone he could in that direction, including Katsuki’s mother. He formed a team that pulled down the chain-link fence, and led everyone into the woods. He took them all to the only place he could think of, the lake that Katsuki’s father had shown him as a child. A place Katsuki had never told another soul about, until he returned from the Victory Tour, and arranged for Kirishima to meet him there to discuss running away from District 12 together. It was from there that he and the hundreds of survivors all watched on as the distant flames ate up everything they had ever known. 

By dawn, the bombers were long gone, the fires were dying out, and the final stragglers were rounded up. Katsuki’s mother had set up a medical area for the injured and attempted to treat them with whatever she could find in the woods. Kirishima had two sets of bows and arrows, one hunting knife, one fishing net, and over eight hundred terrified people to feed. 

They were in the woods for three days before a hovercraft unexpectedly arrived to evacuate everyone to District 13. With a recent pox epidemic having killed off a bunch of the population in District 13, there was more than enough clean, white living compartments, clothes, and food to go around. Of course, the compartments were all underground, the clothing were identical grey jumpsuits, and the three meals a day they received were relatively tasteless, but for the refugees of District 12, these were minor considerations. They weren’t being kept in pens, they were being trained to work or given roles within the community, and the children were being educated. Those over fourteen were given entry-level ranks in the military and addressed as ‘Private’ as a show of respect. 

Still, Katsuki hates them. But, of course, he hates almost everybody now. Himself more than anyone. 

The surface beneath his feet hardens, and under the carpet of ash, Katsuki can feel the paving stones of the town square. A heap of blackened rubble replaces where the Justice Building once stood, and around the perimeter are more heaps of debris where all the shops once stood. Katsuki walks to the approximate site of the bakery the Midoriya family owned. Nothing much is left there but the melted lump of the oven. 

Deku’s mother, Inko, never made it to District 13. Deku would have nothing to come home to, anyway. Except for Katsuki… 

Katsuki backs away from the bakery and bumps into something, turning around to see a hunk of metal. He puzzles over what it might have been before he remembers Commander Muscular’s renovations to the town square. Stocks, whipping posts, and this, the remains of the gallows. 

It brings on a flood of images that torments Katsuki whether he’s asleep or awake. Deku being tortured—drowned, burned, shocked, lacerated, maimed, beaten—as the Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion out of him that he doesn’t have to give. Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut and tries to reach for him, to send his thoughts into Deku’s mind, to let him know he isn’t alone. But he is alone. And Katsuki can’t help him. 

The scar on Katsuki’s temple throbs again, and with a hiss of pain Katsuki drops into a crouch, elbows on his thighs, his head braced between his hands. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I’m nineteen years old. My home was District 12. It was destroyed by the Capitol. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Deku was taken prisoner. He is probably dead. It’s probably for the best if he’s dead…

“…Katnip?” Kirishima’s voice comes through the earpiece again, laced with concern. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come down there?” 

Bad. This is bad. Katsuki must look like he’s on the verge of some kind of mental breakdown. This won’t do. He needs to pull himself together. They were finally weaning him off the medication. He doesn’t need to give them a reason to push more pills onto him. 

Katsuki straightens up and presses the button on the earpiece. “I said I’m fine.” 

Then he takes off in a run, towards the one place the fires did not destroy. He passes the wreckage of the mayor’s house. Fewer than a dozen of what passed for District 12’s well-to-do escaped the fires, and among the survivors included Mayor Aizawa and his daughter, Eri, the little girl that Deku had volunteered as tribute for in the 74th Hunger Games, right here in this very square. It feels like that was a thousand years ago now. 

The twelve fine houses in the Victor’s Village are all unscathed, though the grass has been scorched and a layer of gray snow lays upon it. Katsuki bolts into the house he lived in for the past year, slams the door closed, and leans back against it, chest heaving. 

What the fuck am I going to do?

The place seems untouched. Clean. Eerily quiet. He moves through the house silently, reluctant to make any sound. He picks up a few remembrances as he goes: a photo of his parents on their wedding day, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page of yellow flowers and Katsuki quickly shuts the book because it was Deku’s brush that painted them. 

Deku. Now that Katsuki’s mother and Kirishima were out of harm’s way, the one piece of unfinished business that prevented Katsuki from running away from all of this Mockingjay shit was Deku. If Katsuki knew for certain that Deku was dead, then he could disappear into the woods and never look back. But until then, he’s stuck. 

Katsuki clutches the book to his chest, and bows his head. What the fuck am I going to do? 

Is there any point in doing anything at all? His mother and Kirishima are safe. As for the rest of District 12, they were either dead, which is irreversible, or protected in District 13. That left the rebels in the districts. But how could Katsuki help them when every time he made a move, it resulted in suffering and more loss of life? 

The old man who was shot in the head in District 11 for whistling. The crackdown in District 12 after Katsuki interfered in Kirishima’s whipping. His stylist, Best Jeanist—Hakamada—was dragged, bloody and unconscious, from the Launch Room before the 75th Hunger Games. Hawks’ sources didn’t have any detailed information on Hakamada’s fate, but it was believed he was killed during interrogation. So Hakamada, brilliant and enigmatic and Katsuki’s one true friend in the Capitol, was likely dead because of him. Katsuki pushes the thought away because it’s too painful to dwell on without losing his already fragile hold on the situation altogether. 

What the fuck am I going to do? 

Becoming the Mockingjay…there isn’t any amount of good that Katsuki could do that could possibly outweigh all that damage… 

Suddenly, he spins on his heel at the sound of a hiss. In the kitchen doorway, back arched, ears flattened, stands the ugliest tomcat in the entire world. 

“Tiger,” Katsuki mutters. 

Thousands of people are dead, but this little bastard had survived. He even looked well-fed. He can get in and out of the house through a window they always left ajar for him in the pantry. He must have been eating field mice. Katsuki refuses to consider the alternative. 

Katsuki squats down and extends a hand to the hideous creature. “C’mere, you.” 

Tiger hisses at him. 

Yeah, that figures. Tiger is furious at his abandonment. And Katsuki doesn’t have any food to offer him, which had been his one redeeming quality to the cat in the three months they shared a roof before Katsuki was reaped for the Quarter Quell. 

“C’mon, stupid,” Katsuki grunts, “Don’t ya wanna see the hag?” 

The word ‘hag’ catches Tiger’s attention. Other than in his very early childhood—and that embarrassing moment in the clock arena with the jabberjays—Katsuki has never referred to Mitsuki as anything but ‘hag’. So, besides his own name, the word is the only thing that means anything to Tiger. He gives a rusty meow and approaches Katsuki. 

Katsuki scoops him up in one arm, tracks down his game bag and proceeds to stuff Tiger, the wedding photo, and the plant book into it. Tiger doesn’t seem very thrilled by this, but it’s the only way he’s going to be able to get the damn cat onto the hovercraft and sneak him into District 13. He’s sure the old hag will be over the moon to see her precious pet again. Katsuki and Tiger never bonded much before Katsuki left for the Capitol, but he knows that the feline had been a source of comfort and company for his mother while he was away. And Katsuki never liked owing anyone anything, so he sure as hell wasn’t about to be indebted to an ugly, surly fucking cat. 

He would much rather stow away Mt. Lady, an animal of actual value, to bring back to District 13. But the nanny goat has, unfortunately, not made an appearance. The firebombs had avoided the Victor’s Village, so perhaps she had fled into the forest once the fires had gone down and found herself a handsome billy goat to knock her up with a kid or two after long years of servitude to humans. Again, Katsuki refuses to consider the alternative. 

Katsuki makes one final stop, going upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve his father’s hunting jacket from his closet. Before the Quarter Quell, Katsuki had brought it here from their old house in the Seam, thinking its presence might be a comfort to his mother when Katsuki was dead. Thank goodness he did, or it would be ash now, like his dad’s well-loved hunting boots. At least the leather combat boots that District 13 had provided to him didn’t pinch his toes. Although they were still hand-me-downs, and either he or the person who had them before have a weird gait, because they’re broken in all wrong. 

Setting down his game bag on his bed for a moment, he pulls the hunting jacket over his grey jumpsuit. The soft leather feels soothing, and for a moment Katsuki is calmed by the memories he spent hours wrapped in it. As he’s pulling the (growling) game bag onto his shoulder, a strange sensation creeps up the back of his neck suddenly, and his palms begin to sweat. 

Katsuki whips around to look about the room, finding it empty. His hands begin to crackle with sparks at his sides, and he clenches his fists tightly to quell his Quirk from activating. 

He still doesn’t really understand the properties of his Quirk yet, or how to activate it on command. That’s something they supposedly educate people on in District 13. Not that Katsuki has been to a single session, of course. He’s surmised—from his own observations and from what the doctors in the hospital have said—that his meta ability has something to do with the sweat in his palms. It was volatile, highly combustible—supposedly he had gotten enough of this strange sweat on the electrical wire he wrapped around his arrow before shooting the force field, that it caused a chain reaction of massive explosions that decimated the arena’s force field in seconds.

It had been the cause of many of his sedations in the hospital, when his panic attacks had gotten so bad he lost control of his Quirk. He would have blown himself and half the infirmary to bits if the doctors didn’t knock him out before it went too far, but there had been plenty of close calls. 

Katsuki isn’t particularly keen on caving in the roof just because he can’t get a handle on this stupid power of his. 

“Katnip,” Kirishima’s voice comes through Katsuki’s right ear again, and makes him jump out of his skin—a plume of smoke puffs out between the clenched fingers of both his fists. “I don’t wanna rush you out, but they’re tellin’ me we’ve gotta be headin’ back.”

Katsuki brings a shaky hand up to his ear to press the button on his mic. “Yeah,” Katsuki says breathlessly, “I’m on my way out.” 

When the smoky, sweet smell of Katsuki’s Quirk dissipates from the air, Katsuki’s nose twitches when he catches a whiff of something else. Something cloying and artificial. There’s a vase of dried flowers on Katsuki’s dresser, and he makes out a dab of bright white. 

Katsuki approaches the vase with cautious steps. There, all but obscured by the dried ones around it, is a single white rose. Fresh and perfect, down to the last thorn and silken petal. 

And Katsuki knows immediately who has left it here for him. 

All For One.

How long has it been here? A day? An hour? The rebels had swept through the place before Katsuki could be sent down, and hadn’t found anything unusual. But then again, the rose wouldn’t have been noteworthy to them. Only to Katsuki. 

Katsuki gags at the stench, then hurriedly backs out of the room. 

Once he’s back outside, he signals for the hovercraft to retrieve him. One of the invisible ones up in the air materialises and drops down a ladder. 

Inside the hovercraft, Kirishima helps Katsuki off of the ladder. “You good, man?” 

No! All For One left me a fucking rose! 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, wiping the sweat from his palms off on his pants. 

He’s not so sure sharing the information with someone like Hawks looking on is such a good idea. First of all, it’ll just make him sound crazy. Like he imagined it—which is quite possible—or he’s overreacting, and either one will earn him a trip back to a drug-induced nightmare that he would prefer to avoid. 

Nobody else would understand—how it’s not just a flower, not even just All For One’s flower, but a promise of revenge—because nobody else sat with Katsuki in the study that morning the day before the Victory Tour. 

No, that white rose is a personal message to Katsuki directly. It speaks of unfinished business. 

It whispers, I can find you, I can reach you. Perhaps I am watching you right now. 

Were there hoverplanes from the Capitol lying in wait to blow them out of the sky? As they travel over District 12, Katsuki waits anxiously for signs of an attack, but nothing seems to be in pursuit. After several minutes, when Katsuki hears an exchange between Hawks and the pilot of their hovercraft that the airspace is clear, Katsuki begins to relax a little. 

Katsuki sinks down into the cushioned window seat, and Kirishima joins him. “Pretty bad down there?” 

“Couldn’t be much worse,” Katsuki answers. 

Katsuki looks into Kirishima's red eyes and sees his own grief reflected there. Then Kirishima takes him by the hand, and they both hold fast to a part of District 12 that All For One has somehow failed to destroy, sitting in silence for the rest of the trip back to District 13. 

From the landing pad, Kirishima and Katsuki walk down a series of stairways to Compartment 307. They could take an elevator, but it reminds Katsuki too much of the glass tube that lifted him into the arena, and he’d prefer to avoid the panic attack that tends to bring on. 

“What am I gonna tell her about Twelve?” Katsuki asks under his breath as they walk. 

They reach the door labelled 307, and come to a stop. Kirishima turns to Katsuki. “I doubt she’s gonna ask for any details. She saw it burn. I think she’s mostly gonna be worried about how you’re handling it,” Kirishima touches Katsuki’s cheek, which is a gesture he’s taken to doing ever since they reunited on the hovercraft that brought Katsuki out of the arena to 13. His thumb always brushes across the thin, white scar on Katsuki’s left cheek, just below his eye. Where he was struck by the same lash that Kirishima had been flogged with. “Like I am.” 

Katsuki allows himself to press his face into Kirishima’s hand, just for a moment. “I’ll survive.” And that’s the problem. He survived, and so many others didn’t. He escaped the arena, and Deku was captured. So many suffer or die because of him and his actions, but Katsuki just can’t seem to die himself.

Katsuki opens the door to find his mother is home for 18:00–Reflection, a half-hour of downtime before dinner. Immediately Katsuki sees the concern on Mitsuki’s face as she tries to gauge his emotional state. But before she can ask anything, Katsuki opens up his game bag and pulls out Tiger, dumping him into his mother’s lap. Now it’s 18:00–Cat Adoration. Tiger gives Katsuki a particularly smug look while Mitsuki rocks him back and forth and drowns him with kisses, as though he expects Katsuki to be jealous about it or something. 

Katsuki drops the book of plants off on top of their chest of drawers and then takes out the wedding photo and hands it to his mother next. Tiger is immediately abandoned as Mitsuki reaches for the picture frame with both hands and tearfully clutches the photo to her chest. Tiger, dumped unceremoniously from Mitsuki’s lap and onto the floor, hisses at Katsuki. Katsuki sneers back at him while he hangs his father’s jacket on the back of a chair. 

They’re all heading down for 18:30–Dinner when the communicator cuff on Kirishima’s wrist starts to beep. Being granted a communicuff is a special privilege that’s reserved for those deemed important to the cause, a status Kirishima achieved by his rescue of the citizens of District 12. 

Kirishima trails to a stop to read the messages, then looks up at Katsuki. “They need both of us down in Command.” 

Mitsuki parts ways with them to head to dinner on her own, and Katsuki and Kirishima head in the opposite direction to go to Command. They both linger in the doorway when they arrive, though nobody notices them, because they’re all gathered around a large television screen at the far end of the room that airs the Capitol broadcast around the clock. 

Hawks catches sight of them and urges them both into the room with a wave of his hand. Katsuki can’t imagine how a Capitol broadcast could be of any interest to him, when it was always the same old shit. War footage. Propaganda. Replaying the bombing of District 12. An ominous message from All For One about how the Capitol is the ‘beating heart of Panem’... 

But it’s actually none of those things. Instead, it’s Present Mic, the eternal host of the Hunger Games, preparing to give an interview. He is far more solemn than Katsuki’s ever witnessed him to be as he speaks to the camera, closed in on his painted face. 

“Good evening, Panem. I’m Present Mic. And whoever you are, whatever it is you’re doing, I need you to stop. Put down your work, stop eating dinner. Because you are going to want to witness this tonight. There has been rampant speculation about what really happened during the Quarter Quell. And here to shed a little light on the subject is a very special guest…”

And then the camera pulls back from Present Mic, turns to the right, and there’s Deku. 

A sound escapes Katsuki that’s caught between a gasp and a cry of pain, like he’s been submerged under water and deprived of oxygen until this very moment. 

He rushes across the room, pushing people aside until he’s right in front of Deku, his hand resting on the screen. He searches those forest-green eyes and looks for any signs of pain, any reflection of the agony of his torture. But there’s nothing there. 

Deku looks healthy to the point of robustness. His skin is glowing, flawless, in that full-body polish kind of way. His manner is composed and serious. Katsuki can’t reconcile this Deku with the battered and bleeding boy that has haunted all his thoughts and nightmares for the last month. 

“You’re alive…” Katsuki whispers. 

Present Mic settles himself more comfortably on the chair across from Deku and gives him a long look. “So…Deku…welcome back, my friend.” 

Deku smiles slightly. “I bet you thought you’d done your last interview with me, huh, Mic?” 

“Yet here you are. The night before the Quarter Quell, well…who ever thought any of us would see you again?” 

Deku starts to frown a little. “It wasn’t part of my plan, that’s for sure.” 

Present Mic leans forward. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so Dynamight could survive.” 

“That was it. Clear and simple,” Deku says. His fingers trace the patterns on his armchair. “But other people had different plans.” 

Yes, other people had plans. Has Deku guessed, then, how the rebels had used them both as pawns? How Katsuki’s rescue was arranged from the beginning? And how their mentor, Toshinori Yagi, had betrayed them both for a cause he pretended to have no interest nor belief in? 

Katsuki takes in the lines that have formed between Deku’s eyebrows. Yes, he has guessed, or maybe even been told. But the Capitol hasn’t killed him, or seemingly even punished him. Katsuki drinks in his wholeness, the soundness of Deku’s body and mind. It runs through him as quick and sweet as the morphling they gave him at the hospital, dulling the pain of the last weeks. 

There’s people around him grumbling that he’s blocking the screen, and does he have to be standing so close? Katsuki ignores them. 

“Deku, a lot of people feel as though they’re in the dark,” Present Mic says, “And it sounds like you can sympathise with how they feel. So, set the stage for us. Talk us through what really happened that fateful night.” 

Deku nods, but takes his time to answer. “Well, first off, when you’re in the arena…the rest of the world becomes very distant. All the people and things you loved or cared about cease to exist, and as bad as it makes you feel, you know that you’re going to have to kill. What you have to understand is that…in the Games, you only get one wish. And it’s very costly.” 

“It costs your life,” Present Mic says. 

“I think it costs more than your life,” Deku retorts. 

“How do you mean? What could be worth more than your life?”  

“To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are.” 

“Everything you are,” Present Mic repeats quietly. 

A hush has fallen over the room, and Katsuki can feel it spreading across Panem as an entire nation leans in towards their screens. No one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena until now. 

“So you hold on to your one wish,” Deku goes on, “And that night, my wish was to save Kacchan,”  Deku’s frown deepens as he continues. “I should have just run off with him earlier that day like he wanted to.” 

“But you didn’t,” Present Mic says, “Why? Too caught up in Chargebolt’s plan to electrify the salt lake?” 

“Too busy caught up trying to play allies,” Deku says bitterly, “I should have never let them separate us.”

“You’re talking about when Dynamight and Uravity took the coil of wire down to the water,” Present Mic clarifies. 

“Yes,” Deku confirms, “I couldn’t argue with Kaminari about it. We were so short on time, and I felt like if I said anything, then I would be giving away our plan to break off the alliance. And then that wire got cut, and everything went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces after that. Trying to find Kacchan. Tsukauchi finding me, only to watch him be killed by Kugisaki from District 2. Killing Kugisaki myself. And then…Kacchan was calling for me. After that, the lightning hit and…and the whole force field around us started to explode.” 

“Dynamight blew up the force field, Deku,” Present Mic says, “We’ve all seen the footage.” 

“Kacchan didn’t know what he was doing,” Deku says sternly, “Neither of us knew there was a bigger plan going on. We had no idea.” 

“But you have to admit it looks a little suspicious, Deku. As if Dynamight was part of the rebel’s plan all along.” 

Deku’s suddenly on his feet, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. “Was it part of Kacchan’s plan for Uraraka to nearly kill him? Or for that electric shock to paralyze him? To trigger the bombing?” he yells, “He didn’t know, Mic! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep the other alive!” 

Present Mic raises his hands conciliatory. “Alright, Deku. I believe you.” 

Deku runs a hand through his hair, mussing his meticulously styled green curls, then slumps back into his chair, distraught. 

Present Mic waits a moment, carefully studying Deku. “And what about your mentor, All Might?” 

Deku’s face hardens. “I don’t know what All Might knew.” 

“Do you think he could have been a part of the conspiracy?” 

“He never mentioned it.” 

“And what does your heart tell you?” Present Mic presses on. 

“…That I never should have trusted him,” says Deku. 

Katsuki hasn’t seen Toshinori since he attacked him on the hovercraft on the way to District 13, but he knows it must be bad for him here. District 13 strictly forbids any production or consumption of alcoholic beverages. Even the rubbing alcohol in the hospital is kept under lock and key. Toshinori is being forced into sobriety, with no secret stashes or home-brewed concoctions to ease his transition. 

They’ve had him in seclusion until he’s dried out, as he’s not deemed fit for public display. It must be excruciating for him, but Katsuki lost all his sympathy for him when he realized how Toshinori had deceived him and Deku. Katsuki hopes he’s watching the Capitol broadcast now, so that he can see how even Deku has cast him off.

“I wanted to get your thoughts on the unrest in the districts as well, but if you’re too upset…” Present Mic trails off. 

“No, I can,” Deku takes a deep breath and looks straight into the camera. “I want everyone watching, no matter what side you’re on, to stop for a moment and really think about what this war could mean. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely?” 

“He’s one of them,” someone next to Katsuki mutters.

“Killing is not the answer!” Deku cries. 

“I can’t believe he’s doing this. Traitor!” Someone else shouts, drowning out Deku’s voice. 

Katsuki doesn’t dare pull his eyes from the screen, but his blood is boiling in his veins and it takes every fibre in his being not to turn around and choke the life out of whoever spoke those words. 

“Everyone needs to lay down their weapons immediately,” Deku urges. 

More furious cries sound around the room. 

“Puppet!” 

“Hang him!” 

“He’s not one of us!” 

“I implore all of you, please stop this senseless violence,” Deku says, barely audible over the shouting around Katsuki. 

“Everybody shut up!” Kirishima hollers. 

“Deku, are you calling for a cease-fire?” Present Mic asks. 

“Yeah, I am,” Deku says tiredly, “This is not the path to change, justice, or peace.” 

Present Mic turns to the camera. “That’s all the time we have for tonight, folks. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.” 

Music plays them out, and then the screen is overtaken by a woman listing out expected shortages for the Capitol—fresh fruit, solar batteries, soap, and the list goes on. Katsuki stares at the screen, trying to process everything he just saw. 

The joy of seeing Deku alive and unharmed, his defence of Katsuki’s innocence in collaborating with the rebels, and Deku’s undeniable complicity with the Capitol in calling for a cease-fire. Sure, he made it sound like he was condemning both sides in the war. But at this point, with only minor victories for the rebels, a cease-fire could only result in a return to their previous status. Or even worse. 

Behind Katsuki, the accusations against Deku continue to build now that the broadcast is over. The words traitor, liar, enemy, and puppet bounce off the walls. 

Puppet, huh? Can you hear that all the way in the Capitol, Deku? You’re really living up to your namesake, Katsuki thinks. 

While Kirishima argues amongst the people in the room, trying to counter the rebel’s rage, Katsuki decides the best thing for him to do is clear out. But as he reaches the door, Yoichi’s voice calls out to him, rising above all the others. 

“You have not been dismissed, Private Bakugou.” 

Colonel Kudo lays a hand on Katsuki’s arm. It’s not an aggressive move, not really, but after the arena Katsuki can’t help but react defensively to any unfamiliar touch. He jerks his arm free and takes off down the hall. He hears the sound of a scuffle behind him, but doesn’t stop. His mind does a quick inventory of all his odd little hiding places, and he winds up in a supply closet. 

He sinks down to the floor, leaning back against a crate of chalk. 

“You’re alive,” Katsuki whispers, pressing his palms into his cheeks, feeling a smile there that’s so wide it must look maniacal. 

Deku is alive. He’s alive. And possibly a traitor. But Katsuki doesn’t care. He doesn’t care what Deku says or who he says it for, only that he’s still capable of speech at all. That Katsuki got to hear his voice again when he was certain he never would. 

The door opens, and Katsuki twitches, the grin slipping off his face like slush falling from a roof. But it’s only Kirishima, so his shoulders relax, though his eyes go wide seeing his nose is dripping blood. Kirishima drops down next to Katsuki on the floor. 

“The fuck happened to you?” Katsuki asks. 

“Got in Kudo’s way,” Kirishima says, and his throat sounds clogged. He carelessly spits a wad of blood off to the side with a grimace. Katsuki bunches up the end of the sleeve of his jumpsuit and tries to wipe his nose, which makes Kirishima flinch back. “Watch it!” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes but tries to go for gentler pats instead of wiping, but Kirishima pushes his hand away. Katsuki rolls up his soiled sleeve and gives up on the first-aid attempts. 

“You fought Kudo?” 

“No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to go after you. His elbow caught me in the nose.” 

“You’re gonna get in shit,” Katsuki tells him. 

“Already did,” Kirishima says. He holds up his wrist, which is now bare. “They took my communicuff.”

Katsuki gives him a deadpan look. “You poor fuckin’ thing. I’m so sorry, Private Eijirou Kirishima.” 

“Hey! That’s Corporal to you, Private Katsuki Bakugou.” 

“Not anymore. Your ass got demoted.” 

“Ah, well. I honestly felt like kind of a jerk walkin’ around with that thing,” Kirishima admits, grinning sheepishly. 

He looks so ridiculous with that toothy grin and blood streaming down his face that Katsuki lets out a loud snort, and Kirishima starts laughing. 

This was one of the few good things about District 13, Katsuki thinks. Getting Kirishima back. Kirishima never pushes for anything more than friendship now. He doesn’t try to kiss Katsuki, or talk about love. Either because Katsuki has been too sick, too messed up, and he’s willing to give him space, or Kirishima knows it’s just too cruel with Deku in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case may be, Katsuki is just glad he has someone he can tell his secrets to again. 

“Who the fuck are these people?” Katsuki says. 

Kirishima shrugs. “They’re us. If we had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal,” he answers. Then he elbows Katsuki in the shoulder. “Having explosive hands wouldn’t have hurt, either.” 

Katsuki shoves him back. “Yeah, well, nukes and Quirks or not, I’d like to think Twelve wouldn’t have abandoned the rest of the rebels in the Dark Days.” 

“We might have. If it was between that, surrender, or start a nuclear war,” Kirishima says, “It’s remarkable that they even lasted this long all on their own down here.” 

Katsuki can’t argue with that. Against all odds, District 13 has found a way to survive. Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Maybe it’s just because Katsuki still has the ashes of his own district on the soles of his boots, but for the first time, he gives the people of District 13 something he has withheld up until now: credit. 

Over the past seventy-five years, they’ve learned to be self-sufficient, turned their citizens into an army, and built a whole new society without any help from anyone. Maybe they were militaristic, overly programmed, and somewhat lacking in a sense of humour. But they were here. Willing to take on the Capitol. 

“Well, it took ‘em long enough to show up,” Katsuki mutters. 

“They had to build up a rebel base in the Capitol, and get some sort of underground organised in the districts, too. It wasn’t as simple as just showin’ up,” Kirishima says, “After that, they needed someone to set the whole thing in motion. They needed you.”

Katsuki frowns. “They need Deku, too, but I think they’ve forgotten about that. The nerd might’ve done a lot of damage tonight. Why do you think he said all of that shit, anyway?” 

“I dunno. Maybe he was forced. Maybe he made some kind of deal, in order to protect you.” 

Katsuki hikes up his legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. He chews on the words for a moment before he can utter them. “…Thanks. For what you did back there. Stickin’ up for him like that.” 

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Kirishima says, “Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately. But, there’s districts where the resistance is shakier. Most people are still too afraid, and they need courage. The cease-fire is clearly All For One’s idea, and it sounds so reasonable comin’ outta Midoriya’s mouth. And Midoriya might’ve been willing to put forth the idea if All For One let him present you as some confused kid who had no idea what was goin’ on when you got snatched up by the rebels.” 

Katsuki figures he must look pretty perplexed because Kirishima delivers his next line very slowly. 

“Katnip…he’s still tryin’ to keep you alive.” 

And then Katsuki understands. “He’s still playin’ the Game,” he murmurs. 

They’ve left the arena, but since Deku and Katsuki weren’t killed, Deku’s last wish to preserve Katsuki’s life still stands. Deku’s hope is that Katsuki lies low, remains safe and imprisoned while the war plays itself out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill him. 

As for Deku? If the rebels win, it’ll be disastrous for him. And if the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe they’ll both be allowed to live—if Katsuki plays things right—to watch the Games go on… 

Images flash through Katsuki’s mind: Mahoro being pierced by Kaibara’s spear in the first arena; Katsuki’s arrow piercing Kaibara’s throat; Kirishima’s body hanging senseless and bloody from the whipping post; the corpse-littered wasteland of his home…

And for what? For fucking what? 

As Katsuki's blood begins to run hot, he remembers other things: Mahoro’s body wreathed in flowers; his first glimpse of the uprising in District 8; the victors locked hand-in-hand the night before the Quarter Quell. And how it was no accident, Katsuki shooting that arrow into the force field of the arena. How badly he wanted it to lodge deep into the heart of his enemy.

Katsuki springs to his feet. “There can’t be a cease-fire. Not after everything All For One has done. We can’t go back.” 

“I know,” Kirishima says. His voice sounds airy for some reason. 

“Whatever reason Deku had for saying those things—whether he’s being tortured or persuaded—he’s wrong,” Katsuki goes on, pacing around the closet now. There isn’t much room to do so.

“I know,” Kirishima repeats. 

 “He doesn’t know what they did in Twelve. They probably haven’t told him shit, probably hasn’t seen the footage. If he could’ve seen what was on the ground, if he knew about his mother—“ 

Kirishima gets to his feet, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulders. “Katnip, I’m not arguing. Trust me, if I could hit a button and kill every livin’ soul workin’ for the Capitol, I would do it without hesitation. The question is, what are you goin’ to do?” 

Katsuki’s eyes go wide.

What the fuck am I going to do? 

It turns out the question that’s been eating away at him has only ever had one possible answer. But it took Deku and his ploy to recognize what it is. 

Katsuki takes a deep breath, and even in the darkness his eyes blaze like embers.

 “I’m gonna be the Mockingjay.”

Chapter Text

ii.

After tossing and turning for hours, Katsuki finally accepts that it will be a wakeful night. Tiger’s eyes reflect the faint glow of the safety light over the door as he lies in the crook of his mother’s arm, back on the job to protect her from the night. Under Tiger’s watchful eye, Katsuki pads across the cold tile floor to the dresser. 

Underneath the government-issued clothes in the middle drawer, Katsuki keeps a few items that he had on him when he was lifted out of the arena. His mockingjay pin. Deku’s token, the gold locket with Mitsuki and Kirishima’s photos inside. The spile for tapping trees. And the pearl that Deku gave Katsuki a few hours before he blew up the force field. District 13 confiscated his tube of skin ointment for use in the hospital, as well as his bow and arrows. Only guards have clearance to use weapons, so they were in safekeeping in the armoury. 

As for his engagement ring from Deku, Katsuki’s never taken it off, and nobody has ever tried to confiscate it despite the fact the woven silver band has a fake gemstone that contains a hidden vial of the precious antidote serum for the Quirk-destroying drug, which had been meant for Deku. While Katsuki was in the hospital, sometimes he would lay in bed for hours, running his thumb over the band, feeling over the facets of the green gemstone, which is nearly the colour of Deku’s eyes (it’s a shade too light).

But tonight Katsuki seeks out a different item. He takes the pearl out of the drawer and moves back to his bed, sitting down cross-legged. For some reason, he finds himself rubbing the smooth, iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth across his lips. It’s like a soothing, cool kiss from the giver himself. 

“Katsuki?” His mother whispers softly. She’s awake, peering at him through the darkness. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothin’. Go back to sleep.” It’s automatic, shutting his mother out of things in order to shield her. 

Mitsuki eases herself from the bed, and comes to sit beside Katsuki. Tiger is quick to follow, dropping down from Mitsuki’s bed, crossing the small space between their beds and hopping up to settle down between them. Mitsuki rubs Tiger between the ears, and then touches Katsuki’s hand, the one curled around the pearl. 

“You’re cold,” she says. 

She takes a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, and wraps it around all three of them, enveloping Katsuki in her warmth and Tiger’s furry heat combined. 

“You know, brat, I’m not made of glass. You don’t have to keep secrets from me out of fear I’ll shatter the second I hear them. So talk to me.” 

Katsuki sighs. “I’m gonna agree to be the Mockingjay,” he tells her. 

Mitsuki is quiet for a moment while she absorbs this information. She wraps an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “Because you want to, or because you feel forced to?” 

Katsuki scoffs a little. “Both, I guess. I want to. I have to, if it’ll help the rebels take down All For One,” Katsuki squeezes the pearl more tightly in his fist. “It’s just…Deku. If the rebels win, they might execute him as a traitor.” 

Mitsuki thinks this over. “Katsuki, I don’t think you understand how important you are to the cause. And important people, well...they tend to get what they want. So, if you want to protect Izuku from the rebels, then you can.” 

Katsuki supposes he must be pretty important considering all the trouble they went through in order to rescue him from the arena. And then they dropped everything to take him to District 12. “So you’re saying I could ask them to, what? Grant Deku immunity? And they’d have to agree to it?” 

“I think you could demand almost anything and they’d have to agree to it,” Mitsuki says. 

Katsuki’s brow wrinkles. “But how can I trust them to keep their word?” 

He remembers all the lies Toshinori had told him and Deku to get them to do what he wanted. What was stopping the rebels from doing the same? A verbal promise behind closed doors, or even a statement written on paper, all of that could easily evaporate after the war. Their existence and validity denied. 

“You’ll need witnesses,” Mitsuki says, “And not just the team in Command, either. You’ll need people you can trust who will vouch for you.” 

“I’ll need everyone I can get,” Katsuki murmurs thoughtfully, “It will have to be public. I could make Yoichi announce it to the entire population of Thirteen.” 

Tiger’s tail flicks, as though in agreement. Mitsuki smiles. “Well, it’s no guarantee, but that ought to make it hard for them to back out of their promise,” She squeezes her arm around Katsuki’s shoulders, pulling him close to press a kiss to his temple. “See? You should wake me up more often. I’m full of good advice, you know.”

Mitsuki extracts herself from the blanket, which uproots Tiger, causing him to hop down from Katsuki’s bed. She tucks the blanket snugly around Katsuki’s shoulders and then ruffles his hair.

“Now try and get some sleep, brat.” 

Mitsuki tucks herself back into her own bed, Tiger making quick work of nestling himself back in the crook of her arm. Katsuki sinks back down onto his pillow, cocooned in the blanket. He falls asleep with his hand still closed around his pearl. 

In the morning, after Katsuki scans his forearm to have his schedule imprinted for the day, he sees that breakfast is immediately followed by 7:30–Command, which is fine by him. He may as well get the ball rolling. 

In the dining hall, breakfast is its usual dependable self—a bowl of hot grain, a cup of milk, and a small scoop of mashed turnips. He sits down at a table and starts shovelling his food down, wishing for seconds, but there are never seconds here. They have nutrition down to a science in District 13. He’s given enough calories to take him to the next meal; no more, no less. Serving sizes are determined based on one’s age, height, body type, health, and the amount of physical labour required by their schedule. The refugees from District 12 are already getting slightly larger portions than the natives in an effort to bring them up to weight. Katsuki guesses they can’t have bony soldiers who tire too quickly. It’s working, though. In just a month, everyone is starting to look healthier, particularly the kids. 

Kirishima sets his tray down next to him, and Katsuki makes a valiant effort not to stare too pathetically at Kirishima’s turnips. Katsuki tries to appear busy by folding up his napkin, and then a spoonful of turnips slips into his bowl. 

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Katsuki says. It’s not too convincing since he’s already scooping up the turnips. “With how far the stick is shoved up everyone’s ass ‘round here, it’s probably illegal or something.” 

They had very strict rules about food. Such as if you didn't finish something and wanted to save it for later, you couldn’t take it from the dining hall. Apparently District 13 had an issue with food hoarding in the early days. For a few people, like Katsuki and Kirishima, it doesn’t sit well. They knew how to be hungry, but not how to be told how to handle what provisions they have. In some ways, District 13 is even more controlling than the Capitol. 

“They’ve already taken my communicuff,” Kirishima says, “So I think I can get away with feeding you a few turnips.”

As Katsuki scrapes his bowl clean, he’s suddenly struck with inspiration. “Hey, maybe I should make that a condition of being the Mockingjay.” 

“…That I feed you turnips?”  

“No, stupid. That we can hunt.” 

That gets Kirishima’s attention. They would have to give everything they caught to the kitchens, but they could be above ground, in the woods. They could be themselves again. 

“Do it,” Kirishima says, “Now’s the time. You could probably ask for the moon and they’d have to find some way to get it for you.” 

Katsuki feels like he’s already asking for the moon, by asking the rebels to spare Deku’s life. 

“What are you scheduled for next?” Katsuki asks.

Kirishima checks his arm. “Quirk History class. Where, by the way, your absence has been noted. It’s actually really interesting, you know.” 

Katsuki waves him off. “I’ll catch the next one. I have to go to Command. Come with me.”

“Sure, but they might throw me out after yesterday.”

The bell signalling the end of their breakfast rings through the dining hall, and Katsuki and Kirishima gather up their trays. 

“You oughta put Tiger on your list of demands, I don’t think the concept of useless pets is well-known to them here,” Kirishima says as they drop their trays off. Katsuki makes a mental note of it as they walk out of the dining hall. 

By the time they get to Command, Hawks, his assistant Pinky, President Yoichi, Colonel Kudo, and a group of rebels from both the Capitol and the districts have already assembled. The sight of Kirishima raises a few eyebrows, but thankfully no one throws him out. Katsuki asks for a piece of paper and a pencil straight off, because his mental notes have already gotten jumbled. Damn concussion. 

Katsuki’s apparent interest in the proceedings—the first he’s shown since coming here—takes them all by surprise. Yoichi personally hands the requested supplies to Katsuki, and then everyone waits in silence while Katsuki sits at the table and scrawls out his list. He should probably have them in order of what would be the easiest demand and then work his way down from there. 

Hag’s stupid ugly cat 

Hunting 

This is likely Katsuki’s only chance to bargain. He has to think of what else he might want. Feeling Kirishima’s presence, where he stands at Katsuki’s shoulder, Katsuki adds Kirishima’s name to the list. Katsuki doesn’t think he can do any of this without him. He continues to scribble. 

Kirishima (with me)

Deku’s immunity (announced in public) 

That’s it. He thinks. Was there anything else? His headache is starting to come on, causing his thoughts to tangle. Katsuki shuts his eyes and starts to recite his mantra to himself. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I am nineteen years old. My home was District 12. It was destroyed by the Capitol. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Deku was taken prisoner. He is alive. I have to keep him alive…

The list seems too small. He should think bigger, beyond their current situation where Katsuki is of the utmost importance, and towards a future where he may be worth nothing at all. Shouldn’t he ask for more? For his family? For what remains of his people? Katsuki’s skin itches with the ashes of the dead. He feels the sickening impact of the skull against his shoe. The scent of blood and roses fills his nose. 

Katsuki opens his eyes, and his hand moves quickly across the page. 

I KILL ALL FOR ONE 

Yoichi gives a discreet cough. “About done there?” 

Katsuki glances up and notices the clock, realising with a flush of embarrassment that he’s been sitting here now for twenty minutes. Todoroki isn’t the only one with attention problems. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says hoarsely. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, so here’s the deal. I’ll be your Mockingjay or whatever.” 

Katsuki waits so they can all make their sounds of relief, congratulate and slap each other on the back, but nobody moves other than to exchange some quiet looks between one another. Yoichi stays as impassive as ever, watching Katsuki. Okay, not the reaction he was expecting. 

Katsuki smooths out his list. “But I have some conditions,” he says, and then begins. “First: I snuck my old hag’s cat back in here from Twelve. She gets to keep it.” 

His tiniest, stupidest request sets off an argument right out of the gate. The rebels from the Capitol see this as a nonissue—of course Katsuki can keep his pet—while those from 13 spell out what extreme difficulties it could present. Katsuki sits back and waits with his arms crossed as everyone works it out amongst themselves. Frankly he couldn’t give a shit what happened to the damn cat, he just figured he ought to shoot his shot, for his mother’s sake. 

Eventually it’s decided that Katsuki and his mother will be moved from Compartment 307 to one of the top levels, which has the luxury of an eight-inch window above ground. Tiger may come and go to do his business, and will be expected to feed himself. If he misses curfew, he’ll be locked out, and if he causes any security problems, he’ll be shot immediately. 

“Fine,” Katsuki agrees. Aside from the shooting part, it wasn’t so different to how Tiger had been living since Katsuki and his mother arrived to 13. If he started to look a bit thin, Katsuki could always slip him some entrails, provided his next request is allowed. And after what a fuss it was just to get the stupid cat to stay, his confidence in it being approved has waned. 

“Okay, two: I want to hunt. With Kirishima, out in the woods,” Katsuki says. 

This gives everyone pause. Sensing Katsuki’s shaken resolve, Kirishima chimes in to provide some back up. “We won’t go far. We can use our own bows they stuck down in the armoury when we got here. And you can have all the meat for the kitchen,” Kirishima says, “And having fresh meat will boost everyone's morale!” he adds brightly. 

Katsuki hurries on before they can shoot them down. “I can’t fuckin’ breathe shut up down here. I would get better a lot faster if I could hunt.” 

Of course, one of the nay-sayers starts to explain the drawbacks—the dangers, the extra security, the risk of injury—but Yoichi cuts them off. “No, it’s alright. Let them hunt. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their combat training time. They’ll need to wear communication units and tracker anklets,” Yoichi waves his hand at Katsuki, “What else?” 

“Kirishima,” Katsuki says, “I’ll need him with me.” 

Yoichi tilts his head in confusion. “...’With you’ how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?”  

Yoichi hasn’t said any of this with malice—quite the contrary, his words are very matter-of-fact. But Katsuki’s mouth still drops open in shock, and he can’t find the words to respond. 

“I think we should maintain the current romance. A deflection from Izuku could cause the audience to lose sympathy with Katsuki,” Hawks says, “Especially since you two are supposed to be engaged.” 

“Agreed. So, on-screen, Kirishima can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel,” Yoichi says. Katsuki continues to stare at him. “Will that be sufficient?” 

“We can always work him as your cousin!” Pinky chimes in. 

“We’re not cousins,” Katsuki and Kirishima say together. 

“Right, but we should probably keep up that front for the sake of appearances,” Hawks says, “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anythin’ else, Katsuki?” 

Katsuki is completely rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implication that he would so readily dispose of Deku, and the notion that he’s even devoting an iota of thought to who he wants ‘presented as his lover’, given the current war raging on outside, is fucking demeaning, downright insulting, and completely ridiculous. But Katsuki lets his exasperation and anger propel him into his next demand. 

“When the war is over, if the rebels win, Deku will be granted full immunity.” 

Dead silence. Beside him, Katsuki feels Kirishima’s body go tense. Guess he should have given him a heads up on the way here. 

“Deku won’t be punished,” Katsuki continues, “Same goes for the other captured tributes.” 

“No,” Yoichi says flatly. 

“Yes,” Katsuki shoots back, “It’s not their fuckin’ fault that you assholes abandoned them in the arena. Deku is just sayin’ and doin’ what All For One wants him to; whatever he can to survive.” 

“They will all be tried fairly as war criminals, and treated as the tribunal seems fit,” Yoichi says coolly. 

Katsuki slams his palms on the table and rises up from his chair. When he speaks, his voice is full and resonant. “They’ll be granted immunity! And you are gonna personally announce it in front of the entire population of Thirteen, and it’ll be recorded for posterity. You’re gonna hold yourself and your government responsible, or you can find yourself another fuckin’ Mockingjay!” 

Katsuki’s words hang in the air for only a moment before Hawks slams the table with his fist and starts to laugh, and Pinky breaks out into a huge grin. 

“There! That’s him!” Pinky cries, “Just picture it. Some gunfire and flames in the background. A hint of smoke.” 

Hawks turns in his chair to Yoichi. “Look, Mr. President, we’re losin’ ground. The people are losin’ heart. This is worth the risk. He’s worth the risk. Isn’t this exactly who I promised you?” 

Yoichi keeps his eyes fixed on Katsuki, and Katsuki can see him tallying the cost of his ultimatum and weighing it against Katsuki’s possible worth. 

Hawks presses on, leaning forward intently. “Stuff like tribunals and fair judgement, that can all be the bedrock of the new Panem, but this is wartime. And I think the noblest causes deserve to have the rules bent for ‘em just a little, don’t you? C’mon, you’re the one who wanted Izuku from the start. Give the kid a pardon.” 

That takes Katsuki by surprise, enough that he almost breaks his gaze from Yoichi. So Yoichi wanted to rescue Deku over Katsuki? Had someone changed his mind? Was it Toshinori?

Before Katsuki can ruminate on that thought any further, Yoichi breaks their staredown and waves his hand. “Very well. I’ll call a national security assembly during Reflection today, and make the announcement then,” Those piercing green eyes find Katsuki’s again. “Is there anything else?” 

“Yeah. Just one,” Katsuki says, “I get to kill All For One.” 

For a moment, Katsuki’s stomach flips when he realises the implication of what he’s saying, and especially who he’s saying it to. Maybe Yoichi didn’t want his older brother murdered. He just wanted him to be captured, tried for his crimes, and then he would dole out whatever punishment the people deemed fair after that. Which would undoubtedly still be execution, but he’d likely just be publicly hanged or something, not shot through the eye with an arrow by a teenaged boy. 

But then, for the first time ever, Katsuki sees the hint of a smile on Yoichi’s lips. “When the time comes, you and I can flip a coin for it.”  

Katsuki nods. “Fair enough.” 

Yoichi glances down to his arm. Just like anyone else at 13, he also has a schedule to adhere to. “I’ll let you take him under your wing, then, Hawks.” 

With that, Yoichi exits the room, followed by his team. Most of the rebels clear out as well, leaving just Katsuki, Kirishima, Pinky, and Hawks behind. Hawks releases some of the tension from his shoulders as he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Maaan, I didn’t think it was gonna be quite so rigid around here,” he groans, “Especially not in the higher ranks. I was at least hopin’ for a little side action,” He looks over to Katsuki and Kirishima. “I mean, even Twelve had a black market, right?” 

Kirishima nods. “Yeah, the Hob. It’s where we traded.” 

“Until they burnt it down,” Katsuki mutters. 

Hawks throws up his hands. “There, you see? And look how moral the two of you are! Virtually incorruptible. Ah, well. Wars don’t last forever. Y’know what I miss, though? Coffee! Could seriouslyyy go for some java right about now, you guys feel me?” 

When that doesn’t get the response he was clearly hoping for, Hawks rubs at his neck awkwardly. 

“Anyyyway. You know what we’re asking of you, Katsuki. And I know you’ve got some mixed feelings about the whole thing, but…well, I think I’ve got somethin’ that’ll help you out.” 

Hawks sticks his hands in the pocket of his grey jumpsuit, which he has customised to accommodate his large red wings, which turned out not to be a surgical addition from the Capitol but actually his Quirk. When Katsuki and Kirishima don’t follow behind him instantly the way Pinky does, he looks expectantly over his shoulder. 

“C’mon. Follow me.” 

“Where are we headed?” Kirishima asks, as he and Katsuki follow Hawks and Pinky out of Command and down the corridor. 

“To the first part of your two special surprises of the day,” Hawks says mysteriously, “I don’t wanna spoil it by hinting.” 

Whatever Hawks has in store to ‘surprise’ Katsuki, he must think it’s pretty great. Katsuki can see his wings involuntarily vibrating with excitement as they walk. Katsuki couldn’t really give a shit about any surprises—he’s had enough of those to last him a lifetime. 

When they get to the elevator—which Katsuki has to grit his teeth and bear because wherever Hawks is taking them, it’ll take too long to take the stairs instead—Hawks glances down at his communicuff and grins to himself. 

“Perfect, looks like they’re all ready for us,” Hawks says. 

The elevator doors open, and Katsuki recognises the floor that houses the infirmary ward. Now Katsuki is even more confused. When they arrive at the hospital, Katsuki’s mother is there to greet them. She looks like she’s containing about as much excitement as Hawks is. Katsuki’s mother works as a nurse in the hospital, which means Katsuki saw plenty of her when he first arrived in 13, and less so since he got discharged. She comes over to Katsuki and squeezes his arm. 

“The fuck is goin’ on here, hag? Why’re you in cahoots with the bird?” Katsuki grumbles, “Will someone just spit it out and tell me what the hell we’re doin’ here?” 

Mitsuki pulls Katsuki along, guiding him towards one of the rooms. Looking through the glass door, Katsuki can’t see anything but the privacy curtain wrapped around the entire hospital bed in the middle of the room. His mother leads him and Kirishima inside. 

“Are you decent? I’ve brought Katsuki,” Mitsuki calls. Katsuki quirks an eyebrow at his mother’s tone. That was a lot more casual of a tone than she typically used with the patients here. 

“A little distressed,” calls a voice from behind the curtain, “But that’s as good as it’s going to get.” 

Katsuki freezes in place. That voice… 

He rips his arm free from his mother’s grasp, stumbles towards the curtain and yanks it open to reveal who’s on the other side. If he hadn’t heard him speaking just now, he might not have been able to recognize him.  

“Hakamada…” Katsuki breathes out. 

It’s strange seeing him without a thick collar covering the lower half of his face—in fact, this is the first time Katsuki’s ever been able to properly see his mouth. He was wearing a sturdy neck brace that was reminiscent of his denim collars. His blond hair, usually perfectly swept to the side, was disrupted by a coil of bandages wrapped around his head. There was a plethora of bruises, all in different stages of healing, covering his face and arms, along with a few raised lumps with puckered, angry red stitches. 

“Hello, Bakugou,” Hakamada says. 

“They told me you were killed while being interrogated,” Katsuki murmurs. 

“And miss getting the chance to make you the best-dressed rebel in history?” Hakamada says, “Not for the world.” 

Maybe Katsuki should be acting more excited. He understands now why his mother and Hawks had seemed so eager to bring him here. But Katsuki is just in too much disbelief. He thought he would never see Hakamada again. He thought the last memory he would ever have of him was seeing him dragged out of the Launch Room, bloody and broken, by those Peacekeepers. 

“You look like hell,” Katsuki says. 

Hakamada huffs out a laugh, then winces when the movement seems to disturb one of his countless injuries. Katsuki earns a smack on the back of his head from Mitsuki—it’s much softer than her usual hits, since she knows he’s still recovering from a concussion. 

“How is this possible?” Kirishima asks. 

“It sure as hell wasn’t easy,” Hawks says, “But I’ve still got some friends in the Capitol who were able to help me pull this off. I had to keep things on the down low from y’all, which I apologise for. But I just didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case things went south.” 

“The mockingjay reveal the night before the Quarter Quell was something Hawks was well aware of,” Hakamada explains, “He knew before anyone else did that I would surely be targeted, but it was impossible to determine the where or the when. And then, when Midoriya dropped his proposal that night, it added a layer of complication. The crowds were in a frenzy, stylists and prep teams and escorts were all being sent home. The chaos delayed my execution, until I was placed on my own in preparing Bakugou for the arena. It was the perfect time for them to strike…”

“Which is exactly what we anticipated,” Hawks cuts in, “So I had operatives from my underground network who work undercover as Peacekeepers be the ones to lead the attack.” 

Katsuki’s eyes bulge. “So you’re saying those Peacekeepers I saw beating him to a bloody pulp were working for you? So none of it was real? But…” 

Hawks looks a bit sheepish. “Oh, it was real. Unfortunately we had to make it look convincing,” he says, “Which also meant staging an interrogation. We couldn’t risk bringing Jeanist underground the moment he was dragged from the Launch Room. The timing of the rescue plan for the victors was too delicate, and if Jeanist vanished right at the start of the Games, it would have raised too much suspicion. So I’m afraid my guys really had to, uh, rough him up before we could make our move to get him to Thirteen.” 

Hakamada waves off Hawks’ apologetic look. “What’s a few broken ribs and a bruised lung in the face of revolution?” Hakamada says, “I’d say you owe me a drink or two, but I suppose that will have to wait until the war is over.” 

Hawks smirks at Hakamada and then turns to Katsuki. “In the end, we managed to get your entire team out. Burnin, Kido, Onima, and Midnight were all extracted, as well.” 

“Midnight will be guiding the prep team in my stead while I recuperate,” Hakamada explains, “But don’t worry, I made many preparations. Mitsuki, would you please…?” 

Mitsuki steps over to a cabinet nearby and picks up a sketchbook, passing it over to Katsuki. Katsuki looks from his mother, to the book in his hands, then back to Hakamada, who watches Katsuki expectantly. Katsuki flips open the sketchbook. 

The first page has a picture of Katsuki, standing straight and strong, in a black uniform. At first glance, it’s utterly utilitarian, and at second it’s a work of art. The swoop of the helmet, the curve of the chest plate, the slight fullness of the sleeves that allows the white folds under the arms to show. In Hakamada’s hands, Katsuki has yet again been turned into a mockingjay. 

“This sketchbook was actually given to me by Jeanist some time ago,” Hawks says, “In case anything happened to him, he wanted to be sure his vision made it to you. He made me promise not to show you this book until you decided on your own to become the Mockingjay. Believe me, I was very tempted.” 

Katsuki turns the pages, seeing each detail of the uniform. The carefully tailored layers of the armour, the hidden weapons in the boots and belt, the special reinforcements over his heart. And on the final page, below a sketch of Katsuki’s mockingjay pin, Hakamada has written, I’m still betting on you. 

“When did you…?” Katsuki’s voice fails him. 

“After the Quarter Quell announcement, a few weeks before the Games began,” Hakamada says, “And there’s not just the sketches. They already have the uniform made.” 

Kirishima looks at the sketches over Katsuki’s shoulder. “You really are gonna be the best-dressed rebel in history,” he says with a smile. Suddenly, Katsuki realises that Kirishima has been holding out on him. Like Hakamada, he’s wanted Katsuki to make the decision to become the Mockingjay all along. 

Pinky bounds up to Katsuki’s other side, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Our plan now is to launch what we’re calling an Airtime Assault by creating propos of you in this uniform, and broadcasting them to the entire nation of Panem,” she says, “Hawks and I have been talking about how to pull this off exactly. We think it might be best to build you, our rebel leader, from the outside in. That is to say, we’ll find the best Mockingjay look possible, and then work your personality up to deserving it!” 

“But…he’s already got the uniform?” Kirishima says, confused. 

“Well, yes, but we don’t know the angle yet. Is he gonna be scarred and bloody? Glowing with the fire of rebellion? Just how grimy can we make him without disgusting people? I mean, he has to be something. Obviously this,”—Pinky suddenly moves in on Katsuki and frames his face with her hands—“isn’t gonna cut it.” 

Katsuki jerks his head back reflexively and shoots Pinky a hateful glare, but she’s already flitting back over to Hawks’ side. 

“I’m sure you and Jeanist here would love to catch up, but we’ve still got the second part of your surprise for you,” Hawks says, “Plus, we’re technically not even within visiting hours, so we should probably scram.” 

“That’s right. All of you shoo and let this poor man rest before you all have me court-martialed or something,” Mitsuki says, already ushering everyone out of the room. 

“You can’t be court-martialed, hag, you’re a nurse,” Katsuki tells her. 

Mitsuki gives him an extra hard shove out the door. “An army nurse, thank you very much.” 

Before Katsuki can come up with a comeback, she shuts the door in his face. Kirishima and Katsuki follow Pinky and Hawks back down the hall towards the elevator. They hang back a little from Hawks and Pinky while Kirishima leans in to whisper in Katsuki’s ear. 

“That pink-haired girl,” he says, “So well-intended, yet so insulting.” 

“Welcome to the Capitol,” Katsuki mouths back.

“Still, if you can see past the whole alien look, and the fact she’s from the Capitol…you gotta admit, she’s kinda cute.”  

As they step onto the elevator, Katsuki swiftly jabs Kirishima straight in the ribs, making him double over with a wheeze and earning them confused looks from Hawks and Pinky. 

The Special Defense level is one of the farthest levels down, and is a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges. 

Hawks and Pinky guide Katsuki and Kirishima through the maze until they reach a plate-glass window. Inside is the first beautiful thing that Katsuki has seen in the District 13 compound: a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds. 

In the centre of the meadow, sitting in a wheelchair, is Kaminari. He’s watching a spring-green hummingbird hover in mid-air as it sips nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes follow the bird as it darts away, and then he catches sight of the four of them standing on the other side of the glass, offering them all a friendly wave. Standing next to Kaminari is a girl that Katsuki has never seen before. She’s got pale pink hair tied back into a messy ponytail, and large yellow eyes that seem to zero in on Katsuki from a distance. She’s wearing the same government-issued grey jumpsuit as everyone else, although she’s got the top unbuttoned and tied around her waist by the sleeves.

Hawks waves back to Kaminari as he speaks. “I’ll leave you two with Denki and Mei here to show you the second part of your surprise. After that, just adhere to your schedule for the rest of the day. See y’all later.” 

He turns on his heel and heads back towards the elevator, Pinky following along after him. Katsuki and Kirishima join Kaminari inside of the hummingbird room. 

The air is cool and fresh, not humid and muggy like Katsuki had expected. From all sides come the whir of tiny wings. Katsuki has to wonder what sort of fluke allowed such a pleasant place to be built here. 

Although Kaminari still has the pallor of someone in convalescence, his golden eyes are alight with excitement as Katsuki and Kirishima approach. “Hey, guys! I’d like to introduce you two to an old friend of mine. This is Mei Hatsume. She’s from District 3, too. She’s the head of Special Defense.” 

Hatsume waves to both of them enthusiastically, and then starts speaking very loud and very fast. “Hey! Aren’t these little guys great? Thirteen has been studying the aerodynamics of hummingbirds for years. Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to ninety-six kilometres per hour! Here one second and gone the next. I bet I could totally build you wings to go with your costume! Hey, Bakugou, have you ever brought one of these down with an arrow?” 

Katsuki is a little taken aback by the bombardment of information, but manages to shrug. “No point in tryin’. Not much meat on ‘em.” 

“Guess not. And you don’t strike me as the guy who kills for sport,” Kaminari says, grinning. Katsuki can’t tell if that’s his attempt at a joke or not. 

Katsuki starts to think back to when he was watching the victor tapes in preparation for the Quarter Quell. He had watched Kaminari’s tape, of course, and saw how he had set a trap for the remaining tributes and won his Games. By connecting two wires, he electrocuted a pack of kids that had been hunting him. Katsuki can still remember their grotesque expressions and convulsing bodies. Of course, Kaminari was only doing what he had to do to survive. It was self-defence. Not for sport. The same as Katsuki… 

“Sparky, the bird said you had somethin’ for me.” 

“Oh, right. Come with me!” Kaminari presses a hand control on the arm of his chair and wheels out of the room. 

“Still usin’ the chair, huh?” Katsuki asks, as he and Kirishima follow Kaminari through the twists and turns of Special Defense. The electrical shock that Katsuki, Todoroki, and Kaminari had all sustained when the lightning struck the clock arena had done a number on all of them, but Kaminari had gotten the worst of it. 

“I can walk a little bit now, but I get tired pretty quickly, so it’s just easier for me to get around this way for now,” Kaminari explains, “Pretty lame, huh? Victor named Chargebolt and I got taken out by my own calling card. Hey, how’s the new hearing aid holdin’ up, by the way?”

“Way better than that crap the Capitol gave me,” Katsuki mutters. 

Kaminari snickers. “I’ll bet. Me and Hatsume designed it. It’s a hell of a lot more waterproof than the one you had before. And much better calibration, too. Shouldn’t be nearly as sensitive, or have any feedback. How’s Todoroki doing?”

“He’s…got some concentration problems,” Katsuki says. He doesn’t exactly want to say he had a complete mental breakdown after finding out his mother was in the Capitol. 

Kaminari smiles grimly. “Is that so? If you knew what Todoroki’s been through the last few years, then you’d know how remarkable it is that he’s still with us at all. But, let him know about the trident we’ve been working on for him, next time you see him, will ya? Somethin’ to distract him a little.” 

“Distraction is the last thing he needs,” Katsuki mutters, “But sure, I’ll pass it along. So what’s this surprise?” 

Kaminari’s wheelchair comes to a stop outside a door manned by four guards, with a placard above the door labelled ‘Special Weaponry’. He looks up at Katsuki, a pleased smirk on his face. 

“Your new bow,” Kaminari says. 

The guards have to check the schedules on each of their arms, as well as gather their fingerprint and retinal scans. Then they have to step through special metal detectors. Kaminari even has to leave his wheelchair outside, though he’s provided another one once they’ve all made it through security. Inside the hall is rows upon rows of firearms, launchers, explosives, and armoured vehicles. Kaminari brings them up to a wall of deadly archery weapons. 

“Kirishima, maybe you’d like to try out one of these,” Kaminari offers. 

“Whoa, seriously?” Kirishima asks incredulously. 

“You’d be issued a gun for battle eventually. But if you’re appearing as part of Bakugou’s team in the propos, one of these would look a little showier. Go ahead and take a look, find one that suits you.” 

“Sure,” Kirishima says, awed but eager. He reaches for a lethal-looking bow so loaded down with scopes and gadgetry, Katsuki’s surprised Kirishima is even able to lift it onto his shoulder. Kirishima points it around the room, looking through the scope. 

“That doesn’t seem very fair to the deer,” Katsuki remarks. 

“Good thing I wouldn’t be using it on a deer,” Kirishima says. 

“Be right back,” Kaminari says. He presses a code on a nearby panel and a small door opens. Katsuki watches Kaminari and Hatsume go through the door and waits until the door shuts behind them before he turns to Kirishima. 

“So, it’d be easy for you? Using that on people?” 

Kirishima drops the bow to his side. “I didn’t say that,” he says quickly, “But if I’d had a weapon that could’ve stopped what happened in Twelve…if I’d had a weapon that could’ve kept you out of the arena…I would’ve used it.” 

Katsuki deflates somewhat. “Me, too,” he admits. But he doesn’t know how to tell Kirishima about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you. 

Kaminari returns through the door with Hatsume in tow. She’s carrying a tall, black rectangular case that she tilts towards Katsuki. “Here’s your new baaaby~” she sing-songs. 

Katsuki takes the case from Hatsume and they move to a nearby work table where Katsuki sets the case down. He undoes the latches along one side, and the top opens on silent hinges. Inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lies a stunning black bow. 

Lifting it carefully from the case, Katsuki admires its exquisite balance, the elegant design, the curve of the limbs that suggests the wings of a bird extended in flight.  

“Holy shit,” Katsuki murmurs. Then he blinks rapidly as he feels the bow start to hum in his hands. “What’s it doing?” 

“Saying hello,” Kaminari explains with a grin, “It heard your voice.” 

“It recognises my voice?” Katsuki asks. 

“Just your voice,” Hatsume tells him, “See, they wanted me to design a bow for you that was based purely on looks. A part of the costume, y’know? But I just kept thinking, whatta waste! I mean, what if you really did need it sometime as more than just some fashion accessory? So I kept the outside simple, and left the inside up to my imagination. But it’s best explained in practice. Wanna try it out?” 

“Fuck yeah I do.” 

A target range has already been prepared for them. The arrows that Kaminari and Hatsume designed are no less remarkable than the bow. Hatsume explains the variety of arrows—from razor sharp, to incendiary, to explosive—and how each one is recognizable by a distinctive coloured shaft. There’s the option to voice override at any time, though Katsuki can’t think of a reason he’d ever use that feature. To deactivate the bow’s special properties, he need only tell it ‘good night’ until the sound of his voice wakes it again. 

Katsuki spends the rest of the morning down in Special Defense testing out his new bow, and Kirishima bounces between the bow with the scopes as well as several of the guns. Then they leave their weapons with Kaminari and Hatsume before heading back to the elevators to go up to the dining hall for lunch. 

When they arrive in the dining hall, Katsuki is greeted excitedly by his old prep team and Midnight. They’re all so altered from the people they were in the Capitol, stripped of their gaudy clothing, heavy makeup, dyes, jewellery and knickknacks they adorned themselves with. Midnight looks much younger without her sultry getup on. The members of his prep team seem almost washed out, all except Burnin, whose electric green hair is as bright as ever, except for her roots, which are coming in dark black. 

Midnight goes on about the dreadful living quarters, and the prep team complains about the lunch being served today, which is greyish fish with okra stew and glasses of water. Katsuki is having a hard enough time himself adjusting to life in District 13, so he can only imagine what Midnight and his prep team must be thinking. 

“It tastes better than it looks,” Kirishima assures them about the stew. “I wouldn’t let it get cold, though. Doesn’t improve the consistency.”

“Once Kirishima and I start huntin’, we’ll all be eatin’ better ‘round here,” Katsuki promises. 

After lunch, Kirishima pulls up his sleeve to check his schedule. “I’ve got training next.” 

Katsuki checks his own schedule to see that it reads the same thing. And training equals hunting now. Kirishima and Katsuki both come to this realisation at the same time, looking up at one another and breaking into huge grins. 

Once off the main corridors, Katsuki and Kirishima race one another down the hall towards the armoury. By the time they arrive, Katsuki is breathless and dizzy; a reminder that he’s not fully recovered. 

The guards in the armoury provide them with their old bows, as well as knives and a burlap sack to hold the game they catch. Katsuki tolerates the tracker being clamped onto his ankle, and tries to look like he’s listening when the guards explain how to use the handheld communicator. The only thing of note that sticks in his head is that it has a clock, and he and Kirishima need to be back inside District 13 by the designated hour or their hunting privileges will be revoked. It’s one rule Katsuki will make an effort to try and abide by. 

They head outside into the large, fenced-in training area beside the woods, and more guards open the well-oiled gates without comment. Katsuki would have been hard-pressed to get past this fence on his own—it’s ten meters high, always buzzing with electricity, and topped with razor-sharp curls of steel. 

Katsuki and Kirishima move through the woods until the fence is out of sight. In a small clearing, they pause and drop back their heads to bask in the sunlight for a while. But they’ve only got two hours, so they don’t linger too long. 

So they hunt, like the old days. They’re silent, needing no words to communicate with each other as they move through the woods, two parts of one being. They anticipate each other’s movements, and watch each other’s backs. 

How long has it been? Eight months? Nine? Since they had this freedom? It’s not quite the same, given the trackers on their ankles, everything that’s happened, and the fact Katsuki has to stop to rest so often. 

The animals around here are not nearly suspicious enough. In an hour and a half, they’ve got a mixed dozen of rabbits, squirrels, and turkeys. They decide to knock off for the rest of the remaining time to sit by a pond they come across, fed by an underground spring that makes the water cool and sweet. 

Kirishima offers to clean the game, and Katsuki doesn’t object. He sticks a few mint leaves on his tongue, closes his eyes, and leans back against a rock with his hands behind his head. He soaks in the sounds of the woods and lets the afternoon sun scorch his skin, feeling the most at peace he’s been in a long while. It’s about as close to happiness as Katsuki thinks he can currently get. 

Exhausted from hunting and his lack of sleep, Katsuki heads back to his compartment for a nap, but finds it stripped bare, only to remember that he and his mother have been relocated because of Tiger. He makes his way back up to the top floor and finds Compartment 1A, which looks exactly like Compartment 307, except for the small window centred at the top of the outside wall. There’s a heavy metal plate that fastens over it, but right now it’s propped open, and a certain ugly cat is nowhere to be seen. 

Katsuki stretches out on his bed, a shaft of afternoon light playing on his face. The next thing he knows, his mother is waking him up for 18:00–Reflection. They follow directions to the Collective, a huge room that easily holds the thousands who show up for President Yoichi’s announcement. Among the crowd, Katsuki finds Todoroki, looking as dazed yet gorgeous as ever, even dressed in his hospital gown, holding his piece of rope in his hands. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unravelling various knots as he gazes about the room. 

Katsuki crosses over to Todoroki. “Half-and-Half,” he greets. Todoroki doesn’t seem to notice him, so Katsuki nudges his shoulder to get his attention. “Oi, Half-and-Half.” 

Todoroki looks over at Katsuki wide-eyed, and drops one of his hands from the rope to grip onto Katsuki’s arm. “Bakugou,” he says, relieved to see a familiar face. “Why are we all meeting here?”

“I told Yoichi I’d be the Mockingjay,” Katsuki tells him, “And I made him promise to give a public announcement with plenty of witnesses to grant the other victors immunity if the rebels win the war.” 

“Oh, good,” Todoroki says, his voice airy, “With my mother, I worry about how she could say something damaging without knowing it. As for my old man, well…I can only hope he says something that makes him sound traitorous.” 

Katsuki smirks, and lets out an amused snort.  

“Did you ask for immunity for my mother, too, then?” Todoroki asks.

Shit. Totally forgot about Todoroki’s mom. “Yep, don’t worry, I took care of it,” Katsuki lies. He extracts his arm from Todoroki’s hold and gives him a quick pat on the shoulder. “You stay put, I’ll be right back.” 

Katsuki heads straight for the podium at the front of the room, where Yoichi is looking over his statement. When Katsuki approaches him, Yoichi looks up and raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Hey. I need you to add Rei Todoroki to the immunity list,” Katsuki says. 

Yoichi blinks. “Oh. That’s not really necessary. We don’t make a habit of punishing anyone that frail.” 

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem to add her.” 

“I suppose not,” Yoichi pencils something into his notes. “Did you want to be up here with me when I—“ He cuts himself off when he sees Katsuki already shaking his head no. “I didn’t think so. Better hurry and lose yourself in the crowd then. I’m about to begin.” 

Katsuki makes his way back to Todoroki near the back of the room, folding his arms and leaning against the wall as Yoichi begins his announcement. 

Words are yet another thing that don’t go to waste in District 13. Yoichi calls the audience’s attention and gets right into the proceedings. 

“Good afternoon,” he says, “Thank you all for interrupting your schedules. I have a special announcement for the citizens of Thirteen, and our welcome guests from Twelve. Katsuki Bakugou has consented to be the face of our cause to help unite the districts against the Capitol.” 

There’s a few celebratory cheers from the crowd, but they keep it brief so Yoichi can press onward with his speech. 

“In exchange for his complicity, I have promised several concessions. The most important of which being the full pardon for any and all crimes committed to the rebel cause by the victors taken by the Capitol as prisoners of war, which includes Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, and Rei Todoroki.” 

There’s a rumbling of dissent from the crowd and hostile looks sent Katsuki’s way which he stands indifferent to. Yoichi allows for a few moments of unrest, then continues on in his brisk fashion. Only now the words coming out of his mouth are news to Katsuki. 

“If Katsuki Bakugou fails to fulfil his duties, this deal will be off,” Yoichi says, “Any deviance in his mission, in motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity of the victors will be terminated and their fate, as well as The Mockingjay’s, will be determined by the law of District Thirteen. Thank you. Please return to your schedules.” 

As the crowd begins to disperse and Yoichi leaves the stage, Todoroki looks at Katsuki in confusion. 

“What does he mean?” Todoroki asks. 

Katsuki’s hardened gaze follows Yoichi as he vanishes into the crowd, backed as always by his team, with Colonel Kudo right at his heels. 

“I’ll tell ya what it means,” Katsuki mutters, “I step outta line, and we’re all dead.” 

First there were the Gamemakers, making Katsuki their star and then scrambling to recover when he pulled out that handful of nightlock berries. Then All For One, trying to use Katsuki to put out the flames of rebellion, only for Katsuki’s every move to become inflammatory. Next, the rebels ensnared him in the metal claw that lifted him from the arena, designated Katsuki their Mockingjay, and then had to recover from the shock that Katsuki might not want the wings. And now it was Yoichi, with his fistful of nukes and well-oiled machine of a district, finding it was even harder to groom a Mockingjay than it was to catch one. Yoichi has been the quickest to determine that Katsuki has his own agenda and therefore is not to be trusted. Yoichi is the first to publicly brand Katsuki as a threat. 

In the Remake Room, Katsuki runs his fingers over the thick layer of bubbles in the tub he sits in. Cleaning him up is just a preliminary step to determine his new Mockingjay look. With his hair acid-damaged from poison fog, his sunburned skin, and ugly scars, the prep team has their work cut out for them. They have to make him pretty, and then damage, burn, and scar him in a more attractive way. 

“Remake him to Beauty Base Zero,” Pinky ordered first thing in the morning, “And we’ll work from there.” 

Beauty Base Zero turns out to be what someone would look like if they stepped out of bed looking flawless but natural. His nails get shaped but not polished, his hair soft and shiny but unstyled, his skin smooth and clear but not painted. Body hair gets waxed and his dark circles are erased, but otherwise no further enhancements to his looks are made. Katsuki thought that, as a rebel, he would get to look a little more like himself. But apparently a televised rebel has his own standards to live up to. 

It’s no easy task to get Katsuki to Beauty Base Zero, even with an elaborate arsenal of products, tools, and gadgets that Hawks had the foresight to bring from the Capitol. His prep team, ever the professionals, do pretty well until it comes time to address Katsuki’s left arm, and the scar from where Uraraka dug out his tracker in the arena. None of the medical team aboard the District 13 hovercraft were focusing on looks when they patched up the gaping hole, leaving Katsuki with a lumpy, jagged scar that ripples out over a space the size of an apple. Usually Katsuki’s sleeve covers it, but with the way Hakamada’s Mockingjay costume is designed, the sleeves end just above the elbow. 

It’s such a concern that Pinky and Hawks both get pulled in to discuss it. Katsuki swears the sight of his arm triggers Pinky’s gag reflex. For someone who works for a Gamemaker, she’s awfully squeamish. But Katsuki supposes she’s only used to seeing unpleasant things on screen. 

“Everyone knows I have a scar there,” Katsuki says sullenly. 

“Knowing it and seeing it are two different things,” Pinky says, “It’s totally repulsive.” 

“How about a bloody bandage or something to cover it?” Hawks suggests. 

Pinky and the prep team all seem to be good with this suggestion, and Katsuki tries to sit patiently and not feel too disgusted by everyone’s aversion to his scar as they apply a bloody bandage to his arm, finish with his paint job and don his costume. His mockingjay pin is affixed over his heart, and he picks up the special bow Kaminari and Hatsume designed, along with a sheath of normal arrows. 

After that he’s out on the soundstage, where it feels like he stands for hours while his makeup gets adjusted and the crew plays around with lighting and smoke levels. After the commands from the glassed-in booth become fewer and fewer, his prep team spends more time studying him and less time adjusting him, and then there’s quiet on set. For a full five minutes Katsuki is simply considered by everyone in the room. 

“I think that does it,” Hawks says finally.

Katsuki gets beckoned over to a monitor, where they play back the last few minutes of taping, and Katsuki watches the man on the screen. His body seems larger in stature, more imposing than Katsuki’s own. His face is smudged, but sexy. Wisps of smoke—suggesting he has either just been extinguished or is about to burst into flames—rise from his clothes. 

Katsuki does not know who this person is. 

Midnight comes over to Katsuki and squeezes his shoulders. “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you,” she purrs in his ear. 

Everyone’s excited, so pleased with their work. Pinky ushers Katsuki back onto the set, and gets him to stand atop a mound of fake rubble. 

“Okay, Katsuki, we’re gonna start you down on one knee,” Pinky instructs from behind the camera. “And as you rise up, you’re gonna raise your bow into the air, and deliver your line. Got it?” 

Katsuki nods. The line is: ‘People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice’. Katsuki can tell by the way it was presented to him that they’ve spent months, maybe years, working it out and that they were all really proud of it.  

Too bad it fucking sucks. 

It’s a mouthful, and it’s stiff. Katsuki can’t imagine ever saying something so ridiculous in real life, unless he was saying it in a Capitol accent and making fun of it. And if Katsuki hadn’t heard President Yoichi’s speech last night about how if Katsuki doesn’t perform than Deku and the others won’t be granted immunity, then he would have told everyone just how stupid the line is and that there was no way they were going to make him say it. Instead, Katsuki bites his tongue as the smoke machine kicks in, and the lights around him get adjusted for the shot. He sinks down onto one knee as he was instructed as someone calls for quiet on the set, and Pinky calls out “Action!” 

Katsuki rises to his feet, lifts his bow into the air, and begins to shout, “People of Panem! We fight, we dare, we…” and then he trails off, because this was so stupid, and the shame slams into him so viscerally it chokes the words right out of his throat. He lowers the bow. 

Hawks tilts his head. “Do you remember the line?” 

“Yeah, I remember the fuckin’ line,” Katsuki snaps, and then instantly backpedals. “I mean…I know it. I got it. Just—warmin’ up.” He gets settled back down onto his knee on the rubble again. 

“Okay, let’s run it again,” Pinky says, “It’s fine. He’s just warming up. Alright, with energy, Katsuki. Go!” 

Katsuki rises up again, lifts his bow, and yells, “People of Panem, we fight! We dare…to end this hunger…for justice!” He can tell by the strained looks on everyone’s faces that it isn’t remotely believable.

“You’ve just been in battle!” Hawks blurts out, exasperated. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Excuse me. Uh…remember, you’ve just been in battle. Let’s try it again, whenever you’re ready.” 

On the next take, Katsuki stands up, lifts his bow into the air, and hollers out with all the embarrassment-fuelled anger he can muster: “People of Panem! We fight! We dare to end this hunger for justice!” 

There’s dead silence on set. 

Then, the intercom crackles and a deep baritone of a laugh fills the studio.

“And that, my friends,” Toshinori’s voice calls through the intercom, “Is how a revolution dies.”  

Chapter Text

iii.

A large group gathers at the table in Command. Yoichi and his people, Hawks, Pinky, Katsuki’s prep team, Midnight, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Kaminari, who wheels in at the last minute. 

Katsuki supposes that Yoichi has assembled this assortment of people to witness his failure. However, it’s actually Toshinori who welcomes everyone, and by his words Katsuki comes to understand that everyone has gathered here by his invitation, not the president’s.

This is the first time Katsuki has been in a room with Toshinori since he attacked him on the hovercraft en route to District 13, after he told Katsuki that Deku was captured by the Capitol. Katsuki avoids looking at him directly, but catches glimpses of his reflection in one of the shiny control consoles along the wall. He looks slightly yellow and seems to have lost even more weight, if that was even possible. His appearance is even more shrunken than it was before. For a second, Katsuki is afraid that Toshinori is dying. Then he has to remind himself that he doesn’t care. 

The first thing Toshinori does is play the footage they’ve just shot. Katsuki’s voice and body have a jerky, disjointed quality. He’s like a puppet being manipulated by unseen forces. 

Look at that, Deku, Katsuki thinks, And everyone was calling you the puppet. 

“Okay,” Toshinori says when the clip is over, “Would anyone like to chime in with how this is of any use to us in winning a war?” 

Nobody speaks. 

“Good, that saves time,” Toshinori says, “Now, I want everyone here to tell me about a time when Young Bakugou genuinely moved you. Not when you were jealous of his hairstyle, or when his suit went up in flames, or when he made a half-decent shot with an arrow. And not when Young Midoriya made you like him. I want you all to tell me about one moment where he made you feel something real.”

Quiet stretches out and Katsuki sinks deeper into his chair, thinking it will never end, but then Midnight lifts her hand into the air. 

“When he sang the song, for little Mahoro,” Midnight says. And then she clutches at her chest. “I get choked up just thinking about it!”

“Who didn’t get choked up that night. Anyone else?” Toshinori asks. 

“All of his interactions with Mahoro in general were really sweet,” Pinky says, “They were so cute together! Like when they shared a sleeping bag, or Katsuki gave her some of his food…” 

“I was on the edge of my seat watching him try to carry poor old Chiyo through the poison fog,” Onima says. Katsuki watches Todoroki flinch slightly, where he stands behind Kaminari’s wheelchair, at the mention of his old mentor’s name. 

The moments come in thick and fast, in no particular order, from almost everyone in the room. 

“The song he sang before the Quarter Quell! It was such a bittersweet send-off! Oh, and the song he sang to Izuku by the lake, with all the mockingjays singing it back to them…”

“When he found Izuku by the river, and took care of him.” 

“When he heard the cannon while he and Izuku were hunting, and hugged him so tightly when he found him.” 

“His reaction when Midoriya hit the force field,” Todoroki says, “And when we scared Midoriya when we woke him up with that green ointment on our faces…that was pretty funny. I think Bakugou was just trying to cheer everyone up after everything we’d been through together.” 

Toshinori nods along to all the suggestions, and then finally speaks up again. “Alright, good. Now, what do all of those moments have in common?” 

“Nobody was telling him what to do or say,” Kirishima says instantly, “He was being genuine.” 

“Yeah, totally unscripted,” Kaminari says, “So, what, everyone should just leave him alone?” 

“Well, the opportunity for spontaneous moments are kind of lacking down here,” Pinky says peevishly, “So unless you’re suggesting we toss him into the middle of real combat—“ 

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Toshinori says, “Put him out on the field and keep the cameras rolling.” 

“I can’t sanction putting an untrained civilian into battle just for effect,” Yoichi says, “This is not the Capitol.” 

“It has to come from him. That’s what the people are responding to,” Toshinori insists, “You want a symbol of the revolution? Your Mockingjay? He can’t just be coached into it. Trust me, I would know.” 

The idea of sending Katsuki into combat is controversial, but Toshinori makes a pretty tight case. If Katsuki only performs well in real-life circumstances, then that’s where he needs to be. 

“We can’t guarantee his safety,” Kudo says, “Even if we’re careful, he’d be a target for every—“ 

“You’ll never be able to guarantee my safety,” Katsuki cuts in, “I want to go. Send me anywhere. I’m no use to the rebels here.”

“And if you’re killed?” Yoichi asks. 

“Then make sure you get it on camera,” Katsuki says. 

Yoichi and Kudo study Katsuki for a moment, then one another for even longer. Then Yoichi starts to move around the room, studying the illuminated district maps that show the ongoing troop positions in the war. 

“Take him to Eight this afternoon,” Yoichi says, “There was heavy bombing there this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want him armed with a full team of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Toshinori, I want you airborne and in contact with Private Bakugou at all times,” Yoichi turns around from the monitors to face the room. “Does anyone else have any further comments?” 

“Someone wash his face before sending him out there,” Kudo mutters. Everyone turns to look at him. “He’s just a kid, and you made him look like he’s thirty-five. Feels like something the Capitol would do.” 

Yoichi adjourns the meeting, and Toshinori pulls him aside and asks if he can speak with Katsuki privately. Everyone clears out, except for Kirishima, who lingers with uncertainty at Katsuki’s side. 

“I wouldn’t worry, Young Kirishima,” Toshinori tells him, “I’m the one who needs a bodyguard.” 

“It’s fine,” Katsuki mutters to Kirishima, who gives a small nod and then goes. 

Then there’s just the hum of the instruments, and the purr of the ventilation as Toshinori takes a seat adjacent to Katsuki, who continues not to look in his direction. There’s a long beat of tense silence between them before Toshinori sighs. 

“…This any way to greet an old friend?” 

“Maybe I don’t recognize you sober,” Katsuki grunts out. 

“I guess it looks as bad as it feels,” Toshinori mutters, “Look, kid. We’re going to have to work together again. So, go ahead. Just say it.” 

Katsuki thinks of the snarling, cruel exchange on the hovercraft. The bitterness that followed. But all he can think to say is, “I can’t fuckin’ believe you didn’t rescue Deku.” 

“I know,” Toshinori replies. 

There’s a sense of incompleteness. And not because Toshinori hasn’t apologised. But because he and Katsuki were a team. They made a deal to keep Deku safe. It might have been a drunken, unrealistic deal made in the dark of the night, but it was a deal just the same. And in Katsuki’s heart of hearts, he knows they both failed. 

“Now you go,” Katsuki says. 

“I can’t believe you let him out of your sight that night,” Toshinori says. 

Katsuki nods. “I play it over and over in my head. What I could have done to keep him by my side without breaking the alliance. But I can’t think of anything.” 

“You didn’t have a choice. And even if I could’ve made Hawks stay and rescue Young Midoriya that night, the whole hovercraft would have gone down. We barely made it out of there as it was.” 

Finally, Katsuki meets Toshinori’s eyes. Bright blue, deep, and ringed with circles of sleepless nights the same way that Katsuki’s are. 

“He’s not dead yet, Young Bakugou,” Toshinori says quietly. 

Katsuki nods. “We’re still in the game.” 

“We’re still in. So I’m still your mentor,” Toshinori jabs Katsuki in the chest with his finger, “Which means when you’re on the ground, remember that I’m airborne. I’ll have a better view of the situation, so do what I tell you.” 

“We’ll see,” Katsuki says. 

Toshinori sneers. “This forced prohibition is hard enough without you making me contemplate distilling my own turnips, kid.”

Katsuki returns to the Remake Room and watches the streaks of makeup disappear down the drain as he scrubs his face clean. The person in the mirror looks ragged, with his uneven skin and tired eyes, but he looks like Katsuki. He rips off the bandage covered in fake blood, revealing the ugly scar from the tracker. There. That looks like him, too. 

Since Katsuki will be heading to a combat zone, Kaminari helps him with the armour that Hakamada designed. There’s a helmet of some kind of interwoven metal that sits close to his head, with supple fabric-like material that can be drawn back like a hood in case he doesn’t want it up full-time. There’s a vest to reinforce protection over his vital organs. A small white earpiece that connects to his collar by a wire. Kaminari secures a mask to Katsuki’s belt that he doesn’t have to wear unless there’s a gas attack, and finally, he straps a sheath divided into three cylinders of arrows onto Katsuki’s back. 

Kudo shows up to escort Katsuki down to the Airborne Division. Just as the elevator arrives, Todoroki suddenly shows up in a state of agitation. “Bakugou! They won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine but they won’t let me come.” 

Katsuki takes in Todoroki—his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, and the wild look in his eyes—and knows any plea on Katsuki’s part will be useless. Besides, Katsuki doesn’t think it’s a good idea to bring Todoroki along, either. 

Katsuki smacks his forehead. “Ah, fuck. I forgot. This stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you that Sparky wanted to see you down in Special Defense. He designed a new trident for you.” 

At the word ‘trident’, it’s as if the old Todoroki resurfaces. “Really? What does it do?” 

“No idea. But if it’s anything like my new bow and arrows, I’m sure it’s fuckin’ awesome,” Katsuki says, “You’ll need to train with it, though.” 

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there, then,” Todoroki says airily, already wandering away. 

“Half-and-Half,” Katsuki calls. Todoroki stops and looks over his shoulder. “Maybe you oughta lose the gown first?” 

Todoroki looks down at himself, as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he pulls off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “You’re right. That’s much better. Thanks, Bakugou.” 

Katsuki snorts, and then snorts harder when he looks over at Colonel Kudo and sees how uncomfortable all of this is making him. Katsuki is just glad that Todoroki is starting to sound like the guy Katsuki met at the Quarter Quell again.

Kudo and Katsuki head into the elevator and wind up on the Hangar, where Kudo leads Katsuki onto one of the smaller hovercrafts there. The inside is packed with the entire television crew and their equipment, as well as Toshinori and Kirishima. 

Pinky hustles over to Katsuki and huffs with frustration seeing his newly-washed face. “All that work, down the drain. I’m not blaming you, Katsuki. It’s just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like this guy!” She suddenly snags Kirishima, who is in the middle of a conversation with Hawks, and spins him around. “Isn’t he handsome?” 

Kirishima does look striking in the uniform, Katsuki guesses. But the question just embarrasses both Katsuki and Kirishima, given their history. While Katsuki is trying to come up with a witty comeback, suddenly Colonel Kudo pipes up. 

“Don’t expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Shoto Todoroki in his underwear.” 

Katsuki decides to go ahead and like Kudo.

“Okay. Quick intros before we’re in the air,” Hawks says, guiding Katsuki over to the camera crew, who are all new faces to Katsuki. “These people have come a long way to support the cause,” The first person Hawks gestures to is a puny girl with dark purple hair, stretched earlobes, and red tattoos under her eyes. “This here is Kyoka Jirou, one of the best up-and-coming directors in the Capitol.” 

“Until I up and left,” Jirou says with a smirk. She gives Katsuki a nod. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Katsuki replies. 

Jirou jabs her thumb to her left, to someone who from the neck down had the body of a human, but his head was similar to that of a raven’s. “This is my assistant, Furikage Tokoyami.”

Tokoyami presses a hand to his chest and bows his head to Katsuki, a greeting which seems overly formal given their current setting. “It is an honour to meet you,” he says. 

Jirou knocks her chin to the two across from her. Both were large, imposing figures with broad shoulders. One was completely bald with horns on his head, and the other had sleek silver hair and a tight mask covering his nose and mouth. But the strangest thing about him was his multiple sets of arms. “These two are your cameramen, Shoji and Koda.” 

The one with the mask and multiple arms, Shoji, offers a quick “Hello,” and the one with the horns, Koda, shyly nods his head at Katsuki. 

Katsuki looks around at this strange quartet, who all very clearly had that classic Capitol look about them, from the simpler body modifications of Jirou’s facial tattoos, to Koda’s animal-like horns, Shoji’s multiple arms, and Tokoyami’s complete animal hybrid form. Jirou’s tattoos and stretched ears were a fairly common alteration for Capitol citizens, and Katsuki would have thought the others had gotten more extreme surgeries to look the way they do. But now he knew the truth of the matter. Everyone that looked the way these three did were actually what those in District 13 referred to as ‘heteromorphs’, ones that All For One had bestowed with Mutant-type Quirks that altered their appearance. 

Hawks once explained to Katsuki that his own Quirk factor was given to him by All For One, but the actual meta ability of his Quirk was still impacted by the Quirk-destroying drug. So he had wings, but couldn’t use his Quirk to its true capacity until he received the antidote serum from the team in District 13. Once his serum was administered, he gained the ability of flight, and to control each of his feathers individually. It would probably be a handy power for the battlefields, but that’s not the role Hawks had taken in this war. He couldn’t exactly hone his Quirk for combat or search and rescue when he was stuck inside Command plotting out their next moves with Yoichi. Hawks might not be a soldier, but his moves and countermoves had been integral to the rebellion. 

“So Hawks got you all out of the Capitol?” Katsuki asks. 

“It wasn’t a rescue. We all fled on our own,” Jirou says, “For this. For you.” 

Katsuki’s eyes go wide as he looks around at the four of them, then Hawks is thumping him on the back and telling everyone to get locked in. 

While they’re getting seated and the hovercraft takes off, Hawks tries to lay out the gist of what Katsuki has missed about the ongoing war. 

First of all, every district is currently at war with the Capitol except for District 2, which has always had a favoured relationship with the Capitol despite its participation in the Hunger Games. They get more food and better living conditions. After the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of District 13, District 2 became the Capitol’s new centre of defence—although it’s publicly presented as the home of the nation’s stone quarries, in the same way that 13 was known for graphite mining. District 2 not only manufactures weapons for the Capitol, but trains and supplies some of its Peacekeepers. 

“I figured all the Peacekeepers came from the Capitol," Katsuki says.

Hawks nods. “That’s what you’re supposed to think. And some do come from the Capitol. But its population could never sustain a force that size. Plus there’s the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. It’s a twenty-year commitment for Peacekeepers. No marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honour of the thing, others take it on as an alternative to punishment, or to pay off their debts. There’s plenty of folks in the Capitol swamped in debt, of course, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District Two is where the Capitol turns for additional troops. It’s a way for their people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries.” 

“But the rest of the districts are on our side?” Katsuki asks. 

“Yes,” Hawks says, “Our plan is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District Two, which will cut off the supply chain to the Capitol. Once that’s weakened, we can invade the Capitol itself. But that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.” 

“And who would be in charge of the government, if we win?” Kirishima asks. 

“Everyone,” Hawks tells him, “We’ll form a republic, where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives,” He looks around at everyone’s suspicious looks. “Hey, it worked for us before.” 

“In books,” Toshinori quips.

“In history books,” Hawks says, “And if our ancestors could do it, then we can, too.” 

Frankly, Katsuki doesn’t think their ancestors have much to brag about. Look at the state they left the world in, with all the wars and a broken planet. They clearly didn’t care about what would happen to those that came after them. But still, a republic sounds like an improvement over their current government. 

“And if we lose?” Katsuki mutters. 

Hawks looks out at the clouds, an ironic smile twisting his lips. “Then I’d expect next year’s Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable,” Hawks perks up suddenly and turns towards Katsuki. “Oh, yeah. That reminds me,” He pulls a vial from his vest and shakes a few deep violet pills into his palm, and holds them out to everyone. 

Katsuki takes hold of one of the capsules, turning it over between his fingers. 

“The rebels can’t afford for any of us to be captured now,” Hawks says, “We’ve named these nightlock in your honour, Katsuki.” 

Kirishima’s eyes go wide as he stares at the capsules in Hawks’ hand. “You mean, those are…?” 

Hawks gives him a solemn nod. “If it comes to it, I promise…with these, it’ll be quick, and painless.” 

Katsuki isn’t sure where to put the nightlock pill. Hawks taps a spot on his shoulder, at the front of his left sleeve. Katsuki examines the spot until he notices a tiny pocket that both secures and conceals the pill. Even if Katsuki’s hands were tied, he could still lean forward and bite it free. 

Hakamada, it seems, has thought of everything. 

The hovercraft makes a quick, spiral descent onto a wide road on the outskirts of District 8. Kudo hustles everyone off the road toward a row of warehouses as a second hovercraft comes in for a landing, which unloads crates of medical supplies and a team of six medics. Everyone follows Kudo down an alley that runs between two dull grey warehouses until they emerge onto a street. 

It’s like entering another world. The wounded from the morning’s bombing are being brought in—on homemade stretchers, wheelbarrows, carts, slung over shoulders. Bleeding, limbless, unconscious, all being propelled by desperate-looking people towards a warehouse with a sloppy H painted above the entryway. Katsuki had expected some bombed-out buildings, and instead finds himself confronted with countless broken human bodies. 

This is where they planned on filming him? 

Katsuki turns quickly to Kudo. “This won’t work,” he mutters, “I won’t be any good here.” 

Kudo stops them a moment and places his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders. “You will. Just let them all see you. That will do more for them right now than any doctor could.” 

Katsuki seriously doubts that, but there’s no chance to argue it any further as Kudo starts heading towards a woman by the doorway to the makeshift hospital, directing incoming patients. She catches sight of them, does a sort of double take, and then walks over. Her light brown eyes are puffy with fatigue and she smells like sweat and metal. She’s got a short bob of hair, that’s mostly dyed navy blue, and she’s got a good four inches of grown-in blonde roots. 

“This is Commander Kurose of Eight,” Kudo says, “Commander, Private Katsuki Bakugou.” 

She looks awfully young to be a commander, Katsuki thinks. She was likely only in her early thirties or so. But she had an undeniable authoritative presence about her that makes Katsuki feel her appointment in this role was by no means arbitrary. When a group of medics pass them by, she orders them into the warehouse with a jerk of her thumb and they comply without question. Then she turns her attention back to Katsuki. 

“So you’re still alive, then,” Kurose says, “We weren’t sure.” 

“He’s been in recovery in Thirteen, but he insisted on coming to see your wounded,” Kudo tells her. 

“Well, we’ve got plenty of those,” Kurose says. 

Kirishima frowns at the hospital. “You think it’s a good idea, gatherin’ all the wounded in one place like this?” 

Kurose gives him a flat look. “I think it’s slightly better than leaving them to die.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Kirishima says, “What if—“ 

“Well, that’s my only other option, so unless you can think up a different one, boy, I’m all ears,” Kurose cuts him off. She turns on her heel and moves toward the entrance of the hospital. “Come on then, Mockingjay. Bring your friends.” 

As they enter, some sort of heavy, industrial curtain hangs the length of the building, forming a sizable corridor. Corpses lie side by side with white cloths over their faces, and the air is heavy with the musky scent of decay. 

“We’ve got a mass grave started a few blocks west, but I can’t spare the manpower to move the bodies yet,” Kurose explains. She finds a slit in the curtain and opens it wide. “The wounded are just through here.” 

Katsuki steps through the curtain and his senses are assaulted even further by the stench of soiled linen, putrefying flesh, and vomit, all ripening in the heat of the warehouse. There’s row upon row of wounded, laying in cots, on palettes, or on the floor. There’s a drone of black flies, moans of pain, and sobs of attending loved ones all combining into one wrenching chorus. 

Sweat begins to run down Katsuki’s back and fill his palms. He clenches his fists tightly to will down any stray sparks from his bothersome Quirk from activating, and breathes in through his mouth in an attempt to diminish the smell. Katsuki catches sight of Commander Kurose, who is watching him very closely. She’s clearly sizing him up, waiting to see just what Katsuki is made of, and if any of them have been right to place their faith in him. So Katsuki steels himself and begins to move deeper into the warehouse to walk the narrow strip between the two rows of beds. 

“Katsuki?” A voice croaks out on his left, breaking through the din. “Katsuki?” 

A hand reaches out to him and grabs him by the wrist. Katsuki looks down to see a young woman with an injured leg. Blood has seeped through the heavy bandages, which are crawling with flies. Her face reflects her pain, but there’s something else there, too. Something Katsuki can’t place. 

“Is it really you?” the woman asks. 

Katsuki nods. “Yeah. It’s me.” 

Joy. That’s the expression on her face. And at the sound of Katsuki’s voice, it brightens, and erases her suffering momentarily. “You’re alive!” 

“I got pretty banged up,” Katsuki says, “But I got better. And—uh," He swallows thickly, then adds, "And so will you." 

Katsuki begins to hear his name ripple through the hot air, spreading out through the hospital. The sounds of pain and grief begin to recede, replaced by words of anticipation. From all sides, voices start to beckon him. He begins to move, clasping the hands extended to him, touching the sound parts of those unable to move their limbs. He says hello, how are you, good to meet you. He can’t think of anything else important to say, no amazing words of inspiration. But it doesn’t matter, because Kudo was right. It is the sight of Katsuki, alive, that is the inspiration. 

A stricken man comes right up to Katsuki and clutches his face in both hands, and Katsuki sends a silent thank-you to Kudo for suggesting he wash off the makeup. How ridiculous and perverse he would have felt, presenting that painted Capitol mask to these people. The damage, fatigue, and imperfections was how they all recognized him. It’s why he belongs to them. 

Despite his controversial interview with Present Mic, many ask about Deku, and assure Katsuki that they know that Deku was only speaking under duress when he called for a cease-fire. One weeping woman asks to see Katsuki’s engagement ring, and pets at the back of his hand when Katsuki holds it aloft for her to look at the glistening gemstone. She makes a fretful comment about the orange gemstone being missing, but Katsuki tells her it’s fine, that the green one reminds him of Deku, and the remark has her weepy all over again. He tries his best to sound positive for his and Deku’s future, but is distracted by how his hand is so polished and pristine against the woman’s own, with blood and dirt caked into her skin and under her fingernails.

Katsuki begins to fully understand the lengths to which people have gone to protect him. What he means to the rebels. His ongoing struggle against the Capitol, which has felt like a solitary journey, has not been undertaken alone, after all. He has had thousands upon thousands of people from the districts by his side. He has been their Mockingjay all this time, long before he even accepted the wings.

A new sensation begins to germinate within him. Power. He has a power that he never knew he possessed. All For One knew it, Hawks knew it, and now Yoichi knows it, so much so that he had to publicly remind his people that Katsuki is not the one in control. 

When they’re back outside, Katsuki leans against the warehouse to catch his breath, accepting a canteen of water from Kudo. 

“You did great,” Kudo tells him. 

“We got some good stuff in there,” Jirou says. 

Katsuki had forgotten they were even filming him. “I didn’t do much,” he says with a shrug. 

“Well, you didn’t faint, throw up, or run out screaming. I can’t believe you let all those people touch you. I kept expecting you to make a break for the door,” Kirishima jokes, rubbing Katsuki’s arm. Then he takes on a more serious tone. “And you’ve gotta start givin’ yourself some more credit for the things you’ve done in the past, man.” 

The things he’s done in the past? Katsuki can only think of the trail of destruction he’s left in his wake. “That’s a mixed bag,” he mutters, handing the canteen back to Kudo.

Kudo tucks his canteen away, then folds his arms across his chest. “Well, time’s being what they are, you’ll have to do."

“Your mom’s gonna be super proud of you when she sees the footage,” Kirishima says. 

Katsuki scoffs. “She won’t even notice me. She’ll be too appalled by the conditions in there. Any contagious disease is gonna spread through that place like wildfire,” Katsuki turns to Kudo and asks, “Is it like this in every district?” 

Kudo nods. “Yes. Most are under attack. We’re trying to send out aid wherever we can, but it’s not—“ Suddenly he cuts himself off, distracted by something in his earpiece. “We have to get back to the hovercraft immediately.” 

“What’s going on?” Kirishima asks worriedly. 

Kudo reaches behind Katsuki’s neck and yanks his helmet up onto his head. “Incoming bombers,” he says, “Let’s move.” 

They all take off running along the front of the warehouse, heading for the alley that leads to the airstrip. Katsuki doesn’t sense any immediate threats—the sky is an empty, cloudless blue, and the streets are clear, safe for those hauling wounded to the hospital. 

Then, the sirens start to wail. Within seconds, a low-flying V-shaped formation of Capitol hoverplanes appears above them, and the bombs begin to fall. 

Katsuki is blown off his feet and slams into the front wall of the warehouse. There’s a searing pain just above the back of his right knee. He tries to get up, but Kudo pushes him back down, shielding Katsuki’s body with his own. The ground ripples underneath them as bomb after bomb drops from the planes and detonates. 

“Young Bakugou!” 

Katsuki is startled by Toshinori’s voice in his ear. “What? Yeah, what, I’m here!” he answers. 

“Listen, kid. We can’t land during the bombing. It’s imperative that you aren’t spotted.” 

Katsuki assumed it was his presence, as usual, that had brought on this attack. “They don’t know I’m here?”

“We think not. This raid was likely already scheduled.” 

Then Hawks’ voice comes in, calm but forceful. The voice of a ex-Head Gamemaker used to calling the shots under pressure. “There’s a light blue warehouse three down from where y’all are now. It has a bunker in the far corner. You’ve got maybe forty-five seconds before the next wave.” 

“Copy that,” Kudo says.

Hawks must be in everyone’s ear, because everyone is getting to their feet as well. Katsuki gives a grunt of pain as his right leg takes his weight, but there’s no time to examine the injury as he follows Kudo, who takes the lead in their group. Nobody passes by Katsuki; instead they match his pace, protecting his sides and back, so Katsuki forces himself into a sprint so he’s not slowing them all down. 

As the seconds tick away, Katsuki catches sight of the faded blue facade up ahead. They’ve just reached another alley, and need only to cross it to arrive at the door of the blue warehouse when the next wave of bombs hit. Katsuki instinctively dives into the alley and rolls toward the blue wall. Kirishima throws himself over Katsuki to provide one more layer of protection from the bombing. This wave seems to go on longer than the last one, and comes from farther away. 

Katsuki shifts onto his side and finds himself looking right into Kirishima’s eyes. For an instant the world recedes and there’s just his flushed face, his pulse visible at his temple, his lips slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath. 

“You good?” Kirishima calls out, his voice nearly drowned out by another explosion. 

“They’re not following us,” Katsuki says, “I don’t think they’ve seen me.” 

“They must have targeted something else,” Kirishima says. 

“But there’s nothing back there but—“ Katsuki cuts himself off as he watches the realization hit Kirishima the same moment it does Katsuki, and they say the next words in unison. “The hospital.” 

Katsuki and Kirishima scramble to their feet and Kirishima shouts to the others, “They’re targeting the hospital!” 

“Not your problem,” Hawks says firmly in Katsuki’s earpiece, “Get to the bunker.” 

“What?!” Katsuki shouts, “No fucking way! We have to—“

“Kid,” Katsuki hears the warning note in Toshinori’s voice and knows what’s coming. “Don’t you even think about—!” 

Katsuki yanks the earpiece free and lets it hang from the wire. He hears machine gun fire coming from the roof of a brown warehouse across the alley. Someone is up there returning fire. 

Before anything can stop him, Katsuki makes a dash for the access ladder and begins to scale it quickly, Kirishima right on his heels. Katsuki drags himself up onto the tar, stopping long enough to pull Kirishima up beside him, then they take off for the row of machine gun nests on the street side of the warehouse. Each one is manned by several rebels, and Katsuki and Kirishima skid into a nest with a pair of soldiers, hunching down behind the barrier. 

To Katsuki’s left he sees Commander Kurose looking at them quizzically for a moment before she slaps the stock of the machine gun she’s manning. “You ever been trained in these?” 

“I have,” Kirishima answers. He and Katsuki pull their bows off their shoulders. “But we’d rather use our own weapons,” When Kurose raises an inquisitive eyebrow at the bows, Kirishima adds on, “We have incendiary and explosive arrows.” 

“Fine by me,” says Kurose, “We expect three more waves. They have to drop their sight shields before they release the bombs. That’s our chance. Stay low!” 

Katsuki positions himself to shoot on one knee, and takes one of the incendiary arrows from his sheath. If he misses his target, the arrows would likely land on one of the warehouses across the street. A fire could always be put out, but the damage from one of his explosive arrows may be irreparable. 

Suddenly they appear in the sky, two blocks down. Seven small bombers in a V-formation. 

“Geese!” Katsuki calls to Kirishima, who nods, knowing exactly what he means without Katsuki needing to clarify further.

When they hunted fowl during migration season, they had a system where they divided the birds up so they wouldn’t target the same ones. Katsuki would take the far side of the V while Kirishima took the near, and then they would alternate shots at the front bird. 

Katsuki estimates the lead time on the hoverplanes and lets his fire arrow fly. He catches the inside wing of one, causing it to burst into flames. Kirishima just misses the point plane, and a fire blooms on an empty warehouse roof across from them. Kirishima swears under his breath. 

The hoverplane Katsuki hit swerves out of formation, but still releases its bombs. It also doesn’t disappear again, the same with a second plane which Commander Kurose seems to have struck with gunfire. The damage must prevent their sight shields from reactivating. 

“Good shot, man,” Kirishima says. 

“I wasn’t even aimin’ for that one,” Katsuki says. He had meant to shoot the one in front of it. “They’re faster than we think. And fire is no good. Pretty sure those warehouses across the way are abandoned, anyway.” 

“Positions!” Kurose shouts. 

Katsuki and Kirishima both load explosive-tipped arrows next. The next wave of planes sweeps in silently. 

“I’m standing!” Katsuki shouts, rising to his feet. It’s the position he gets the best accuracy from. 

He leads earlier and lands a direct hit on the point plane, blasting a hole in its belly. Kirishima blows the tail off the second plane, which flips and crashes into the street, setting off a series of explosions as its cargo goes off. 

The third wave unveils without warning. Kirishima squarely hits the point plane with his next shot while Katsuki takes the wing off the second, causing it to spin into the one behind it. Together they collide into the roof of the warehouse across from the hospital, and a fourth plane gets taken out by more gunfire. 

“Okay. That’s it,” Kurose announces. 

Flames and heavy black smoke from the wreckage obscure their view. “Did they hit the hospital?” Kirishima asks quickly. 

“Must have,” Kurose says grimly. 

As they all hurry toward the ladder at the far side of the warehouse, the sight of Tokoyami and Shoji appearing from behind an air duct surprises Katsuki. He thought the whole camera crew would have stayed hunkered down in the alley. 

“These guys are growin’ on me,” Kirishima murmurs to Katsuki as they reach the ladder. Katsuki is inclined to agree. 

When they’re back in the alley, Katsuki finds Jirou and the other cameraman, Koda, waiting for him. Katsuki hovers for a moment, expecting resistance, but instead Jirou waves him towards the hospital with one hand while the other is pressed to her ear as she snaps, “I don’t care, Hawks! Just give us five minutes!” 

Katsuki takes off down the street, Kirishima and the TV crew hot on his heels. They move past the wounded, people screaming and running about frantically, and burning plane wrecks until they make it back to the hospital. 

What used to be the hospital. The bombs have collapsed the roof of the hospital and set the entire building on fire, effectively trapping the patients within.

“No! Help them! Get them the fuck out!” Katsuki yells, stepping forward to run towards the burning building, but Kirishima grabs hold of him, and when Katsuki meets his eyes he knows it’s too late. If the crushing debris and flames didn’t get them, then the smoke did. 

When Kirishima had questioned the existence of the hospital, he was not thinking of spreading disease, but of this. Because Kirishima had never underestimated the cruelty of those they faced. Katsuki remembers all those years in the woods, listening to Kirishima rant against the Capitol, how Katsuki had never paid close attention. Wondering why he even bothered to dissect their motives, why thinking like their enemy would ever matter. Clearly, it would have mattered today. 

Katsuki slowly turns his back to the hospital and finds Jirou, flanked by her crew, standing a few steps away from him. Her manner is unrattled. Cool, even. 

“Bakugou,” she says, “All For One just had them air the bombing of the hospital live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Can you tell everyone what you’re seeing right now? Do you want to say anything?” 

The red blinking light on one of the cameras catches Katsuki’s eye, and he knows he’s being recorded. Kirishima and the TV crew all draw away from him, giving him the stage. 

Katsuki keeps his eyes trained on the red light, blocking out everything else as he tries to find the words to say. “I wanna let the rebels know I’m alive. That I’m here in District Eight, where the Capitol just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. And there will be no survivors.” 

His shock gives way to fury the more he speaks as he steps closer to Shoji, the closest of the cameras to him. 

“If you think for one second the Capitol will ever treat us fairly if there’s a cease-fire, you are lying to yourselves! Because you know what they are, and what they do,” Katsuki’s hands shoot out, indicating the whole horror around him. “This is what they do! And we have to fight back!” 

Katsuki gets right up in Shoji’s space, moving in on the camera, carried forward by his rage.

“All For One says he’s sending us a message? Well, I've got a fuckin’ message for him. You can torture us, and bomb us, and burn our districts to the ground. But do you see that?” 

One of the cameras follows his finger as he points to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from them. The Capitol seal on the wing of one of the planes glows clearly through the smoke and flames. 

“Fire is catching!” Katsuki is shouting now, determined for All For One not to miss a single word. “And if we burn…” Katsuki jabs his finger towards the camera now, and as he does so the sweat on his palms ignites and bursts into a small plume of flame and smoke. “You burn with us!” 

Katsuki’s last words hang in the air along with the telltale smoky-sweet scent of his Quirk. He feels suspended in time, held aloft in a cloud of heat that generates not from his surroundings, but from his own being. 

“Cut!” Jirou’s voice snaps him back into reality, extinguishing him. She gives Katsuki a firm nod of approval. “That’s a wrap.” 

The second the cameras turn off, Katsuki turns around to look at the hospital—just in time to see the rest of the structure give way—and the fight goes out of him completely. All those people, the hundreds of wounded, the families, the medics from 13, are all gone. No more. 

Kudo appears and gets a firm lock on Katsuki’s arm, but Katsuki isn’t planning on running now. He looks over at Kudo and sees his face is more resigned than angry. “Back to the landing strip.” 

Katsuki takes a step forward and winces as he becomes aware again of the pain in his right knee. The adrenaline rush that overrode his pain has left him, leaving his entire body to start joining in on a chorus of complaints. He’s banged up and bloody and there’s a vicious hammering on his left temple from inside his skull. Kudo takes one look at him and scoops Katsuki’s up to jog for the runway. 

The last thing Katsuki remembers is laying on the floor of the hovercraft, his head in Kirishima’s lap, and Kudo covering him with a burlap sack before his vision goes dark. 

When Katsuki wakes up again, he’s back in his old bed in the hospital in District 13. He’s warm under the covers, patched up, and his mother is there. Her head snaps up to look at him when she notices him stirring, and she leans in and cups his cheek. 

“Katsuki,” she breathes in relief, “Nobody told me a thing. Nobody told me you were going to Eight until you were already gone.” 

Katsuki feels a pang of guilt run through him seeing the worry on his mother’s face—an expression he always worked so hard to keep from being there. 

“I was just supposed to be visiting the wounded. We weren’t expecting the attack,” Katsuki tells her, “Next time I’ll have ‘em clear it with you.” 

Mitsuki’s eyebrows knit together. “Nobody ‘clears’ anything with me,” she says, “I’m just a nurse.” 

“An army nurse, thank you very much,” Katsuki says, smirking weakly. He would make sure she at least gets notified from now on. This isn’t the kind of shit that should be overlooked, when Mitsuki has had to send her son off to the Hunger Games twice.

Mitsuki huffs out a laugh, and pinches his cheek a little. “Brat. Don’t use my own words against me,” she mutters, “How do you feel?” 

“A little beat up, but okay,” Katsuki says. He eyes a hunk of shrapnel on the bedside table, and raises his eyebrows. “Fuck. Was that in my leg?” 

“Yes,” Mitsuki says with a weary sigh, giving a disdainful look to the hunk of metal. “The doctors are more concerned about your head, though, after all of those explosions. You’re not fully healed from your concussion. You fell unconscious and threw up all over yourself, according to Eijirou.” 

Katsuki grimaces. “That’s so fuckin’ lame.” 

Mitsuki scoffs. “Well, you know Eijirou. He thinks you're ‘manly’ no matter what you do,” she says. She moves on from maternal things and starts slipping into her medical persona as she checks his vitals. “Any double vision? Are you hungry?” 

“No,” Katsuki says, “To the vision thing. I’m fuckin’ starving, though.” 

“Figures. You slept straight through,” Mitsuki says, “I’ll have them bring you some food.” 

His breakfast is disappointingly small, just a few cubes of bread soaking in some warm milk, but he quickly understands why when just a few minutes after he eats he’s hit with a thick bout of nausea. He gets called down to an early morning meeting at Command, and they plan on rolling Katsuki there in his hospital bed. 

Katsuki scowls. “What the fuck, no. That’s so fucking lame.” 

Mitsuki sighs. “Katsuki…”

“I feel fine,” Katsuki insists, “I can walk.” 

“You are not walking,” his mother tells him, “But I can get you a wheelchair.” 

Well, maybe with his head, and his leg, and the soreness of his bruises, and his nausea, a wheelchair might not be such a bad idea. "Fine. But nobody is pushin' me! I'll do it myself." 

"Fine, whatever, brat," Mitsuki says, rolling her eyes, "If it'll keep you off that damn leg." 

Later, when Katsuki wheels into Command, the only ones who have arrived so far are his TV crew, and Jirou beams when she sees him. “There’s our star!” 

They’re all smiling at him so genuinely—it’s even obvious from behind Shoji’s mask. Katsuki is able to get a better look at Koda, and takes in the position of his lips, the extra effort it seems to take him to swallow. He remembers how Koda had only nodded to him in greeting yesterday, and suddenly Katsuki understands why. Koda is not simply shy, or a man of few words. He’s an Avox. Katsuki doesn’t have to wonder what made him risk everything to help bring down the Capitol. 

More people begin to arrive in Command—a sour-faced Toshinori, Pinky (whose expression is equally pinched), Yoichi, Kudo, and Kirishima, who slides into the seat next to Katsuki’s wheelchair and gently touches his temple. “How ya feelin', Katnip?” 

“Fine,” Katsuki says, knocking Kirishima's hand away lightly. “Did ya manage to get all the puke outta your uniform?” It’s about as close as he can get to apologizing for throwing up all over Kirishima’s lap.

Kirishima grins. “Heard about that, did ya? Don’t worry, you mostly got it on yourself. Had to roll you over so you didn’t choke to death. You’re welcome.” 

“My hero,” Katsuki mutters flatly, “They have to dig anythin’ outta you, too?” 

“No big deal. A few pieces of shrapnel, which they didn’t let me keep because they’re a ‘biohazard’,” Kirishima says with a pout.

“The chunk they took outta my leg was still there on the table when I woke up. I think the hag kept it there on purpose.”

Kirishima snickers. “Probably to try and get ya to understand the gravity of your wound so you’d take it easy for once. Looks like it worked. Nice set of wheels you got there.” 

Before Katsuki can tell Kirishima to shut his trap, Yoichi calls the meeting to order, cutting off the conversations around the room. “For any of you who missed yesterday’s twenty-hundred broadcast—or the seventeen reruns that Private Kaminari has managed to air since—we’ll begin by replaying it now.” 

So not only was their usable footage, they had already managed to slap together a propo and air it repeatedly. Katsuki’s palms grow moist in anticipation. What if he’s still awful? What if he’s still as stiff and pointless as he was in the studio? Individual screens slide up from the table, the lights dim slightly, and a hush falls over the room. 

At first the screen is black. Then, sparks flicker in the centre, then flames blossom and spread, bright and intense, and swallow up the entire frame. Then, an image of Katsuki’s mockingjay pin emerges, glowing red-gold. And suddenly, there is Katsuki, replacing the flames and standing before the real fire and smoke in District 8. The outrage on his face is palpable and, most importantly, entirely genuine. 

The camera cuts to the hospital collapsing in on itself, the desperation of the onlookers, and Katsuki continues to speak in a voice-over, then back to Katsuki when he lifts up his arms to show the horrors around him, before going into a montage of the battle. The bombs falling, everyone running, Katsuki being thrown to the ground. A close up of the wound on his leg, which looks good and bloody. He and Kirishima scaling the roof, diving into the nests, and then shots of the rebels returning gunfire. Then amazing shots of Kirishima and Katsuki knocking planes out of the sky with their explosive arrows. 

Then there’s a smash-cut back to Katsuki’s furious face as he moves in towards the camera, imposing in his righteous fury. And when Katsuki points, the camera tracks the movement towards the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse, and zooms in tight on the Capitol seal on the wing of one of the planes. The seal melts back into an image of Katsuki’s face, shouting into the camera: “Fire is catching! And if we burn…" Then Katsuki points straight at the viewer, straight at All For One, and his explosive Quirk sends a plume of sparks and smoke from his hand right as he hollers out, “Then you burn with us!” 

Flames engulf the screen once again, and superimposed on them in black, solid letters are the words: 

IF WE BURN 

YOU BURN WITH US 

Then the words catch fire and the whole screen burns back into blackness. 

There’s a moment of silent relish, then loud applause from all but Katsuki, who instantly needs to know more. He turns to Hawks, who is sitting adjacent to him at the table and asks over the cheers and clapping, “Did this play all over Panem? Even in the Capitol?” 

“It played in all the districts, even in Two, which may be even more valuable than getting it in the Capitol at this point in the game,” Hawks says, “We’ve still got Denki working on overriding the Capitol’s system to air it there, though,” Then he slaps his hand on the table and calls out to the room, “Let’s give another round of applause to Kyoka, her amazing team, and of course, our on-camera talent!” 

This time Katsuki joins in on the applause until he realises that he’s the on-camera talent and maybe it’s obnoxious for him to be applauding himself, but no one’s paying attention, anyway. Katsuki can’t help but notice the strain still on Pinky’s face; it must be hard for her watching Toshinori’s idea succeed under Jirou’s direction, when her studio approach had been such a flop. 

“This result is more than we could have hoped for,” Yoichi says, “However, I do have to question the wide margin of risk that you were willing to operate within. I know the raid was unforeseen, but given the circumstances, I think we need to discuss the decision to send Private Bakugou into actual combat.” 

The decision to send him into combat? Then that meant Yoichi didn’t know that Katsuki flagrantly disregarded orders, ripped out his earpiece, and gave his team the slip. What else had everyone kept from their president? 

“It was a tough call,” Hawks says, rubbing his neck, “But the general consensus was that we weren’t gonna get anythin’ worth usin’ if we locked him in a bunker every time a gun went off.” 

Yoichi looks at Katsuki. “And you’re alright with that?” 

“Hell yeah I am,” Katsuki says instantly, “It felt good gettin’ to do somethin’ for a change.” 

Yoichi nods. “Well, moving forward we should be a little more judicious with your exposure, especially now that the Capitol knows what you can do,” he says. There’s a rumble of assent from around the table. Yoichi then looks at Jirou. “What do you have planned next?”

Jirou consults a clipboard that Tokoyami hands to her for a moment. “We’ve got some terrific footage of Bakugou at the hospital in Eight. Another propo can be done with that, focusing on Bakugou interacting with the patients, the bombing of the hospital, and the wreckage. Tokoyami’s gonna cut all of that together. We’re also thinking about a Mockingjay piece, highlighting some of Bakugou’s best moments interlaced with scenes of rebel uprisings and war footage. And then Mina came up with a really brilliant idea.” 

Mina? Katsuki hasn’t heard that name before. He looks around the room to who Jirou could be referring to—another member of Jirou’s team, maybe?—but then he catches sight of Pinky, whose sour-grapes expression has been shocked right off her face, but she recovers enough to mumble out, “I-I don’t know how ‘brilliant’ it is, but…” 

Oh. That must be Pinky’s real name, not her trendy Capitol code name. Yoichi is giving Mina an expectant look, waiting for her to continue. 

Mina bites her lip nervously and continues, “I was thinking we could do a series of propos called We Remember. In each one, we could feature one of the dead tributes. Like little Mahoro from Eleven or Chiyo from Four. Target each district with a really personal piece…” 

“A tribute to the tributes,” Hawks says with a proud smile. 

“That’s a fantastic idea!” Kirishima cries, emphatic and tearful, “It’s the perfect way to remind people what they’re fighting for!” 

Mina looks deeply mollified by the response to her idea, her black eyes twinkling as she looks at Kirishima. It’s hard to tell since her face is already pink, but Katsuki is pretty sure she’s blushing. “Th-thank you! I thought we could use Shoto to introduce and narrate the spots, if there winds up being any interest in them…” 

“Can you start producing them today?” Yoichi asks. 

“Y-yes! Of course, sir,” Mina says urgently. She looks close to tears. 

Yoichi sends everyone off to get to work on the next phase of the Airtime Assault, and Kirishima follows Katsuki back to the hospital. 

“Guess nobody wanted to make themselves look bad by admittin' they couldn’t keep us under control, huh?” Kirishima murmurs. He tries to help Katsuki get his wheelchair onto the elevator, but Katsuki waves him off.

"They also can’t jeopardise the chance of takin' us out again after they finally managed to get some decent footage," Katsuki grunts as he pushes the wheels of his chair over the lip of the elevator doors. 

Kirishima has to meet Kaminari down in Special Weaponry, so once he drops Katsuki back in his hospital room, Katsuki goes down for a nap. 

It seems like he’s only shut his eyes for a few minutes, and by the time he opens them again, he flinches at the sight of Toshinori sitting beside his bed. Waiting. Possibly for several hours, if the clock is right. 

Toshinori leans over and dangles something on a thin white wire in front of Katsuki’s nose, and then drops it so it lands on Katsuki’s chest. 

“That is your earpiece,” Toshinori says, “I will give you exactly one more chance to wear it. If you remove it from your ear again, I will have Young Kaminari and Young Hatsume make alterations to your hearing aid that you won’t be able to mute. And if for some reason you’re clever enough to disable that,”—Toshinori whips out a tiny silver chip—“Then I’ll have this transmitter surgically implanted into your ear so that I can speak to you twenty-four hours a day.” 

Katsuki shudders at the horrifying thought. “I’ll keep it in,” he mutters. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’ll keep the fuckin’ earpiece in!” Katsuki shouts, loud enough to wake up half the hospital.

Katsuki scrunches up the earpiece wire and flings it back in Toshinori’s face, though he catches it easily. He was probably expecting Katsuki to throw it. 

“By the way, you took too long to wake up, so I ate your lunch while I was waiting,” Toshinori says. 

Katsuki looks over to the empty stew bowl and tray on his bedside table, and pouts at the same time his stomach lets out a long groan of protest. “I’ll fucking report you.” 

“You do that, kiddo.” 

Chapter Text

iv.

Katsuki stops trying to sleep after his first few attempts are interrupted by unspeakable nightmares. After that, he stares up at the ceiling, restless as images from yesterday begin to flood back into the present. The bombing, the fiery plane crashes, the faces of the wounded who no longer exist. He imagines death from all sides. The last moment before seeing a shell hit the ground; feeling the wing blown from his plane and the dizzying nosedive into oblivion; the warehouse roof falling down on him while he’s pinned helplessly to his cot. The things he saw, in person and on tape. The things he caused with a pull of his bowstring. Things he will never be able to erase from his memory. 

In the morning, he’s released from the hospital and instructed to take it easy. Jirou asks him to record a few lines for a Mockingjay propo. 

After lunch, he has training—which means hunting—but Kirishima is scheduled to work with Kaminari in Special Weaponry again, so Katsuki gets permission to take Todoroki with him instead. Todoroki was recently assigned quarters on Katsuki’s old floor, but still has so many mental relapses he practically lives in the hospital. Perhaps some time outdoors that isn’t just the usual hour allotted for being above ground in the training yard would do Todoroki some good. 

Katsuki takes Todoroki to the pond he found with Kirishima the first time they came out hunting. Todoroki crouches down by the edge of the pond and runs his hands back and forth through the cool, pleasant water, a tiny smile on his face. It must be the first time he’s been around a body of water since the clock arena. 

“I wish we could go swimming,” Todoroki laments softly, “But it might damage the trackers they put on us.” 

They make do with splashing their faces with the pond water instead, staving off the scorching August heat. Then they sit by the pond in silence for long enough that a buck wanders into range from across the water. Katsuki takes it down with an arrow, and together they haul it back to the fence. There’s minced venison in the stew that evening for dinner. 

That night, Katsuki lays awake in Compartment 1A, staring up at the ceiling while he spends another sleepless night rolling his pearl around between his fingers. 

The following morning, Katsuki sticks his forearm into the wall to have his schedule imprinted onto his arm. Looking groggily down at the sickly purple ink, he sees that he’s scheduled for Production immediately after breakfast. 

In the dining hall, as Katsuki downs his hot grain and mushy beets, he spots a new communicuff on Kirishima’s wrist. “When did you get that back, Private Eijirou Kirishima?” 

“Yesterday,” Kirishima replies, “They figured if I’m gonna be on the field with you, it could be a backup system of communication.”

“Nobody’s ever offered me a communicuff,” Katsuki grumbles. 

“Well, you haven’t exactly shown an interest in the cause up until a few days ago,” Kirishima tells him, “But I’m sure you would get one if you asked.” 

“And walk around with that ugly thing? Pass,” Katsuki grunts, “You scheduled for Production, too?” 

“Yep. Always by your side, just like you requested, Mr. Mockingjay,” Kirishima grins at Katsuki and shoots him a wink. 

Katsuki feels his cheeks burn. “You’re already making me regret it.” 

When they arrive at the Remake Room, Katsuki discovers that they’ll be returning to District 12. Jirou wants to do unscripted interviews with Katsuki and Kirishima, throwing light on their demolished city. Katsuki’s prep team dresses him in his Mockingjay costume, does his hair, and dabs on a little bit of makeup to take the edge off the dark circles under his sleepless eyes. 

At the last minute, Katsuki remembers to send a message to his mother about him leaving 13 again, and stresses that it won’t be dangerous. 

On board the hovercraft for the short ride over to District 12, Hawks gives them a status report on the after effects of the first few propos. The rebels, who were barely maintaining a foothold in several districts up until now, have rallied. They’ve successfully taken District 3 and District 11—the latter of which being crucial as it is Panem’s main food supplier—and have made inroads in several other districts as well. 

“We’re gonna have the first round of We Remember spots ready tonight, too,” Hawks says, “That way we’ll be able to target districts more directly with personal stories about their fallen tributes.” 

“Todoroki was a perfect choice to narrate the spots. It’s painful to watch,” Jirou says, “He knew so many of them personally. And he’s done some really gut-wrenching tell-alls about all of his siblings’ Games, too.”

“That’s what makes it so effective,” Hawks says, “It’s straight from the heart. You’re all doing perfectly.” 

“Is Toshinori not coming with us?” Kirishima asks. 

Hawks shakes his head. “He said he couldn’t face it.” 

Katsuki thought he had come to terms with the demise of District 12 himself since walking through its ashes, but not even a minute after they land in the meadow Katsuki understands why Toshinori had decided not to confront it. Everything brings on a fresh pang of grief. Was he simply too out of it the first time he came here to fully register the loss of his world? Or perhaps it’s seeing the look on Kirishima’s face as he takes in the destruction for the first time from the ground that makes the atrocity of it all feel brand-new. 

Jirou directs the team to start with Katsuki at his old house in the Seam. She tells him to do whatever he feels like, but standing back in what used to be his old kitchen, Katsuki finds he doesn’t feel like doing much of anything. He focuses on the sky, the only roof left, drowning in his memories. After a while, Jirou murmurs, “That’s fine, Bakugou. Let’s move on.” 

Kirishima doesn’t get off so easily when they find the remains of his house. Jirou films him in silence for a few minutes as he wanders through what is left standing of his home, then starts to question him about his family, his job, what life was like in the Seam. Then she asks him about the night of the bombing. 

“We were all standin’ in the town square, watchin’ the Games on the big screens they set up outside the Justice Building,” Kirishima begins, “Then the screens went dark after the arrow hit the force field. Nobody knew what happened. We got forced back to our homes by the Peacekeepers. And the town was dead quiet. Then we started to hear their trucks pullin’ out. All of ‘em were leaving, every single Peacekeeper. And I knew just what it meant. So me and a coupla the other guys from the mines started to pull people from their homes, tried to get ‘em all to the district line, but a lotta people were scared of the forest. So they headed up onto the road, tried to make a break for it that way…” 

The cameras stay on Kirishima as he walks down the street back towards the meadow. 

“Bombers circled back towards the road, and firebombed people as they ran away,” he goes on, “Nine hundred and fifteen of us made it to the fence. Nine hundred and fifteen…out of ten-thousand.” 

Kirishima’s eyes well with tears as he looks at the torn down electric fence. “I shoulda grabbed people. Dragged ‘em with me. Some of the kids I easily coulda carried…” 

“You saved so many people, Kirishima,” Jirou tells him, “Without you, there would be nothing left of District Twelve at all. Not even the memory of it.” 

Kirishima’s fists, clenched tightly at his sides, tremble as tears roll down his face. “But I coulda done so much more.” 

They all work their way down the meadow and through the woods, where Kirishima collects himself enough to continue recounting the night of the bombing. Katsuki trails behind the bodyguards and camera crew, feeling their presence to be a violation to his beloved woods. This is a private place, a sanctuary, already corrupted by the Capitol’s evil. Even after they’ve left behind the charred tree stumps near the fence, they’re still tripping over decomposing bodies. Do they really have to record this for everyone to see? 

By the time they reach the lake, Kirishima seems to have lost the ability to speak. Everyone is dripping sweat, especially Shoji and Koda with their camera shells on, so Jirou calls for a break. Katsuki scoops up handfuls of water from the lake, then runs his hands back and forth through the water the same way Todoroki had done at the pond. He recalls how Todoroki had wished they could swim, and now Katsuki shares in that sentiment. He wanders around the perimeter of the lake for a while, coming back around to the little concrete lake house. 

Katsuki pauses in the doorway when he sees Kirishima standing inside the lake house. He turns and meets Katsuki’s eyes, and Katsuki knows that they’re both thinking of their meeting here last winter. When they had fought over whether or not to run away. If they had run, would District 12 still be standing? Katsuki thinks it would be. But the Capitol would still be in control of Panem, as well. 

He wonders if Kirishima is also thinking about what happened just before their argument. About how this place was also where they had kissed. The air between them hangs heavy with everything that has happened since their lips touched under this very roof. Neither of them can find the words to say. Perhaps that’s for the best. Katsuki turns around and walks back outside. 

Cheese sandwiches are passed around for lunch and they all sit in the shade of the trees to eat. Katsuki intentionally sits at the far end of the group, next to Koda, so he doesn’t have to talk. But then again nobody is really doing much talking. In the relative quiet, the birds take back the woods. 

Koda taps Katsuki on the shoulder and then points to a low branch, where there’s a small black bird. It hops onto another branch, momentarily opening its wings, revealing the white patches on its plumage. Katsuki looks back at Koda when he feels him poke him in the chest, right above his golden pin. 

“Yeah, that’s a mockingjay,” Katsuki tells him. 

He lifts his chin and whistles out Mahoro’s four-note melody to the mockingjay. The mockingjay cocks its head and whistles the call back to Katsuki. To Katsuki’s surprise, Koda whistles a few notes of his own, and the mockingjay answers him immediately. Koda’s face breaks into an expression of delight, and he continues to exchange a series of tunes back and forth with the bird. Katsuki figures it’s probably the first conversation he’s had in years. 

The music draws more mockingjays in, until Koda has about a half dozen of them perched on the branches above their heads. Koda taps Katsuki on the arm again, then taps his fingers to Katsuki’s lips, points to the birds, then waves his hand back and forth. Katsuki is pretty sure Koda is asking Katsuki not just to whistle to the mockingjays, but to sing to them. Normally Katsuki would instantly decline, but he finds it’s kind of impossible to say no to Koda, given his circumstances. 

“Alright, fine. Just one,” Katsuki says. Koda nods eagerly. 

Katsuki stands up and moves closer to the tree, resting his hand on the rough bark of the maple where the birds all perch, and tries to think of a song. The bark under his fingers reminds him of one he hasn’t heard sung out loud in ten years. Not only because the last time he heard it was when his father sang it, but also because it was forbidden. Still, he remembers every word. 

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree 

Where they strung up a man

They say who murdered three 

Strange things did happen here 

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight

In the hanging tree

The mockingjays begin to alter their songs as they become aware of Katsuki’s new offering. 

Are you, are you 

Coming to the tree

Where the dead man called out

For his love to flee

Strange things did happen here 

No stranger would it be 

If we met up at midnight

In the hanging tree 

He’s got the bird’s attention now. One more verse, and they will have captured the simple melody completely. 

Are you, are you 

Coming to the tree

Where I told you to run

So we’d both be free

Strange things did happen here 

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight 

In the hanging tree

There’s a hush, just a rustle of leaves in the trees. Not a single bird, mockingjay or other, makes a sound as they listen. Deku was right. The birds do fall silent when Katsuki sings. Just like they did for his father. 

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be 

If we met up at midnight

In the hanging tree

Katsuki steps back from the tree, glances sideways, and is surprised to see that Shoji is taping him. Koda has tears rolling down his face. Katsuki sighs and leans back against the trunk as the mockingjays begin their rendition of ‘The Hanging Tree’. It’s a lot prettier coming out of their mouths, in Katsuki’s opinion. Conscious of being filmed, Katsuki stands quietly until he hears Jirou call, “Cut!” 

Hawks, where he’s perched on a rock by the lake, begins to clap, and lets out an incredulous laugh. “How d’you even come up with this stuff?” 

Katsuki looks away, frowning. “I wasn’t doin’ it for the cameras,” he mutters. 

“Well, you’re still golden, kid.” 

After they finish their lunch, they head back towards town. As they trudge back through the woods, they reach a boulder, and both Katsuki and Kirishima turn their heads towards it. It’s their old rendezvous from when they would go hunting. Jirou notices this and asks to see more of it. The rock ledge overlooks the valley. It’s perhaps a little less green than usual, but the blackberry bushes still hang heavy with fruit. It was here that began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading their thoughts while they filled their game bags. The doorway to both sustenance and sanity, where Katsuki and Kirishima were each other’s key. 

There’s no District 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took it all away. And Katsuki fears that without that mutual need that bonded them so tightly together for all those years, once this war was over, one way or another he might lose Kirishima, too. Katsuki’s fingers encircle around a blackberry and pluck it from its stem, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger. It stains his fingertips with its juices. Suddenly, he turns and tosses the berry in Kirishima’s direction.

“And may the odds…” Katsuki begins, throwing the berry high up so Kirishima can react to it in time; so he can decide whether to accept or knock away a piece of their past that he might be unwilling to look back on, after everything they’ve been through. 

Kirishima’s eyes stay on Katsuki, not the berry, but at the last moment he opens his mouth and catches it on his tongue. He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, he says, “…be ever in your favour.” 

Kirishima was right. It was no fun without the weird little accent.

Katsuki looks away, and licks some of the berry juice off the side of his thumb.

Jirou has them sit in the nook in the rocks, where it’s impossible not to be touching, and coaxes them into talking about hunting. What drove them into the woods, and their favourite moments. They eventually thaw, and Kirishima starts to smile and laugh a little as he recounts a story of Katsuki getting chased by a bear after a dispute over a beehive, the same story that Katsuki recalls telling Deku about one day during training for their first Games. Thinking of Deku has Katsuki’s chest lurching with fresh pain, and he dives into a story about Kirishima having a dead squirrel stolen right off his belt by a wild dog, which gets Kirishima talking about the time Katsuki got sprayed by a skunk. 

“It’s a good thing it was summertime, because Auntie refused to let him sleep inside,” Kirishima says, chuckling. 

Kirishima never calls Katsuki’s mother ‘Auntie’. He must be doing it to play into the whole storyline that they were cousins. The only one who has ever called Mitsuki ‘Auntie’ was Deku… but the camera is still rolling, so he couldn’t let himself get carried away by the ache in his chest. 

“She woulda made me sleep outside even if there'd been a snowstorm,” Katsuki says, forcing himself to stay engaged. 

When the conversation turns to how it felt to translate their skills with weapons to the bombing in District 8, Katsuki can’t bring himself to speak. 

“Long overdue,” is all Kirishima says. 

By the time they reach the town square, afternoon is sinking into evening. One of the only landmarks left of District 12 is the dead tree that stands vigil over the dust of the place. Katsuki knows it well. It was the apple tree in the backyard of the bakery—the same one he had sat under eight years ago, defeated, exhausted, and starving, just before Deku had given him the bread that saved his life. It was now one of the only things, living or dead, that remained unflattened by the bombing. Its days are numbered—it is a skeleton where it stands, as likely to be blown over by the next storm as it was to remain. It was the first thing Katsuki noticed from the air when he was first brought back here. It stands dark and defiant amongst the rest of the rubble. Katsuki brings Jirou to the remains of the bakery and asks her to film him there. The only emotion he can muster as he stares at the dead tree is exhaustion. 

“Deku, this is your home. Your mom hasn’t been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you’re calling for a cease-fire?” Katsuki looks across the emptiness. “There’s no one left to hear you.” 

As they stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Jirou asks if either of them has ever been tortured. In answer, Kirishima pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. Katsuki stares at the old lash marks, and hears the whistling of the whip, and sees Kirishima’s bloody figure hanging unconscious by the wrists, and has to close his eyes against the flood of memories. 

Once again, Jirou has them relive another horrible day. Kirishima recounts being caught with the wild turkey by Commander Muscular, the pain of the whip. He doesn’t remember how many lashes it took before he finally passed out. Then it’s up to Katsuki to take over the story, to fill in the gaps where Kirishima was unconscious. He talks about rushing across the square, taking a lash across the face when he blocked Kirishima from the whip. Koda zooms in on Katsuki’s face then, to get a good shot of the pale, thin scar just below his left eye.

Then Katsuki brings up how Toshinori and Deku came to his and Kirishima’s aid and talked down Muscular, and how Deku carried Kirishima all the way to the Victor’s Village on his back. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki catches Kirishima’s eyebrows shoot up upon hearing this particular fact, though he doesn’t comment on it. 

As they continue to tell the tale, they follow the path through the town square to the gates of the Victor’s Village, up to the door of Katsuki’s house, all the way into the kitchen, taking the same route they did that day; showing how far Deku had carried the bloodied Kirishima on his back. Katsuki talks about how his mother had a long history of dealing with victims of whippings. Jirou gets Koda to close in on Kirishima, staring down the kitchen table where he had lay bleeding from the wounds of his torture, and then Jirou calls for a wrap. 

“Good work, you two,” Jirou says. Sensing the palpable weariness in both Katsuki and Kirishima, she gives them the room. “We’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.” 

Katsuki decides to preoccupy himself with looking through his cabinets to see if there’s anything else worthwhile to bring back to his mother. He finds a box and begins to meticulously line it with ceramic jars and glass bottles, placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent them from breaking. As he’s wrapping up a bundle of dried flowers, he suddenly remembers the rose that was left on his dresser the last time he was here. Had it been real? If so, is it still up there? Katsuki resists the temptation to check. If it is there, seeing it will just sicken and frighten him all over again. He hurries along with his packing until the cabinets are empty.

Finally, he turns to look at Kirishima, who is still leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. 

“This is where you kissed me,” Kirishima says. 

So now Katsuki knows. The heavy dose of morphling administered to Kirishima after the whipping wasn’t enough to erase that from his consciousness, after all. Katsuki remembers thinking how it would be for the best if Kirishima didn’t remember that kiss. How it would make things easier for both of them if he just forgot.

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” Katsuki murmurs. 

“I’d hafta be dead to forget,” Kirishima says quietly, “Maybe not even then.” 

There’s a long beat of silence between them. Kirishima runs his hand along the grain of the table. “Maybe I’ll be like that man in ‘The Hanging Tree’. Still waitin’ for an answer.” 

Kirishima has never been a man who shied away from showing his emotions. Who believed that crying was manly. Katsuki has seen Kirishima crying plenty of times, for plenty of reasons, good or bad. But the tears in Kirishima’s eyes now, Katsuki can’t bear to see spill over. 

So to keep them from doing so, he steps forward and presses his lips against Kirishima’s. They both taste of heat, ashes, and misery. A strange and surprising flavour for such a gentle kiss. 

Kirishima is the first to pull away. He gives Katsuki a small, sad smile. “I knew you’d kiss me.” 

“How?” Katsuki asks, because he didn’t know himself. 

“Because I’m in pain,” Kirishima says, “That’s the only way I seem to get your attention.” 

Kirishima cups Katsuki’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the light scar splashed across his left cheekbone, where the lash struck him. Then he picks up the box Katsuki packed. 

“Don’t worry, Katnip,” Kirishima says softly, “It’ll pass.” 

When Katsuki makes it back to District 13, he drops off his Mockingjay suit and then goes to Compartment 1A and goes to bed without eating. His mother has to shake him awake to get him up in the morning. 

After breakfast, he ignores his schedule and takes a nap in the supply closet. When he comes to, it’s already dinnertime. Since he never scanned in for lunch, he gets an extra-large portion of pea soup. Afterwards, he’s on his way back to Compartment 1A to go back to sleep when he’s intercepted by Kudo. 

“There’s a meeting in Command,” Kudo says, “Disregard your current schedule.” 

“Done,” Katsuki says. 

Kudo looks vaguely exasperated. “Did you follow it at all today?” 

“Who knows? I’m mentally disoriented, remember?” Katsuki holds up his wrist to show off his medical bracelet only to realise he’s no longer wearing it. “See? I can’t even remember that they took it off.”

When Kudo and Katsuki arrive at Command, it’s crowded with people, but Katsuki weaves his way through the throng and winds up between Hawks and Todoroki. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Katsuki asks. 

“Kaminari thinks he’s found a way to break into the feed nationwide, so that our propos will air in the Capitol, too,” Todoroki explains, “He’s down in Special Defense working on it now. He’s gonna try and infiltrate during some live programming tonight to test it. All For One is making an appearance, or something.” 

Just then, the Capitol seal appears on the screen, underscored by the anthem. Then Katsuki is staring into the cold, pale snake eyes of All For One as he greets the nation. He’s barricaded behind a podium, with the white rose on his lapel in full view. Then the camera pulls back to include Deku, standing off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. 

Deku’s physical transformation shocks Katsuki. The healthy, clear-eyed boy he saw a few days ago has lost at least fifteen pounds and developed a nervous tremor in his hands. They still have him groomed, but the makeup cannot cover the bags under his eyes or the beads of sweat which have broken out on his upper lip and forehead, and the fine clothes cannot conceal the pain he feels when he moves.

“Deku…” Katsuki whispers. 

Katsuki’s mind reels, trying to make sense of it. He just saw him! How has he deteriorated so rapidly? What could they have possibly done to Deku in such a short time? He replays in his mind as much as he can remember of Deku’s first appearance on screen, his interview with Present Mic, searching for anything that could place it in time. But there’s nothing. 

Then it hits him. They could have taped that interview a day or two after Katsuki blew up the arena, and then done whatever they wanted to Deku ever since. 

What frightens Katsuki the most is the angry and unfocused look in Deku’s forest-green eyes. He vaguely feels Todoroki grasp his wrist and squeeze it, giving Katsuki an anchor, and Katsuki tries to hang on. 

“There’s been damage to key infrastructures in various districts,” Deku begins in a frustrated tone. Next to him, parts of the map begin to light up, showing images of destruction. “Tonight we have received reports of a derailed train full of toxic waste, granaries on fire, and a savage attack on the hydroelectric dam in District Five. These have all been attributed to—“

Without warning, suddenly Katsuki is on television, standing in the rubble of the bakery. 

“Deku, this is your home,” says the jaded, on-screen Katsuki, “Your mom hasn’t been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you’re calling for a cease-fire? There’s no one left to hear you.” 

Hawks pumps his fist triumphantly. “Ha! He did it! Denki broke in!” 

The room is buzzing with excitement and then the screen cuts back to Deku, visibly distracted, his eyelashes fluttering. He’s seen Katsuki on the monitor. Deku tries to pick up his speech by moving on to the bombing of a water purification plant, when suddenly a clip of Todoroki talking about Chiyo replaces him. And then the whole thing breaks down into a broadcast battle, as the Capitol tech masters try to fend off Kaminari’s attack. But they are unprepared, and Kaminari, apparently anticipating he would not hold on to control, has an arsenal of five- to ten-second clips to work with. The official presentation gets peppered with choice shots from the propos. 

Hawks is laughing in delight and almost everybody in the room is cheering Kaminari on, but Todoroki remains still and speechless beside Katsuki. Katsuki meets Toshinori’s eyes from across the room and sees his own dread mirrored back at him. With every cheer, Deku slips even farther from their grasp. 

The Capitol seal is back up, accompanied by a flat audio tone which lasts about twenty seconds before All For One and Deku return. The set is in turmoil. There’s frantic exchanges coming from the booth. But All For One appears calm and composed, with that ever present small smile pulling at his lips, as if this whole thing is amusing to him. He places a hand on Deku’s shoulder, and Deku flinches at his touch. Katsuki feels a scream and bile building in throat and isn’t sure which one will win out. 

“Clearly the radicals are trying to disrupt the spread of information which they find incriminating to their cause,” All For One says softly, “But both truth and justice will always reign supreme. We shall resume the full broadcast when security has been fully reinstated. Now then, Izuku Midoriya…given tonight’s demonstration, do you have any parting thoughts for your fiancé, Katsuki Bakugou?” 

At the mention of Katsuki’s name, Deku’s face contorts in effort. The camera zooms in until Deku’s face fills the frame, his forest-green eyes unfocused. 

“Kacchan,” Deku says slowly, as though he’s sounding out the syllables on his tongue. He blinks rapidly, and then he looks right into the camera. “Kacchan, don’t be an idiot. Think for yourself. The rebels have turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you’ve got any real influence, use it to put an end to this. Use it to stop the war before it’s too late. How do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts…” Deku trails off, his mouth twitching. He looks away from the camera for a moment, his eyes wide and insane.

“And you, in Thirteen…” Deku suddenly inhales sharply, as though he’s fighting for air. His eyes flash back to the camera, and his next words come out in a rush, “Dead by morning!” 

Kaminari suddenly throws the broadcast back into chaos by flashing a still shot of Katsuki standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, the real-life action plays out on the set. Deku attempts to continue talking, frantic and panicked.

“Kacchan! They’re coming, Kacchan—!”

“Cut it!” All For One snaps from off-screen.

The camera gets knocked over, recording the white tile floor. There’s a scuffle of boots. The impact of a blow that’s inseparable from Deku’s cry of pain.

And then Deku’s blood splatters across the tiles. 

The scream begins in Katsuki’s lower back and works its way up through his body only to jam in his throat until Katsuki is choking on his grief. Even if Katsuki could release the muscles in his neck, let the sound tear into space, would anyone even notice? The room is in a complete uproar. 

“Everyone shut up!” Toshinori’s voice calls the attention of the others. “The kid is being beaten bloody while we all stand around panicking. What more of a warning do you all need?” Toshinori whirls on Yoichi. “Get your people ready for an attack.” 

Yoichi doesn’t seem alarmed, only somewhat perplexed, by this turn of events. Then he begins to type rapidly on his keyboard. “Colonel Kudo, prepare everyone for a Level Five security lockdown.” He taps a few more keys to authorise the decision, and as soon as he raises his head, it begins. 

There have been two low-level security drills since Katsuki arrived in District 13. He doesn’t remember much about the first, since he was still in intensive care in the hospital and patients were exempted for practice drills. He remembers being vaguely aware of a mechanical voice instructing people to congregate to yellow zones. During the second, a Level Two drill meant for minor crises, people were expected to return to their living quarters. Katsuki stayed behind a pipe in the laundry room, ignored the pulsating beeps coming over the audio system, and watched a spider construct a web. 

Neither experience has prepared him for the wordless, eardrum-piercing, fear-inducing sirens that now permeate District 13. 

Kudo guides Todoroki and Katsuki out of Command, along the hall to a doorway, and onto a wide stairway. Streams of people are converging to form a river that flows only downward. No one shrieks or tries to push ahead. Even the children don’t resist. The sound of the sirens seems designed to throw the whole population into a frenzy, but this is District 13. That doesn’t happen here. 

They all descend, flight after flight, speechless. Katsuki looks around for his mother, for Kirishima, but it’s impossible to see anyone but those immediately around him. She’d be working in the hospital tonight, so there was no way she would miss the alarm. 

Katsuki’s ears pop and his eyes feel heavy. They are coal-mine deep. The farther they retreat into the earth, the less shrill the sirens become. Groups of people begin to peel off into marked doorways and still Kudo directs Katsuki downward, until finally the stairs end at the edge of an enormous cavern. Kudo gets him to scan the schedule on his arm in front of a panel, to show he’s accounted for. 

Certain areas of the walls are made of stone, while steel beams and concrete heavily reinforce others, as though the place can’t decide if it’s natural or man-made. Sleeping bunks are hewn right into the rock walls. There’s a kitchen, bathrooms, and a first-aid station. It was clearly designed for an extended stay. 

White signs with letters or numbers are placed at intervals around the cavern, and Kudo instructs Katsuki and Todoroki to report to the area that matches their assigned quarters—in Katsuki’s case, 'A' for Compartment 1A. He crosses to the big letter A posted on the wall. The space consists of a twelve-by-twelve-foot square of stone floor delineated by painted lines. Carved into the wall are two bunks, and a ground-level cube space for storage. There’s a piece of white paper, coated in clear plastic, which reads ‘Bunker Protocol’. Katsuki stares fixedly at the little black specks on the sheet. For a while, they’re obscured by the residual blood droplets that he can’t seem to wipe from his vision. Katsuki scrubs at his face, and then looks at the page again. Slowly, the words come into focus. 

       1. Make sure all members of your Compartment are accounted for.

Katsuki looks around. His mother hasn’t arrived yet, but Katsuki was one of the first people to reach the bunker. She might be helping to relocate hospital patients. He looks back to the paper.

       2. Go to the Supply Station and secure one pack for each member of your Compartment. Ready your Living Area. Return pack(s). 

Katsuki scans the cavern until he locates the Supply Station, a deep room set off by a counter. Katsuki walks over, gives his compartment letter, and requests two packs. After getting a grip on the two packs in either hand, Katsuki turns around to find a group rapidly forming behind him. Was it a matter of timing? Or were these people modelling their behaviour after his, following the lead of the Mockingjay? 

Back in his section, he opens one of the packs to find a thin mattress, bedding, two sets of grey clothing, a toothbrush, comb, and a small flashlight. When he opens the other pack, he finds the only discernible difference is that it contains both grey and white clothes, the latter being for his mother in case she has medical duties while in the bunker. After Katsuki makes up both of the beds, stores the clothes and other supplies in the cube, and returns the empty packs, he has nothing to do but await further instructions, and for Mitsuki to arrive. 

He sits cross-legged on one of the beds and watches as a steady flow of people begins to fill the room, claiming spaces, collecting supplies. It won’t be long before the place is full, packed as tightly as tinned fish. Perhaps his mother will be staying wherever hospital patients have been taken. But then again, she was on the list here, she had a pack. So where the fuck was she? 

Katsuki notices that they are preparing to shut the thick metal doors, slowly rotating the metal wheels on either side inward. And still there was no sign of his mother. Katsuki’s heart begins to race. He springs out of bed and starts pushing against the incoming tide of people, trying to get out of the bunker. He starts shoving people aside, shouting at the guards to wait. Somehow he knows that once the doors have been sealed, nothing in the world will convince the guards to open them. Perhaps it will even be beyond their control. The space between the doors shrinks down until only a few inches are left when Katsuki jams his hand through the crack. 

“Open it! Let me out!” Katsuki shouts. 

Consternation shows on the guard’s faces as they reverse the wheels a bit. Not enough to let him pass, but enough to avoid crushing Katsuki’s fingers. Katsuki wedges his shoulder through the slim opening, peering up the dark stairwell to see if anyone else is coming.

“Hold the door!” Kirishima’s voice calls down the stairs. “We’re coming!” 

“Open the fucking door!” Katsuki snaps at the guards, and they slide the doors open about a foot. But Katsuki doesn’t dare move, in fear they’ll all be locked out, until his mother appears, her cheeks flushed from running. Katsuki pulls her inside and Kirishima follows right after. The doors close behind them with a loud and final clank. Kirishima has Katsuki’s game bag over his shoulder, and Katsuki sees it thrashing around against Kirishima’s hip and let out an infuriated yowl. And instantly he knows what had caused his mother’s delay.

He whirls on Mitsuki and seizes her by the shoulders, giving her an angry shake. “You went back for the fucking cat? What were you thinking, hag?!” 

Mitsuki’s eyes have that vague look about them that’s horribly reminiscent of Katsuki’s childhood, too close to the woman who checked out on him when she lost her husband. “I couldn’t leave him behind. Not twice. H-he was pacing the room, howling. I couldn’t leave him, not again...” 

Katsuki takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Okay, fuck, alright,” he says, then pulls his mother into a quick hug. He should have drowned that damn cat when he had the chance. Katsuki pulls away and Kirishima steps over to hand off the hissing game bag to Mitsuki. “We’re under the big A on the wall over there. I already got all of our shit. Better go settle that little fucker in before he loses it.”

Mitsuki hurries off, and Katsuki finds himself face-to-face with Kirishima for the first time since District Twelve; the site of their last conversation, kiss, fallout, whatever. 

“Your family’s compartment is nowhere close to the upper levels,” Katsuki says, “What were you doin' up there?” 

“If Midoriya is right, then the upper levels won’t stand a chance,” Kirishima says. He digs a hand into the pocket of his jumpsuit. “So I went to get some of your things. Including this.”

Kirishima takes hold of Katsuki’s wrist with his free hand, guiding Katsuki to hold open his fist. Then he pulls his other hand from his pocket and presses something small and somewhat cool into Katsuki’s palm, closing Katsuki’s fingers around it.

“We’re in Forty-Seven if you need me,” Kirishima says. He walks away before Katsuki can respond. 

Katsuki looks down at his closed fist and uncurls his fingers to find his pearl sitting in the middle of his palm. 

Deku. Blood splattering, like raindrops on a window. Like wet mud on boots. He closes his fingers around the pearl and squeezes until his knuckles go white. White as the tiles stained red. It plays over and over on loop. He can't get it out of his head. 

Practically everyone withdrew to their spaces when the doors shut, so Katsuki gets to cross back to his new home with at least five hundred people watching him. He tries to appear extra calm to make up for his frantic crashing through the crowd. Like that’s fooling anyone. So much for setting an example. 

Mitsuki is sitting on the edge of her bed, with Tiger wrapped in a blanket so that only his ugly little face pokes out. Katsuki’s game bag is on his bed, and Katsuki looks inside to see Kirishima had also retrieved the plant book, his father’s hunting jacket, his parent’s wedding photo, the spile from the clock arena, and Deku’s gold locket. Katsuki looks back down to the pearl. Kirishima had been sure to keep this particular personal item of Katsuki’s separate from the others. He had made sure he delivered it to Katsuki personally. Katsuki closes his fingers tightly back around the pearl and clutches his hand close to his chest, as if it is Deku’s life and no one can take it away so long as he guards it. 

Then the first bomb hits. There’s an initial sense of impact followed by an explosion that resonates in Katsuki’s innermost parts, the lining of his intestines, the marrow of his bones, the roots of his teeth. He looks up, expecting to see giant cracks race across the ceiling, massive chunks of stone rain down, but the bunker itself only gives a slight shudder. The lights go out, and Katsuki experiences the disorientation of total darkness. There’s speechless human sounds—spontaneous shrieks, ragged breaths, baby whimpers—dancing around the charged air. 

Then there’s the hum of a generator, and a dim wavering glow. In the low, orange light, Katsuki makes out the outline of Mitsuki crawling into his bed and wrapping her arms around him. Katsuki allows himself to be young for a moment, and rests his head on her shoulder. 

“That was nothin’ like the bombs they dropped on us in Eight,” Katsuki says. 

“Probably bunker missiles,” Mitsuki says. Katsuki feels a rush of relief to hear lucidity back in her voice again, “I learned about them during the orientation for new citizens, while you were still hospitalized. They’re designed to penetrate deep in the ground before they go off. There’s no point in bombing Thirteen on the surface anymore, so that’s what they’d use. We’re so far down, I’m sure we’re safe. It was a close call, though. Thank goodness Izuku had the wherewithal to warn us.” 

Yes, Deku had the knowledge, the opportunity, the courage. And something else that Katsuki can’t define. Deku seemed to have been waging a sort of battle in his mind, fighting to get the message out. And when he did, he had blurted out the Capitol’s plan so obviously. Was that because he was fighting against the clock? Because he didn’t want to risk an encoded message being misinterpreted, not understood as a warning? If he had been more cryptic, he might have spared himself punishment. The ease with which he manipulates his words is his greatest talent. Was his difficulty a result of his torture? Or something more, like madness? 

Katsuki curls up with his mother, and similar to a few nights ago, Mitsuki wraps the blanket around the both of them. Despite the disagreeable conditions, Katsuki finds himself glad to have some time with his mother. His extreme preoccupation since coming here—since the first Games, really—has left little time for her. It wasn’t something Katsuki either bothered or allowed himself to care about before, but his dynamic with Mitsuki has changed since the moment Katsuki volunteered as tribute. The chasm that came between them with Masaru's death was slowly beginning to close. 

He realises he’s never bothered to ask his mother about how she’s handling the shock of coming here. So after mulling over the words for a moment, feeling suddenly awkward, he asks, “So…how are ya likin' Thirteen?” 

“Well, I’m not loving it so much right now,” Mitsuki jokes. Katsuki huffs. “I miss Twelve sometimes, badly. But, then I remember there’s nothing left for me to miss anymore. And I feel safe here. I don’t have to worry about you. At least not in the way I did before. And...they’re training me to become a doctor.” 

It’s the first time Katsuki has heard of it. “Well, they’d be stupid not to.” 

“I’m already taking some medic courses. Just beginner’s stuff; I already know a lot of it from home. Still, there’s plenty to learn,” she tells him. Her fingertips move in short, gentle strokes, rubbing at a tense cord of muscle in Katsuki’s shoulder. He unfurls a little, relaxing into the touch. “How about you, brat? How are you managing? And don’t you dare say you’re fine.”

Whatever the opposite of fine is, that’s what Katsuki is. He squeezes the pearl in his hand tightly. 

“Deku got so much worse between the first time they showed him on-screen and today,” Katsuki says, “I think the first interview might’ve been filmed right after he was captured, and they’ve been torturing him ever since. And…and I think they might be killing him right now, after what he did.”

Mitsuki pulls Katsuki closer and brushes his hair gently through her fingers. “Katsuki, baby, I don’t think All For One is going to kill Izuku,” Of course she would say that, Katsuki thinks. It’s what she thinks will calm him. But her next words come as a surprise. “If he did that, he wouldn’t have anyone left that you want. He won’t have a way to hurt you.” 

Suddenly, Katsuki is reminded of Ochaco Uraraka. When he tried to prevent her from going into the jungle full of jabberjays that mimicked the voices of loved ones being tortured, she had brushed him off. 

There’s no one left I love. 

All For One can’t afford to waste Deku’s life, especially now, while the Mockingjay causes so much havoc. He’s already destroyed Katsuki’s home. His mother, Kirishima, Hakamada, and even Toshinori are all out of his reach. Deku is all he has left. 

Katsuki lifts his head from Mitsuki's shoulder and meets her gaze. “What do you think he’ll do to him?” Katsuki asks. 

His mother sounds and looks about a thousand years old when she speaks. 

“Whatever it takes to break you.”

What will break him? 

This is the question that consumes Katsuki over the next three days as they all await to be released from their prison of safety in the bunker. It devours his waking hours and weaves itself throughout his nightmares. 

Four more bunker missiles fell over the three days, spread out over the long hours so that just when it seemed like the raid was over, another blast sent shock waves through Katsuki’s guts. 

They receive next to no information about what is happening. There’s only brief audio updates from Yoichi about the nature of the bombs. Inside the bunker, everyone adheres to a strict schedule for meals, bathing, exercise, and sleep. Small periods of socialisation are granted to alleviate the tedium. The Bakugou’s space becomes very popular because both children and adults alike are fascinated by Tiger. He attains celebrity status with his evening game of Crazy Cat, a game Katsuki invented by accident when he pulled out his flashlight to use the washrooms on their second night in captivity and the beam of light had Tiger bolting out of bed to chase after it, trying to catch it. Katsuki is petty enough to enjoy it because he thinks it makes Tiger look stupid, while everyone else in the bunker found it delightful. The citizens of 13 are truly starved for entertainment. 

It’s on the third night, during a game of Crazy Cat, that Katsuki is able to answer the question eating away at him. Crazy Cat becomes a metaphor for his situation. Katsuki is Tiger. And Deku, the thing Katsuki wants so badly to secure, is the light. 

As long as Tiger feels he has the chance of catching the elusive light, he’s bristling with aggression. When the light goes out completely, Tiger is distraught. But the one thing that sends Tiger into a tailspin is when Katsuki leaves the light purposefully out of his reach. He paces, he wails, he can’t be comforted or distracted. 

As Katsuki lies in bed that night, his muscles are rigid with the tension it takes to hold himself together. The pain over his heart returns, and from it he imagines tiny fissures spreading out across his body. Through his torso, down his arms and legs, over his face, leaving it cross-crossed with cracks. One good jolt from a bunker missile and he could shatter into strange, razor-sharp shards. 

Katsuki pulls off his sheets and tiptoes through the cavern until he finds Todoroki. He’s sitting under the safety light in his assigned space, knotting his rope, not even pretending to rest. He pauses in his rope-tying when Katsuki appears and settles down beside him without a word. 

“All For One is usin’ Deku to try and break me,” Katsuki says. 

There’s a long pause from Todoroki before he whispers, “Are you…just coming to that conclusion now, or something?” 

It suddenly dawns on Katsuki that this strategy is very old news for Todoroki. It’s the same one that’s already broken him. 

“That’s why they took your mother, isn’t it?” Katsuki asks. 

“Well, I’m sure they didn’t arrest her for being a wealth of rebel information,” Todoroki says, “They know I would have never risked telling her anything like that, for her own protection. I’m sorry, Bakugou. I should have warned you.” 

That brings a memory back to the surface. Katsuki, strapped down to his bed, mad with rage and grief after being pulled out of the clock arena. Todoroki had been trying to console him about Deku. 

They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything. And they won’t kill him. Not if they think they can use him against you. 

“You did warn me,” Katsuki tells him, “Back on the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Deku against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow.”

“No, I shouldn’t have even said that much,” Todoroki murmurs, “It was too late to have been of any help to you. And since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how All For One operates,” Todoroki yanks on the end of his rope, and the intricate knot becomes a straight line again. “It’s just that I didn’t understand when I met you…I thought that the whole romance thing was just an act on your part. But then Midoriya hit that force field and—“ Todoroki hesitates. 

Katsuki thinks back to the arena. How he sobbed when Todoroki revived Deku, the quizzical look on Todoroki’s face. “And what?” 

“And I knew that I had misjudged you. That you really do love Midoriya,” Todoroki says gently, “I’m not saying in what way. Maybe you don’t even know that yourself. But…anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him.” 

Anyone, huh? All For One had challenged Katsuki to erase any doubts of his love for Deku. Convince me, he had said. It seems that, under that pink sky, with Deku’s life in limbo in the clock arena, Katsuki finally did. The most interesting thing about either he or Deku to All For One was that they were each the closest person to each other. Katsuki himself had handed over the weapon that All For One needed to break him. 

“So what do I do?” Katsuki asks. 

“Don’t give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart,” Todoroki says. 

Katsuki thinks about how Todoroki has been in and out of the hospital ever since he arrived at 13, and knows Todoroki would know that better than anyone. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself back into one piece. 

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” Todoroki says, “When we get out of here, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, here. Take mine.” 

Hesitantly, Katsuki takes the rope. “What about you?” 

Todoroki gives him a small, sad smile. “It’s okay. You need it more than me right now.” 

Katsuki spends the rest of the night sitting cross-legged on his bed obsessively making knots, holding them up for Tiger’s inspection. If one looks suspicious, Tiger swipes it out of the air and bites at it a few times to make sure it’s good and dead. By morning, Katsuki’s fingers are sore, and he’s still in one piece. 

With a full twenty-four hours of quiet behind them, Yoichi finally announces that they can all leave the bunker. Their old quarters have been destroyed by the bombings, and everyone must follow exact directions to their new compartments. They clean their assigned spaces and file obediently towards the door. 

Before Katsuki is halfway there, Kudo appears and pulls him from the line, also signalling for Kirishima and Todoroki to join them. Kudo takes them to Special Defense, ushering them into a room that’s virtually identical to Command. Yoichi, Hawks, Toshinori, Jirou, and everyone else seated around the table look exhausted. Someone has finally broken out the coffee, and Hawks has both hands wrapped tightly around his cup as if at any moment someone might take it away. 

There’s no small talk. “We need you suited up and above ground,” Yoichi says, “You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military remains functional and dominant, and most importantly, that the Mockingjay is still alive and well. Any questions?” 

Todoroki raises his hand. “Could we have some coffee first?” 

Steaming cups are handed out. Katsuki stares distastefully at the shiny black liquid. He’s never been a fan of the stuff, but it might help him stay on his feet. Todoroki sloshes some cream into his cup and holds out the sugar bowl. 

“It helps with the bitterness. Don’t worry, these ones aren’t for horses,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face.

That’s how Todoroki and Katsuki had met, with Todoroki offering him a sugar cube and looking dumbfounded when Katsuki had told him they were for the horses pulling the chariots for the Tribute Parade. It was before Katsuki had any idea what made Shoto Todoroki tick. It was before they were allies. Katsuki had straight up hated the guy back then, and now, he’s one of Katsuki’s closest confidants. Someone Katsuki actually considers a true friend. 

As Katsuki goes to get suited up in his Mockingjay gear, he catches sight of Kirishima watching him and Todoroki unhappily. What now? Did he seriously think there was something going on between him and Todoroki? Maybe Kirishima had seen Katsuki go to Todoroki the previous night. That must have rubbed him the wrong way, Katsuki seeking out Todoroki’s company instead of his. 

Well, what the fuck ever. Katsuki has rope burn on his fingers, he can barely hold his eyes open, a camera crew is waiting for him to do something brilliant, and All For One has Deku. Kirishima can think whatever the fuck he wants. 

In the new Remake Room in Special Defense, Katsuki’s prep team has him in his Mockingjay suit, hair arranged, and makeup applied before his coffee has even cooled. Then the cast and crew make the circuitous trek to the outside. Katsuki slurps his coffee as they travel, finding that the cream and sugar actually do greatly enhance its flavour. As he knocks back the dregs, he feels a slight buzz start to run through his veins. 

They climb a final ladder and Kudo hits a lever that opens a trapdoor. Fresh air rushes in, and Katsuki takes in big gulps of it. For the first time, he allows himself to feel how much he hated the bunker. They emerge into the woods, and Katsuki looks up at the leaves overhead. Some are just beginning to turn. Katsuki runs the math in his head, and realises that it will be September next week. That meant that All For One has had Deku in his clutches for five, maybe six weeks. 

Debris begins to litter the forest floor as they come across their first crater, at least thirty meters wide and Katsuki can’t even tell how deep. Kudo says that anyone on the first ten levels would have likely been killed, but all this missile managed to destroy was a few backup generators and a poultry farm. 

The trees disappear as they enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and new rubble. 

“How much of an edge did Young Midoriya’s warning give you?” Toshinori asks. 

“About ten minutes before our own systems would have detected the incoming missiles,” says Kudo, “Civilian evacuation was already completed long before the first bomb hit. Seconds count when you’re under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved.” 

Katsuki’s mother and Kirishima were in the bunker only a few minutes before the first missile hit. Deku might have saved them. Katsuki could just add their names to the list of things he can never stop owing him for. 

As they approach another crater near the ruins of the old Justice Building, a sickeningly sweet scent suddenly fills Katsuki’s nose. When they reach the grand entrance, Katsuki’s heart begins to hammer against his chest. 

Long-stemmed white roses are strewn all over the ground. The same flower that always adorned All For One’s lapel. The same flower that had been in the vase in his bedroom back in District 12. The same flowers which had decorated the set where he and Deku had performed their post-victory interview after the first Games. Flowers not meant for one, but a pair of lovers. 

Katsuki’s body visibly shakes and he struggles to catch his breath. After days in the bunker, he’s squinting no matter what direction he turns, and the light hurts. Even in the cool breeze, sweat trickles down his face and soaks his palms. 

“Okay, Bakugou, we’re gonna do this just like in District Eight,” Jirou says. Shoji and Koda flank her, the red lights on their cameras already blinking. “Let All For One know that Thirteen is alive and well, and so are you.” 

Deku… 

“You can do this, Bakugou,” Jirou says, “We just need a few quick lines from you, and then you’re done.”

Deku…

Saliva fills his mouth at a ridiculous rate and he feels vomit at the back of his throat. 

“Thirteen is alive and well, and so am I,” Jirou urges, “Just that one line and then you’re done today, Bakugou, I promise.” 

Katsuki crosses his arms to hide the shaking. He takes a breath, trying to force air down into his diaphragm. He takes in a lungful of the smell of those roses. He drops his arms, swinging them a bit, trying to loosen up. Then places his fists on his hips. Then drops them to his sides again. He swallows hard, and opens his mouth so he can get that stupid line out and then go hide in the woods and— 

He starts crying. 

He can’t do this. He can’t be the Mockingjay. It’s impossible. It’s impossible to say even this one sentence being asked of him. Because now he knows that everything will be taken out on Deku, and result in his torture. But not his death. Nothing so merciful as that. All For One will ensure that his life is much worse than death. 

“...Cut,” Jirou says quietly. 

Katsuki stumbles towards Toshinori, croaking out something like his name, because despite the betrayal and the hatred he’s felt for him in the past few weeks, there’s nobody else in this moment he wants to seek comfort from. Because Toshinori loves Deku, too. So when Katsuki reaches for him, Toshinori is there, holding Katsuki and patting his back while Katsuki sobs into his shoulder. 

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay, kiddo…” 

“I c-can’t do this—h-he’s never—“ 

“I know. I know…” 

“H-He’s never gonna stop h-hurting Deku,” Katsuki gasps between sobs. 

“I know,” Toshinori’s arms tighten around him. 

“Wh-what are they d-doing to him? W-what am I g-gonna do—I can’t—can’t—i-it’s my fault!” 

Katsuki breaks out of Toshinori’s hold. Like a man possessed, he stumbles over the rubble back towards the pile of discarded roses. All For One’s second gift to him. He can’t stand the smell any more. It’s choking him—he can’t breathe—he can’t fucking breathe—

With a gut-wrenching shriek of grief and fury, Katsuki stands over the crater filled with roses and holds out his arms, fingers splayed out, and his outstretched palms crackle with heat before massive bursts explode from both his hands and into the crater. When the smoke clears, the crater is filled with fresh rubble, and only a few charred petals remain. Katsuki doesn’t want a trace left behind. He grips his right elbow with his left hand and aims his palm towards the burning remains of one of the roses, feeling the skin on his palm tingling as it heats up— 

And then there’s a needle in his arm and the world slips away.

Chapter Text

v.

Katsuki has the sense upon waking that he has emerged from a world of dark, haunted places where he travelled alone. Toshinori sits in a chair by his bed, his skin waxen, his eyes bloodshot. Katsuki remembers about Deku and instantly starts to tremble again. 

Toshinori reaches out and squeezes Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’s alright, kiddo. We’re going to try and get Young Midoriya out.” 

That makes no sense. Katsuki can only stare at Toshinori until he continues to explain. 

“Hawks is sending in a rescue team. He has people on the inside, and thinks we can get Young Midoriya back alive,” Toshinori says. 

“…Why the hell didn’t they rescue him sooner?” 

“Because it’s costly. But the dam that went down in Five took out most of the power in the Capitol,” Toshinori says, “Knocked out their signal defence. So Young Kaminari is inside their systems now, wreaking all kinds of havoc. It’s given us an opportunity. And everyone agrees this is the thing to do. We can’t have you two pointed against each other, and we can’t lose the Mockingjay now. You can’t perform unless you know that All For One can’t take it out on Young Midoriya, so we’re getting him back.”

Katsuki sits up in bed and Toshinori hands him a glass of water. “What do you mean, costly?” 

Toshinori shrugs. “Covers will be blown. People may die. But then again, they’re already dying every day. And it’s not just Young Midoriya. We’re getting Young Uraraka, and Young Todoroki’s mother for him, too.”

“Where is he? Half-and-Half?” Katsuki asks. 

“In the next room over, sleeping off his sedative,” Toshinori explains, “He lost it right after we knocked you out.” 

That makes Katsuki feel a little less weak, at least. He sets his untouched water aside and swings his legs out to the edge of the bed, pulling away his sheets. “I’m going to help.” 

But Toshinori places his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders and lays him back down. “Hold on, kid. It’s already underway. Six soldiers went in, volunteer only.” 

Katsuki gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Toshinori sees the dread in Katsuki’s eyes, and gives him a grim smile. 

“I’m sure you can guess who was the first brave soul to sign up.” 

He doesn’t have to guess. Katsuki knows exactly who stepped up first. 

Kirishima.

He could lose them both tonight.

“...Do you want me to sedate you until it’s over?” Toshinori asks. 

There’s no trace of humour in his voice. He’s not joking. This is a man who spent his entire adult life at the bottom of a bottle trying to anaesthetise himself against the Capitol’s crimes. The boy who won the 50th Hunger Games must have had people he loved, people he fought to get back to. Where were they now? How is it that, until Katsuki and Deku were thrust upon him, there was no one else in Toshinori’s life? What did All For One do to them? The same things he was doing to Deku? 

“I want to go to the Capitol and be part of the rescue mission,” Katsuki says firmly. 

“I told you, kid, they’re already gone,” Toshinori says, “That sedative knocked you out for a full day. They’re long gone. And besides, it never would’ve happened, anyway. You’re too valuable and too vulnerable.” 

“I can’t just fucking sit here and wait to hear if they died! I have to do something!” Katsuki shouts.

Toshinori regards Katsuki for a long moment before exhaling tightly and rising from his chair. “Let me talk to Hawks. You stay put.” 

Toshinori’s footsteps are still echoing down the outer hall when Katsuki fumbles out of bed and pads over to the room next door to find Todoroki sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. It might be cowardly and cruel to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, but Katsuki does it anyway, because he can’t stand to face this by himself. 

Todoroki’s initial confusion mysteriously ebbs as Katsuki explains the situation. “So by the end of the day, they’ll either be dead, or here with us.” 

That was a pretty morbid view of the situation, and yet there was something strangely calming about the notion that, one way or another, the torment of those who had been captured would come to an end. 

The two of them sit in the small bed together, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, saying and doing nothing until Toshinori reappears. 

“I’ve got a job for both of you, if you can pull it together,” he says, “We still need some post-bombing footage of Thirteen. If we can get it in the next few hours, then Young Kaminari can air it leading up to the rescue. Maybe keep the Capitol’s attention elsewhere.” 

“So we’d be like a distraction,” Todoroki says, “A decoy of sorts.” 

“What we really need is something so riveting that even All For One himself won’t be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?” Toshinori asks. 

“Yes,” Todoroki murmurs, “I can think of a couple of things.” 

Having a job that might help the rescue mission snaps Katsuki into focus. As he wolfs down breakfast and gets prepped in his Mockingjay gear, he thinks of what he can say. All For One must be wondering how seeing that blood-splattered floor and those roses is affecting him. If All For One wants him broken, Katsuki needs to be whole. And shouting a few defiant lines at a camera won’t be convincing. Besides, that wasn’t going to buy the rescue team any time. Outbursts are short. It’s stories that take time. 

Katsuki always says he’s not much of a storyteller. Talking was always Deku’s strength. If their places were swapped, if it was Deku who needed to hold the Capitol’s attention while Katsuki was being rescued, he would know exactly what to say to keep everyone riveted. Katsuki doesn’t know how to do that. What does he even talk about? All he can think about right now is Deku. He doesn’t know how effective or interesting it will be, but since he can’t think of anything else, he asks Jirou if she could start out by asking him about Deku. Back above ground, he takes a seat on a fallen marble pillar outside the ruins of the Justice Building, waits for the red light and Jirou’s first question. And then he does what Toshinori has wanted from him since his very first interview. He opens up. 

“How did you meet Midoriya?” 

“We’ve known each other since we were four-years-old,” Katsuki begins, “We were in the same class. He kind of just fell into the fold along with these two other kids who always hung around me. My first impression of him was that he was a crybaby. But…that didn’t make him a coward. I remember one day—I think we might have been five or six—one of the other kids in class was gettin’ picked on, and Deku…he was the only one that came to their defence. Put himself between the kid and the bullies, his knees knockin’ together but his fists up. He asked them why they were being so mean, and told them if they wanted to fight someone so bad, they could fight him instead. I wasn’t very sociable so I didn’t have a whole lot of friends, but Deku was magnetic. He always drew everyone in. But no matter how many other friends he had, and no matter how standoffish I was towards him, he was always there. But…after our dads died, everything changed between us.” 

“I remember you mentioning your fathers’ deaths during your first Games,” Jirou says, “How you avoided Midoriya after they died. Why is that?” 

Katsuki takes a deep, steadying breath. “They were killed in the same mining accident when we were ten. I was…angry. I needed someone to blame for what happened. Deku’s dad was a baker, makin’ a delivery to the miners when the accident happened. Some of the survivors talked about how my dad went back to help him when he got trapped in a cave-in. If he hadn’t done that, he probably would’ve made it out. I didn’t have anywhere for my grief and rage to go, so…I took out my hurt on Deku. I pushed him away, avoided him. He and I didn’t interact again until I was eleven, and almost dead.” 

Then Katsuki describes that awful day in the rain. Digging through the trash bins in town, Deku’s mother chasing him away, and how Deku took a beating to bring him the bread that saved Katsuki’s life.

“I never even thanked him for it. And it didn’t make us go back to bein’ friends, either. I continued to avoid him. In fact, it only made me want to keep him at arm’s length even more, because I hated feelin’ indebted to him. It felt like he was so much…better than me, in every way, and I resented him for that. All of his strengths just emphasized my own weaknesses. I wanted to feel superior by denying him. We didn’t say a word to one another again until we were on the train to the Games.” 

“Midoriya broke the silence first, I imagine,” Jirou says. 

Katsuki huffs a little. “Yeah. I was really determined to keep up the cold shoulder, but he…well, he just did what he did when we were kids. Latched on and didn’t let go. He finally got me to thaw out by the Tribute Parade.” 

“And what did you say to him then?” 

Maybe Katsuki should make something up. Something that would play into the love story better. Katsuki had been far from friendly, or even remotely amicable, in the days leading up to the Games. But he doesn’t have it in him to lie anymore. “I called him a nerd,” Katsuki admits, rubbing at his neck. “He didn’t even seem to take any offence to it. He just looked…surprised, but mostly pleased. I think he was just happy I was finally talkin’ to him again. He should’ve hated me for how cold and ungrateful I’d been to him, but he never once changed how he acted around me. It was like for him, nothin’ had ever come between us.” 

“Because he never stopped loving you,” Jirou says, “He loved you right from the start.” 

“I guess so,” Katsuki says, the corner of his mouth twitching up a little. 

“But it wasn’t the same for you, right? You didn’t love him right away.” 

“Nah,” Katsuki murmurs. He turns his gaze upward and watches the flight of a bird across the sky. A long time passes before he adds, “He crept up on me.”

“And…how are you doing with the separation?” 

Katsuki runs a hand through his hair. “Not…not well,” he admits. He swallows thickly. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to articulate much further than that, so he moves on. “But…it means I don’t have reservations anymore about doin’ whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. All For One once told me that the Capitol is fragile. At the time, I didn’t really know what he meant. But now I do. It’s fragile because it depends on the districts for everything. For food, for energy, even for Peacekeepers. All For One thinks Deku is my weakness. That if he takes him away, I’ll break. But he’s wrong. Deku gives me strength, no matter where he is. When I found Deku by the river that day, in the first arena, he told me that he’s always been on my team. And he was right. Even now, all the way in the Capitol, even when we’re being pitted against each other in this war…Deku is still on my side. He’s still tryin’ to keep me alive, still playin’ the Game, still bein’ the damn hero, like he always does. Everything he’s done up until now…he’s made the right calls ever since the day he volunteered as tribute. But…he can’t do this on his own. So I’ll save him. And anyone else in need of a hero. Because I’m the guy who steps in, when that nerd can’t handle it on his own.” 

There’s an excited buzz in the air when Jirou calls cut. Everyone loves Katsuki’s heartfelt confessional. The wheels seem to be spinning in Hawks’ brain. He hastily calls over Toshinori and Todoroki and Katsuki watches them have a brief, but intense conversation that Katsuki can tell Toshinori isn’t happy with. By the end, Todoroki looks pale but he’s nodding his head in agreement. 

As Todoroki moves to take over Katsuki’s seat before the camera, Toshinori grabs him by the shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, Young Todoroki.” 

“Yes, I do. If it will help her,” Todoroki says. He balls up his rope in his hand and nods to Jirou. “I’m ready.” 

Katsuki isn’t sure what to expect. For the We Remember spots, Todoroki had given in-depth stories about his father training his brothers and sister for their Games, how he forced them all to volunteer as soon as they came of age, since he was so determined to have a whole family of victors. What else would he have to talk about regarding his family tragedy? Or maybe he was just going to give an account on the abuses in District 4? But Todoroki takes a completely different tactic. 

Todoroki takes a deep breath. “All For One used to…sell my body to the Capitol,” he begins in a flat, removed tone. “If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. My old man shipped off my siblings to the arena to be slaughtered, and trained me to be his great success. There was no one else I loved that All For One could take from me, except for my mother. So my father told me I had to agree, in order to save her. So I did.”

Katsuki wants to interrupt the taping and beg for Todoroki’s forgiveness for every false thought he’s ever had about him. But they have a job to do, and he senses that Todoroki’s role will be far more effective than Katsuki’s. 

“I wasn’t the only one, but I was very popular,” Todoroki continues, “I started taking on clients when I turned thirteen. They were incredibly generous. They would give me money or jewellery, but I eventually found that they had a much more valuable form of payment to offer.” 

Secrets, Katsuki thinks. That’s what Todoroki had said to Katsuki the day they met, only Katsuki wasn’t sure what he had meant by that at the time. 

Todoroki begins to weave a tapestry so rich in detail that it’s impossible to doubt its authenticity. Tales of strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, bottomless greed, bloody power plays, incest, back-stabbing, blackmail, and arson; every shadowy tale of depravity, deceit and cruelty from the Capitol’s pampered elite, every drunken secret whispered over damp pillowcases in the dead of night to a young district slave—handsome, certainly, but surely harmless. Who would he tell? Who would believe him if he did? But some secrets are too delicious not to share, and none are more tantalising than what Todoroki has about the president himself.

“No path is more dark and twisted than the one All For One took to rise to power,” Todoroki says, “You might have asked yourself about his political ascension, how he found himself as president of our country at such a young age. How he stopped every mutiny before it even started. There were countless mysterious deaths, from his political adversaries to allies alike. Anyone who had the potential to become a threat. People dropped dead at a feast or would slowly and inexplicably decline into the shadows over a period of months. It was blamed on bad shellfish, elusive viruses, or a heart condition. But his method was always the same: poison. He would drink from the poisoned cup himself to deflect suspicion. They say that’s why he always wears roses that reek of perfume, to mask the scent of blood from the sores in his mouth that will never heal.” 

Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake. 

Since Katsuki’s opinion of the Capitol and its president are already so low, he can’t say that Todoroki’s allegations shock him. They seem to have far more effect on the displaced Capitol rebels in their group, the TV crew and Mina. Even Hawks reacts in surprise, maybe wondering how a specific tidbit had passed him by. When Todoroki finishes, they just keep the cameras rolling until finally he has to be the one to finally say cut.

The crew hurries inside to edit the material, and Hawks pulls Todoroki off for a chat, probably to see if he has any more stories to share. Katsuki is left with Toshinori, standing in the rubble, wondering if Todoroki’s fate would have one day been his own. And Deku’s. The thought sickens him. 

“Is that what happened to you?” Katsuki asks. 

“No,” Toshinori mutters, “My mother and my girl were both dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. All For One had no one to use against me if I refused to be sold, and after he had them forgo replacing a few of my organs, well…I wasn’t exactly all that desirable to the people of the Capitol anymore, anyway.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill you,” Katsuki says. 

Toshinori shakes his head. “Oh, no. I was the example, the person to hold up to the young Todorokis and Urarakas, of what could happen to a victor who caused problems.”

There’s no one left I love. So whatever family Uraraka had…had All For One murdered them all, because she refused to sell her body like Todoroki did? 

Katsuki thinks about how the Gamemakers had wanted to surgically alter his body after he had won his first Games. How Toshinori had defended him, refused to let them touch his unconscious body and do anything to alter it beyond the full-body polish. He wonders if Toshinori had fought the same battle for Deku, too. And he also wonders why he had never heard about any of this sex slave shit before now. Why it had never been something brought up as an option to him or Deku after they had won. Uraraka had told Deku when they met on the elevator after the Tribute Parade that ‘the entire world’ wanted to sleep with him. So why had All For One never threatened their families with such a proposition? It certainly couldn’t just be because of the whole ‘star-crossed lovers’ thing, could it? If the people in the Capitol had been twisted enough to take a thirteen-year-old Todoroki—a fucking child—into their bed, then surely they would have been perfectly happy with either Katsuki or Deku. In fact, All For One could have even sold them together as a packaged deal. 

Was it because of the stunt with the nightlock berries? All For One didn’t need to force Katsuki and Deku into being sex slaves for the Capitol elites, because he already had leverage with which to threaten them and their families in other ways. If Katsuki had never held out those berries, if he had found some other way to get them out of that first arena alive that wouldn’t have incited a rebellion, would he and Deku have been forced to sell their bodies like that? Katsuki has a feeling it very likely would have been the case. A shudder slides down his spine just thinking about it. 

With their job done, there’s nothing left for Todoroki and Katsuki to do but wait. 

They attempt to fill the dragging minutes in Special Defense, blowing things up at the shooting range, pushing their lunch around their bowls, and tying knots. No communication comes from the rescue team due to fear of detection. When they get word that their propo footage is ready for the Airtime Assault, they stand tense and silent at the back of a room full of screens and computers and watch as Kaminari and his team—which only consists of Hatsume and a magenta-haired Capitol rebel who calls herself La Brava—try to dominate the airwaves. Kaminari’s usual fidgety distraction is replaced with a determination Katsuki has never seen from him before. 

Katsuki’s interview shows him more soft and vulnerable than he’s ever allowed himself to be on camera outside of an arena, and yet he is also calmly defiant, driven by something greater than himself. His connection to Deku is depicted as his ultimate strength, not his weakness. But it’s Todoroki’s salacious and gory account of the Capitol and All For One that takes the day. Either Kaminari’s skill is improving, or his counterparts in the Capitol are a little too fascinated, because by the time Todoroki is on the screen, there doesn’t seem to be as much of a struggle to override the broadcast. For the next sixty minutes, the Capitol feed alternates between the standard afternoon broadcast, Todoroki, and attempts to black it all out. But the rebel techno trio manages to override even the latter and, in a real coup, keep control for almost the entire assault on All For One. 

“Let it go!” Kaminari says, throwing up his hands, relinquishing the broadcast back to the Capitol. 

“If they’re not out of there by now, they’re all dead,” says La Brava, leaning back in her chair, wiping her face. 

Before Katsuki and Todoroki can blow up on La Brava for that careless remark, Kaminari leads them into another room and shows them how their rescue team, with the help of Hawks’ rebel insiders in the Capitol, will attempt to free the captive victors from an underground prison. The plan involves knockout gas distributed through the building’s ventilation system, a power failure, the detonation of a bomb in a government building several kilometres away from the prison, and the disruption of the broadcast. 

“Seems pretty complicated,” Todoroki says, “Like your electricity trap in the arena.” 

“Exactly,” Kaminari grins, “And see how well that worked out?” 

“Well…no, not really.” 

Katsuki and Todoroki are barred from Command because serious war business is being carried out inside. They refuse to leave Special Defense, however, and end up waiting in the hummingbird room for news. 

They make knots for hours and hours, until their fingers are raw and bleeding. Katsuki refuses to think of Deku, or Kirishima. He refuses to let himself think of the possibility that he might lose them both tonight. That he may have already lost them and just doesn’t know it yet. He can’t imagine their voices gone, their hands stilled, eyes unblinking. Standing over their bodies, having a last look, leaving the room where they lie. Opening the door to step out into the world, only to find a tremendous void, a pale gray nothingness. There is nothing, no future for him, in a world where Deku and Kirishima don’t exist within it. 

They refuse dinner. Eventually Todoroki abandons his knots and assumes the hunched position he took in the clock arena when the jabberjays attacked them. 

Tick, tock. Making knots. No word. Tick, tock. Do not think of Deku. Do not think of Kirishima. Making knots. Katsuki perfects his miniature noose. The words of ‘The Hanging Tree’ replay in his head. Deku and Kirishima. Kirishima and Deku. 

Deku. Kirishima. Deku. Kirishima. Deku. 

Deku. 

Tick. 

Kirishima.

Tock. 

Deku. 

Tick. 

Kirishima. 

Tock. 

Deku. 

Deku. 

Deku. 

It must be midnight when Toshinori finally appears. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital,” Katsuki’s mouth opens with a flood of questions, but Toshinori cuts him off. “That’s all I know.” 

Katsuki wants to run, but Todoroki seems to have lost the ability to move, so he grabs his arm and leads him, through Special Defense, into the elevator that goes this way and that, to the hospital wing.

The place is in an uproar, with doctors shouting orders and the wounded being wheeled through the halls in their beds. They’re sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, emaciated young woman with a shaved head, her flesh covered in bruises and oozing scabs. Katsuki recognizes her at the last second. It’s Ochaco Uraraka. Unlike the other captive victors, she actually knew rebel secrets. And this is how she has paid for it. 

Through a doorway, Katsuki catches a glimpse of Kirishima, stripped to the waist, perspiration streaming down his face as a doctor removes something from his shoulder blade with a long pair of tweezers. Alive. Alive. Wounded, but alive. Their eyes meet for an instant, but then a nurse closes the door, and blocks Kirishima from his sight. 

“Shoto?”

Katsuki and Todoroki turn to see a lovely if somewhat bedraggled looking woman. The colour of her hair and eyes are the exact same as Todoroki’s right side. She lets out something between a shriek and a cry of joy, and runs towards them in nothing but a sheet.

“Shoto!” 

Todoroki is frozen in place. “Mom…” 

Rei Todoroki crashes through the space to reach her son, and the two collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging to one another, indivisible. It’s as if there’s no one else in the world but them. A strange pang of jealousy hits Katsuki, and he looks away.

Kudo, looking a little worse for wear but uninjured, finds Toshinori and Katsuki. “Izuku is at the end of the hall. The effects of the knock-out gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes up.” 

Deku. 

Deku.

Deku is alive. Deku is here. Away from All For One. Safe. Here. With Katsuki. In a minute he can touch him. Hold him. See his smile. Hear his laugh. 

Toshinori is grinning. “Come on, then, kid.” 

Katsuki is so giddy he’s light-headed. What will he say? He supposes it doesn’t matter. Deku will be ecstatic no matter what Katsuki does. He’ll probably be too busy kissing Katsuki for him to get a word in edgewise, anyway. He wonders if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the clock arena, the ones Katsuki hasn’t dared to let himself consider until this moment. 

They reach the end of the hall, and there he is. Deku. Deku, Deku, Deku. He’s here, he’s awake. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. Katsuki’s disappointed and somewhat annoyed that his was not the first face Deku saw when he woke up. But Katsuki can’t find it in himself to linger on those feelings for long, because then Deku is looking at him, and their eyes meet. Green eyes staring into red, for the first time since Katsuki took one last look before walking into the jungle with Uraraka in the clock arena.

What is the last thing Katsuki had said to him that night, after he gave him one last kiss? I’ll see you at midnight. It’s a promise that he’ll actually get to keep. 

Deku. Deku. Deku—

Deku’s features register disbelief and something more intense that Katsuki can’t quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both. Katsuki’s heart jumps as he watches Deku sweep the doctors aside, leap to his feet and start moving quickly towards Katsuki. Katsuki rushes forward to meet him, his arms extended to embrace him. Deku’s hands are reaching for him, too. To caress Katsuki’s face, no doubt. 

Katsuki’s lips are just forming his name when Deku’s fingers lock around his throat. 

Glass shatters into a million splinters as the back of Katsuki’s head is smashed into a medicine cabinet, then he’s slammed down onto a table, the solid, cold metal knocking what little wind is left out of his lungs. Through his blurring vision, Katsuki watches as Toshinori grabs Deku's shoulders, along with the three doctors, all of them hollering at him to stop, to let Katsuki go. But none of them can pull Deku off. Katsuki’s fingers scrabble feebly at Deku’s hands, and then Deku drags Katsuki roughly off the metal table and down onto the floor, grip still locked tightly around Katsuki’s throat. Katsuki’s vision starts to go black around the edges, and he’s certain the last thing he will see before he dies is Deku’s face contorted into a mask of hateful fury.

And then suddenly Kudo is there, and he slams a metal bedpan against the back of Deku’s neck. Deku’s chokehold on Katsuki’s neck goes instantly slack, and he drops in a heap on top of Katsuki for only half of a second before two of the doctors grab Deku under the arms and haul away his limp body. Katsuki tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He tries to drag himself to his feet, tries to go after the doctors—they’re going to kill Deku, they’ll kill him, they’ll kill him, he can’t let them—

He makes it one step before the third doctor comes up behind him and pierces his arm with a sedative, and the black edges at his vision grow until his world goes dark. 

The cold collar chafes his neck and makes the shivering even harder to control. 

He’s been assured there’s no permanent damage. The medical team’s main concerns—damage to his spinal cord, airway, veins, and arteries—have been allayed. He has some bruising, a sore larynx, hoarseness and a strange little cough, all which the doctors tell him are nothing to worry about. All will be fine. The Mockingjay will not lose his voice. Katsuki wants to ask where the doctor is who determines if he’s losing his mind, only he’s not supposed to talk right now. 

His mother, who appeared moments after the attack and has stayed as close to Katsuki as possible ever since, spreads another blanket over him. “They’ll be able to take the brace off soon,” she tells him in a soft voice, “Then you won’t be so cold.” 

She takes one of his hands, which is clenched into a fist, and massages it until it opens and blood begins to flow through his fingers again.

Katsuki opens his mouth and tries to speak, but only a thick, guttural rattle comes out before he coughs. 

Mitsuki squeezes his hand, rubbing at his knuckles. “Shhh, don’t talk, baby,” she whispers. She presses her lips to his fingers. “Just try to relax.”

His mother is starting to massage his other hand open when Toshinori, Hawks, and someone Katsuki has never seen before—a boy who looks to be about his age with tired-looking eyes and messy purple hair—all enter the room. 

“Mitsuki, if we could have a moment to speak with—“ Hawks begins, but Mitsuki quickly cuts him off. 

“No. I’m not leaving his side. And I’ve had just about all I can stand of you people calling the shots on my son’s life,” Mitsuki snaps, her gentle bedside manner vanishing as she turns a cold, malicious glare towards Hawks. “Especially when you’ve all done such a shitty fucking job of taking care of him.”

Hawks blinks rapidly in surprise, and looks somewhat offended. 

“I’d let it go, Hawks.” Toshinori tells him. He looks over to Katsuki with a pained look. “She’s right.” 

Katsuki stares back at Toshinori, and wishes he could speak, so he can tell him that none of this was his fault. It wasn’t like Toshinori hadn’t tried to come to Katsuki’s defence when Deku had attacked him, but Deku was just too strong, and Toshinori had been utterly unprepared. They both had been. To catch both Toshinori and Katsuki off guard is a rare thing. But they had both been so consumed with saving Deku, so tortured by having him in the Capitol’s hands, that the elation at having him back had blinded them. If Katsuki had a private reunion with Deku, then Deku would have undoubtedly killed him. Now that he’s deranged. 

Toshinori sinks down into a chair on the other side of Katsuki’s bed, patting him twice on the chest before withdrawing his hand. He looks between Katsuki and Mitsuki. “We have some news about Young Midoriya,” he says. 

Hawks scratches at the stubble on his chin and lets out an awkward cough, then he gestures to his right, where the purple-haired guy has been standing silently. “This here is Hitoshi Shinso, a rebel from the Capitol. He helped to shed some light on Izuku’s condition for us. Go ahead, Hitoshi.” 

Shinso nods his head in greeting at Katsuki. “I worked in the Capitol as an informant for Hawks. During my time there, I managed to gather some intel about the ways in which All For One prefers to torture. It’s called hijacking. It’s fear conditioning, enhanced with tracker jacker venom. You would have firsthand knowledge of its effects, seeing as you were stung by tracker jackers in your first Hunger Games. I’m sure you must remember how frightening it was, and the mental confusion that followed in the aftermath.”

Katsuki does remember. Terror. Hallucinations. Nightmarish visions of losing those he loves. A sense of being unable to judge what was true and what was false. That encounter with Deku—covered in sparkling dew—after he dropped the nest on the Careers, when he helped Katsuki to escape. Even after Katsuki was clearheaded, he wasn’t sure if Deku had really saved his life by taking on Monoma, or if he had only imagined it. 

“They administer enough venom to put the subject into a dissociative state,” Shinso continues, “Then, they’re tortured, their identity is stripped down, and they redirect that fear, associating it with short and long-term memories, or a particular person.” 

Katsuki starts to feel sick. His mother squeezes his hand again, and asks the question that forms in his mind that he’s unable to speak for more reasons than his crushed larynx. “So you’re saying they’ve taken memories of Katsuki and distorted them in Izuku’s mind to make them…terrifying?” 

Shinso nods. “So terrifying that he would see him as life-threatening.”

“They’ve turned him into a weapon, Young Bakugou,” Toshinori says quietly, “Designed to kill you.” 

Katsuki covers his face with his arms. This isn’t happening. It isn’t possible. For someone to make Deku forget he loves Katsuki…no one could do that.

Mitsuki runs her fingers through Katsuki’s hair, shushing him gently as his chest starts to rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths.

“Can’t you reverse it?” Mitsuki asks, “You’re going to try, aren’t you? You can’t just leave that poor boy in a padded room somewhere to suffer.”

“We’re hardwired to remember fear best,” Hawks says grimly, “Apart from Katsuki, we don’t know yet if they’ve tampered with any of his other memories, too. And we have no data on whether or not hijacking rehabilitation has even been attempted before,” Hawks then quickly switches gears, “But of course we’ll try. I’ve put together a team of mental health and military professionals, as well as Hitoshi here, to come up with a solution. I’m optimistic he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Are you?” Mitsuki asks caustically, “And what do you think, Toshinori?”

Katsuki shifts his arms slightly so he can see Toshinori’s expression through the crack. He looks exhausted and discouraged.

“I think Young Midoriya might get somewhat better with time. But…I can’t say he’ll ever be the same,” Toshinori admits. 

Katsuki snaps his arms back together, closing the crack, shutting them all out. 

“But he’s alive,” Hawks insists, sounding like he’s losing patience with the lot of them, “Damaged, yes, but he’s here. He’s with us. And that’s a hell of an improvement over his situation from a few hours ago. Especially when you consider his stylist Sir Nighteye and his prep team got executed on live television tonight. He’s far away from all of that now. So let’s keep that in mind, okay?” 

Hawks’ attempt to cheer Katsuki up—laced with the news of more murders—totally backfires. Katsuki’s throat throbs with the effort it takes to fight back tears, and he starts gasping for air. Mitsuki shoots Hawks an infuriated look before she cups Katsuki’s face and tries to offer words of comfort, but it’s no use. Eventually, they have no choice but to sedate him again. 

When he wakes up, he wonders if this will be the only way he will be able to sleep now, with drugs shot into his arm. His mother continues to stay rooted to his bedside, shirking her other duties to the hospital as she coaxes him to swallow bites of soft food once his neck brace is removed. He is a model patient, his lethargy taken for restraint and obedience to the doctors’ orders. He no longer feels like crying. In fact, he can only manage to hold on to one simple thought, an image of All For One’s face, accompanied by the whisper that plays like a mantra in his head: I’ll kill you. 

People come in periodically to give him updates on Deku’s condition. The high levels of tracker jacker venom are working their way out of his body. He’s being treated only by natives of 13, no one from home or the Capitol has been allowed to see him to keep any dangerous memories from triggering. A team of specialists works long hours around the clock, designing a strategy for his recovery. 

On Katsuki’s third night in the hospital, after he’s been medicated and the lights are turned down low for bedtime, Kirishima slips silently into his room. He doesn’t speak, he just runs his fingers delicately over the bruises on Katsuki’s neck with a touch as light as a moth’s wings. Then he plants a kiss between Katsuki’s eyes, and disappears. 

The following morning, Katsuki is discharged from the hospital with instructions to take it easy and speak only when necessary. That’s fine. There’s nothing he wants to say, anyway. He’s not imprinted with a schedule, which is also fine, because there’s nothing he wants to do. He wanders around aimlessly until his mother is excused from her hospital duties, and they head to their new living quarters, Compartment 2A. It’s identical to the last compartment, but with no window. Tiger has now been issued a daily food allowance and a pan of sand that’s kept under the bathroom sink. As Mitsuki tucks Katsuki into bed, Tiger hops up on Katsuki’s pillow, vying for her attention. She rubs him between his ears, but otherwise stays focused on Katsuki. 

“Katsuki, we’ve only had Izuku back for a few days. All For One worked on him for weeks. There’s a chance that the old Izuku, the one who loves you, is still in there, trying to get back to you. So I don’t want you to give up on him. Okay, baby?” Mitsuki leans down and kisses him on the forehead. She even crawls right into bed next to him, draping an arm across his chest and kissing his shoulder before resting her cheek in the same spot, while Katsuki continues to stare up at the ceiling. They stay like that for a while until Mitsuki shifts, checks the schedule imprinted onto her forearm, and sighs. “I have to get back to the hospital now. You two keep each other company.” 

Mitsuki climbs out of bed, runs her fingers through Katsuki’s hair, and then she leaves. Tiger springs off Katsuki’s pillow and follows Mitsuki to the door, complaining loudly when he’s left behind. Katsuki watches Tiger pace back and forth, wailing at the door, distraught that what he wants is beyond his reach. Katsuki thinks back to the game of Crazy Cat he played in the bunker, when he likened himself to Tiger, and Deku as the beam of light. Somewhere in 13, beyond that door, is Deku. So close to him now, and yet still so, so far from him. Likely forever. 

Without any sedatives, sleep doesn’t find him. Tiger eventually tires himself out of crying and naps by the door, which opens after several hours. Tiger mews hopefully, only to hiss and dart over to Mitsuki’s bed when the one who enters the compartment is not his mother, but Toshinori. 

“Come with me,” he says, “We need you back up at the hospital.” 

Katsuki sits up in bed. “Why?” he asks, then he thickly swallows and winces. His voice sounds like it’s been through a meat grinder, and his throat doesn’t feel much better. 

“They’re going to try something on Young Midoriya,” Toshinori says, “Send in the most innocuous person from Twelve; someone he might share childhood memories with, but nothing too close to you. They’re screening people now.” 

This will be a difficult task, since Katsuki has known Deku since they were four, and anyone else Deku shares childhood memories with would most likely be from town, and hardly any of those people escaped the flames. 

But when they reach the hospital room that’s been turned into a work space for Deku’s recovery team, there she sits chatting with Hawks. Tsuyu Asui. Katsuki had heard that she and her younger brother had survived the bombing, but her little sister and parents, who ran the shoe shop in town, weren’t as lucky. She looks older, wearing the drab 13 jumpsuit that flatters no one, with her dark hair tied into a practical braid. It’s a lot shorter; possibly most of her hair got burnt off during her escape from 12. She’s even thinner than Katsuki remembers—even for one of the townies, she’d been small, but 13’s meagre portions, and the stress and grief of losing her parents and baby sister, have all no doubt contributed to her current appearance. 

“Hello, Bakugou,” she greets him, blinking slowly at him in that way that had always reminded Katsuki of a frog. That part, at least, had gone unchanged. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” he mutters. Then he coughs a little. Good to see you, she says. Katsuki isn’t so sure about that. He must look horrendous, with the necklace of horrific-looking purple bruises around his throat, and the whites of his eyes stained an unsettling red from all the blood vessels that burst. 

“Tsuyu just was telling me—” Hawks begins.

“I told you to call me Tsu.”

“Right, sorry. Tsu was telling me that she’s known Izuku for a long time,” Hawks says, “Anythin’ that might trigger memories of Katsuki, d’you think?”

“We were all in the same class, but Bakugou never overlapped with our friend group very much. Or any groups at all, really,” Tsu says, “Everyone really admired him, though, because he could hunt and go in the Hob on his own.”

That’s not the way Katsuki remembers their school years. He had next to no friends, but not because he was so exceptional that it intimidated people, it was just because he wasn’t friendly. 

Suddenly, Katsuki remembers something. “Wait,” he says hoarsely. He coughs, and grabs Toshinori’s arm. It’s a struggle to even get a single word out. Everyone watches him and waits as he swallows thickly and tries again. “When I…covered for…Deku. When he…” He coughs again. “Th-the—Avox…”

Toshinori pats Katsuki’s hand, slowly prying Katsuki’s clenched fingers free of his sleeve as he nods at Katsuki. “Yeah, I remember, kiddo,” Toshinori says, “You lied for him, saying that the Avox girl he recognized looked like Young Asui. But I’m not so sure that could compete with years of childhood memories.”

“Well, let’s give this a shot,” says Hawks. 

Hawks, Toshinori, and Katsuki go to the observation room next to the one where Deku is confined. It’s crowded with ten members of his recovery team armed with pens and clipboards. The one-way glass and audio setup allows all of them to watch Deku secretly. He’s laying in bed, his arms strapped down. He doesn’t fight the restraints, but his hands continuously fidget. His expression seems more lucid than when he tried to strangle Katsuki, but it’s still not one that belongs to him. 

When the door quietly opens, his eyes widen in alarm, then grow confused. Tsu crosses the room tentatively towards him, but as she nears him she naturally breaks into a smile. She even sits down on the edge of the bed. “Hello, Midoriya. It’s me, Tsu.” 

“Tsu?” Some of the clouds seem to clear from Deku’s expression. “Tsu. It’s you.” 

Tsu looks relieved. “How are you feeling?” 

“Awful. Tsu, where are we? What’s happened?” 

Next to Katsuki, Toshinori exhales heavily. He hasn’t taken his hand off Katsuki’s back since they entered the observation room. “Here we go,” he murmurs. 

“I told Tsu to steer clear of any mention of Katsuki or the Capitol,” mutters Hawks, “Just see how much of home she can conjure up.” 

“We’re in District Thirteen. We live here now,” Tsu explains, “I miss home a lot. Remember the chalk drawings we used to do together on the paving stones? I was just thinking about—“ 

“Why aren’t we home?” Deku asks. 

“There was…an accident,” Tsu supplies, “No one could stay. But you’re going to like it here, Midoriya.” 

“My mother hasn’t come to see me,” Deku says. 

Tsu’s small shoulders deflate with sadness. “A lot of people didn’t make it out of Twelve. The bakery…I’m sorry, Midoriya. I know how you’re feeling. I…I lost Satsuki, and my parents. But…Samidare and I are making a new life here. He thinks school is much more interesting here than it was back home. There’s always food and clean clothes, too. And the people have been really nice to us. I’m sure they could use a good baker. Do you remember when we made gingerbread for New Years’? I could barely handle the heat of your family’s big oven, but you—“

“There was a fire,” Deku says suddenly. 

Toshinori swears under his breath. “Hang in there, Young Asui.” 

“…Um, th-there was…an attack,” Tsu says haltingly. Katsuki can see a sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead as she realises her mistake in mentioning the oven and its heat, leading Deku to think of fire.

But it’s too late. “Twelve burned down, didn’t it? Because of him,” Deku says angrily. He begins to pull on his restraints. 

Tsu shakes her head. “It wasn’t Bakugou’s fault, Midoriya,” she says. 

“Did he tell you that?” Deku hisses at her. 

“He didn’t have to, I was—”

“He’s lying!” Deku shouts, “He’s a liar! You can’t trust him! He’s a mutt the Capitol created to destroy us!” 

“Get her out of there,” Hawks says. The door opens immediately and Tsu stands up from the bed and begins to back toward it slowly, still trying to talk Deku down. 

“Midoriya, he’s not a—”

“Don’t trust him, Tsu,” Deku says in a frantic voice, “Don’t even go near him. He tried to kill me. You have to kill him, Tsu. You have to kill him! He’s a monster! A mutt!” A hand reaches through the doorway, pulls Tsu out, and the door swings shut. But Deku continues to scream, “He’s a mutt! He’s a filthy mutt!” 

Not only does Deku hate him and want to kill him, he no longer believes that Katsuki is even human.

It was less painful being strangled. 

Around him the recovery team members scribble on their clipboards, taking down every awful word Deku says. Toshinori and Hawks grab Katsuki’s arms and propel him from the observation room. They lean him up against a wall out in the empty hallway. 

“Katsuki, this is just a conditioned response,” Hawks tells him, squeezing his shoulder, “It’s not him.”

“No,” Katsuki rasps out, staring numbly down at the floor. “It’s not Deku…”

The hallway is silent. But Katsuki knows that Deku continues to scream behind the door and glass beyond him. Beyond his reach. His mother was wrong. Deku will never find his way back to him. Deku is gone. He is irretrievable. 

Only one thing matters now.

All For One. He has to pay. He has to die. 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. 

Katsuki can’t stay here. If they want him to be the Mockingjay, then they have to send him away. “I need…out. Send—” He heaves with the effort it takes not to cough again, “S-send me anywhere.” 

“Where do you want to go?” Toshinori asks. 

There’s only one place Katsuki can think of where he has a job to do. “To the Capitol.” 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. 

“We can’t,” Hawks says, “Not until all the districts are secure first. The fighting is almost over in all of them but Two.” 

That’s right. First the districts. Then the Capitol. And then he hunts down All For One. 

I will fucking kill you. 

“Send me to Two.” 

District 2 is a large district composed of a series of villages spread across the mountains. Each was originally associated with a mine or quarry, though now many of them are devoted to the housing and training of Peacekeepers. And at the centre of the district is a virtually impenetrable mountain that houses the heart of the Capitol’s military. It was established directly after the Dark Days, when the Capitol lost District 13 and was desperate for a new underground weapons stronghold. 

From the air, it appears to be just another mountain with a few entrances on its faces. But inside are vast cavernous spaces hewn from the rock, and even a train system to transport the miners from the mountain to the town square, the very centre of the main town in District 2. 

It was reinforced with large pillars and walls of stone to support the infrastructure, filled with computer banks and meeting rooms, barracks and arsenals. They had widened entrances to allow the exit of hovercrafts from the hangar, and installed missile launchers, while leaving the exterior of the mountain on the whole largely unchanged, making it a natural fortress to protect them from their enemies.

All in all, it was a tough nut to crack, and the main factor in why the fighting had outlasted in District 2 compared to everywhere else. When he arrived, Katsuki nicknamed the mountain the Nut, which caught on with the weary and discouraged rebel leaders in 2.

By other districts’ standards, the Capitol babied the inhabitants of 2. Just by looking at the District 2 rebels, it’s easy to tell that they’ve been decently fed and cared for in childhood. Some did end up as quarry and mine workers, while others were educated for jobs in the Nut or funnelled into the ranks of Peacekeepers. Trained at a young age for combat, the Hunger Games were an opportunity for wealth and a kind of glory not seen elsewhere. Of course, the people of 2 swallowed the Capitol’s propaganda more easily than the rest of the districts, embracing their ways. But they were still all slaves, at the end of the day. If that was lost on the citizens who became Peacekeepers or worked in the Nut, it was not lost on the stonecutters who formed the backbone of the rebel resistance here. 

Things stand the same as they did when Katsuki arrived two weeks ago. The outer villages are in rebel hands, the town divided, and the Nut is as uncrackable as ever. Its few entrances are heavily fortified, its heart safely enfolded in the mountain. While every other district has now wrested control from the Capitol, 2 remains in its pocket. Each day, Katsuki does whatever he can to help. He visits the wounded. He tapes short propos with his camera crew. He’s not allowed in actual combat, but he’s invited to meetings on the status of the war, which is far more than he got while in 13. 

It’s much better out here. There’s no schedule tattooed on his arm each day, and there’s fewer demands on him and his time. He lives above ground in the rebel villages or surrounding caves, relocated often for safety’s sake. He’s been given clearance to hunt as long as he takes a guard along with him and doesn't stray too far. In the thin, cold mountain air, he feels some physical strength returning to him, his mind clearing away the rest of the fogginess. But with this mental clarity comes an even sharper awareness of what has been done to De—

Izuku.

Katsuki calls him Izuku now. The way he always did whenever his life was in danger, when Katsuki feared he was dead. It seemed fitting, given the circumstances. Because he may as well be dead. Because there is no more Deku. All For One has stolen him away, and twisted him beyond all recognition. 

Colonel Kudo, who came to 2 along with Katsuki, told him that even with all their meticulous planning, it was still a little too easy to rescue Izuku and the others. Kudo believes that even if they hadn’t made the effort themselves, that Izuku would have been delivered to Katsuki at some point anyway. Dropped off in an actively warring district, or perhaps right on the doorstep of District 13. Tied up with ribbons and tagged with Katsuki’s name. Programmed to murder him. 

It’s only now that he’s been corrupted that Katsuki can fully appreciate the real Izuku. Even more than Katsuki would have if Izuku really had died. His kindness, his strength, his steadiness, and his warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it. Outside of his mother, Kirishima, and maybe even Toshinori, how many people in the world love him unconditionally? In his case, the answer may now be none. Sometimes when Katsuki is alone, he takes the pearl from where it now lives in his pocket and tries to remember the boy with the bread, with the strong arms that could ward off nightmares, and the kisses that made Katsuki burn with desire. He tries to make himself put a name to the thing he’s lost. But what’s the use? He is gone, and whatever existed between them is gone with him. All that’s left is Katsuki’s promise to kill All For One. He tells himself this ten times a day. 

Back in 13, Izuku’s rehabilitation continues. Hawks gives him cheerful updates over the phone, even though Katsuki doesn’t ask for them, like: “Good news, Katsuki! I think we’ve almost got him convinced you’re not a mutt!” Or, “Today Izuku was allowed to feed himself some pudding.” 

But when Toshinori comes on the line, he admits that Izuku is no better. The only dubious ray of hope comes from the news Toshinori gives him about his mother, who came up with an idea to try to hijack Izuku back, with the help of Shinso’s Quirk, aptly named Brainwashing. When Shinso activates his Quirk—which is done by getting the person he wants to control to respond to him—they freeze, unable to control their body or speak. Without any way to react verbally or physically, they then bring up memories of Katsuki and administer a large dose of morphling in order to calm him. 

“We’ve only tried it on one memory so far,” Toshinori tells him, “We showed him the tape of the two of you in the cave, where you told him that story about you buying your mother a goat.” 

“Any improvement?” Katsuki asks. 

“Well, if extreme confusion is an improvement over extreme terror, then I’d say yes,” Toshinori says, “He lost the ability to speak for several hours after Young Shinso released him from his Brainwashing, and went into some kind of stupor. When he finally came out of it, the only thing he asked about was the goat.”

“…Right,” Katsuki says stiffly. 

“How about you, kid? How is it out there?” 

“No forward motion.” 

“We’re sending out a team today to help.”

Katsuki isn’t surprised to see Kirishima’s name on the list. If anyone could find a way to ensnare the mountain stronghold, it would be him. Originally, Kirishima offered to come with Katsuki to 2, but Katsuki could tell it would be tearing him away from his work in Special Weaponry with Kaminari, so Katsuki told him to sit tight and stay where he was most needed. What he didn’t tell him was that his presence would make it even more difficult for Katsuki to mourn De— Izuku. 

Kirishima finds him when they arrive later that afternoon. Katsuki is sitting on a log at the edge of his current village, plucking a goose, with a dozen or so of the birds piled at his feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through the district since Katsuki has arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Kirishima settles down beside Katsuki and begins to relieve one of the geese in Katsuki’s pile of its feathers. 

They get about halfway through the pile before Kirishima speaks up. “Any chance we’ll get to eat these?” 

“Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen,” Katsuki says, “But I usually give a couple to whoever I stay with for the night. For keepin’ me.” 

“Isn’t the honour of the thing enough?” Kirishima attempts to joke. 

Katsuki’s expression remains stony. “I guess word has gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health,” he replies, his voice hollow.

They pluck in silence for a while longer. Then Kirishima says, tentatively, “I, uh…I saw Midoriya yesterday. Through the glass.” 

“What’d you think?” Katsuki asks. He gives the feathers in his hand a terse yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around their feet. “That now that he hates my guts, y’don’t have to be jealous of him anymore?” 

Kirishima doesn't respond, for so long that Katsuki thinks he might just get up and walk away. Katsuki looks up to meet his gaze, and finds Kirishima looking at him with a pained expression. "That's not fair," he murmurs. 

Katsuki's face remains expressionless. "But I'm right," he says flatly. 

Kirishima reaches up and pulls a feather out of Katsuki’s hair. And then he looks away with a long sigh, and twirls the feather around between his thumb and forefinger. “My first thought was just...poor Midoriya. I can't even begin to imagine what he went through. He must be so confused, and so scared, and in so much pain," Kirishima closes his eyes and swallows thickly before he continues, "And then my second, selfish thought was…I’ll never be able to compete with that. No matter how much pain I’m in. I don’t stand a chance if he doesn’t get better. You’d never be able to let him go, and you’d always feel wrong about bein’ with me.” 

Katsuki regards Kirishima silently for a while, the half-plucked goose in his hands forgotten. “Right. The way I always felt wrong kissin’ him because of you,” Katsuki mutters. 

Kirishima opens his eyes, looks back up, and holds Katsuki’s gaze. “If I really thought that was true, then I could almost live with the rest of it.”

“It is true,” Katsuki says, “But so is what you said about Izuku.” 

Kirishima's brows knit together and he looks back down to the feather between his fingers. He flicks it away, grabs another goose, and they go back to plucking in silence. 

Afterward, they drop off the geese and volunteer to go into the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire. As they move through the unfamiliar forest together, gathering up wood, the ongoing silence between them feels as sharp and painful as a blade lodged between Katsuki’s ribs. Kirishima’s frustration rolls off of him in heavy waves, pummelling Katsuki, the tension in the air so thick it’s enough to choke him, making it impossible to speak, even if he could think of a single thing to say to make any of it better. 

On their way back to camp, both their arms laden with piles of wood, Katsuki hears Kirishima’s footfalls grow quiet, and then the pine needles and leaves stop crunching under his boots altogether. Katsuki comes to a stop and turns to look at him. Kirishima suddenly makes a terse, exasperated sound, and then he drops his pile of kindling back to the forest floor with a clatter, his gaze locked tensely onto Katsuki all the while. Katsuki can feel his own pulse thrumming erratically in his throat as he swallows, watching Kirishima move across the distance between them. 

As Kirishima reaches for him, Katsuki dumps his own bundle of wood at his feet just before he’s ensnared in Kirishima’s arms. Kirishima’s lips first brush the fading bruises on Katsuki’s neck before he quickly works his way towards his mouth. 

And despite what Katsuki feels for Izuku, this is when he accepts deep down that Izuku will never come back to him, and that he will never go back to Izuku. He’ll stay here in District 2 until it falls, then he’ll go to the Capitol and kill All For One, and then he’ll die for his trouble. And Izuku will die insane and hating him. 

So in the fading twilight, Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut and kisses Kirishima back; kisses him to make up for all the kisses he’s withheld up until now. Because it doesn’t matter anymore. And because Katsuki is so desperately lonely he can’t stand it. 

Kirishima’s touch and taste and heat remind Katsuki that at least his body is still alive, and for the moment it’s a welcome feeling. He empties his mind and lets the sensations run through his flesh, happy to lose himself to them. Kirishima backs them towards the trunk of a sturdy pine, and Katsuki’s back digs into the bark as their mouths move in tandem, sloppy and wet, teeth clicking together and dragging roughly against each other’s lips before they lick away the pain with hot, curling tongues. When Kirishima pulls away slightly, Katsuki lurches forward to close the gap, but stops when he feels Kirishima’s hand under his chin. 

“Wait.”

The instant Katsuki opens his eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not their woods or their mountains or their way. His hand instinctively goes to the scar on his left temple, which he associates with confusion. 

Kirishima’s hand moves to cup Katsuki’s cheek. “Now kiss me.” 

Bewildered, unblinking, Katsuki can’t bring himself to move. He stands there in puzzlement, and then Kirishima leans in and presses his lips briefly to his. The desolate anger is gone, but the warmth remains. Then Kirishima examines his face closely, rubbing his thumb along the pale scar across Katsuki’s left cheekbone.

“What’s goin’ on in your head?” Kirishima whispers. 

“...I don’t know,” Katsuki whispers back. 

Kirishima gives a weak attempt at a laugh. “Then it’s like kissin’ someone who’s drunk,” he murmurs. He brushes his fingertips across Katsuki’s bottom lip. “It doesn’t count.”

Chapter Text

PART TWO

THE DISSONANCE

𓆙 𓅪

vi.

Bright and early the next morning, everyone assembles to take on the problem of the Nut. Katsuki avoids the conference table, perching on a wide windowsill that has a view of the mountain in question. 

Kudo gives them a virtual tour of the Nut, showing its interior and fortifications, and tales of previous failed attempts to seize it are recounted; the repeated return to the strategy of storming the entrances, and the countless soldiers that have been lost during the many variations of this approach. They need a new plan. Hours pass, and lunch comes and goes, as the District 2 rebels and the new team of brains from 13—which includes Kirishima and Kaminari—try to come up with a realistic plan for taking the mountain. While Kaminari thinks he might be able to override certain computer systems, and there’s some discussion of putting the handful of internal spies to use, nobody has any truly innovative ideas. 

Kirishima, who is too restless to sit at the table for more than a few hours, has been alternating between pacing and sharing Katsuki’s windowsill. It’s been a bit strained between the two of them, ever since their encounter in the woods, but there’s also been a wordless agreement not to allow it to impact their mission—in fact, it’s been entirely wordless in general. They haven’t spoken to each other once all day. For the last hour or so, Kirishima has been sitting quietly, his brow knitted in concentration, staring at the Nut through the window. 

“What if we don’t need to take the Nut?” Kirishima says suddenly, “What if we just disable it?” 

“What d’you mean?” Kaminari asks. 

Kirishima has that glint in his eye that Katsuki has seen a thousand times in the past, the one he always had when he was plotting out an intricate new trap for game. “Think of it like a wild dog den,” Kirishima continues, “You’re not gonna fight your way in. So you’ve got two choices: trap the dogs inside, or flush ‘em out.” 

“They’ve already tried blowin’ up the entrances,” Katsuki mutters, his voice rough with disuse. He can feel all the eyes in the room land on him. He doesn’t normally have much to contribute during these meetings, so it’s rare that he’s even speaking up. “They’re set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done.” 

“I know,” Kirishima says, “Which is why we’d use the mountain itself.” 

Kaminari gets up and joins the two of them at the window, peering through the glass up at the mountain. 

“Look. There’s avalanche paths runnin’ down the sides,” Kirishima says, pointing. 

Kaminari clicks his tongue. “It’d be tricky,” he says pensively, “The sequence of detonations would hafta be placed super carefully, and there’s no hope of controllin’ it once it’s in motion.”

”I’m not sayin’ we’ve gotta control it,” Kirishima says, “Not if we give up on possessin’ the Nut. We just shut it down. With some targeted blasts, we could start avalanches and block the entrances. Trap the enemy inside. Cut off their supply chain. Make it impossible for them to launch their hovercrafts.”

The implications of Kirishima’s suggestion starts to settle quietly around the room. Katsuki looks around, watching the reaction playing out on people’s faces, the expressions ranging from pleasure to distress, from sorrow to satisfaction.

“The ventilation system in the Nut is rudimentary at best,” Kudo says, “It pumps in air from the mountainsides. Block those off, and you’ll suffocate whoever is trapped. And we would forfeit the chance to control the weapons they’ve got inside.”

”But it’ll still weaken the Capitol,” Kirishima says.

Katsuki frowns. “And what, you think I could blow up the Nut usin’ my Quirk?” 

Before Kirishima can respond to that, Kudo shakes his head. “No. We can use hover planes to target the weak spots in the mountain. It’ll be more firepower, for one thing, and will keep you out of harm’s way. We need to keep you out of direct combat.” 

That doesn’t make Katsuki feel any better. It’s not how they’ll blow up the mountain that bothers him, but what it will mean for the people inside of it when they do.

Katsuki looks back to Kirishima. “There’s civilians in there. Some of ‘em are our own spies. Are you gonna kill them, too?” 

Kirishima regards him stoically. “We can leave the train tunnel unharmed,” he offers. 

“You’d still be buryin’ them alive,” Katsuki argues, “Just like our dads.”

Surely those words would be enough to make Kirishima think twice about this plan. 

But Kirishima just grimaces, looking more irritated than swayed. “Our dads weren’t buried alive. They were blown to bits,” he retorts brusquely, “And if we leave the train tunnel alone, we won’t be buryin’ them alive. Not completely, anyway. They’ll at least have a few hours to try and escape to the town square. That’s a hell of a lot more of a luxury than we got when they firebombed Twelve. We watched children burn to death and there was nothin’ we could do!” 

The image rips through Katsuki, and for a moment, he wants everyone in that mountain dead. But then, he’s still a boy from District 12. He can’t help it. Enemy or no, he can’t condemn anyone to that kind of death. Back in the old days, when they were nothing more than a couple of kids hunting outside of 12, Kirishima’s ravings about the Capitol were just words. But here, put into practice, Kirishima’s words can become deeds that can never be reversed. And Katsuki is powerless to stop it. 

“We can have armed forces waitin’ at the entrance to the train tunnel,” Kirishima continues, looking to Kudo now. “Those who manage to escape to the square can surrender to us there. They can either join the fight, or we can take ‘em prisoner.” 

“Let’s bring Thirteen into the loop,” Kudo suggests, “Let President Yoichi weigh in.”

Katsuki doesn’t like the sound of that one bit. A desperation surges within him as he whirls around to Kudo. “Outside of our spies, we don’t know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut,” Katsuki says quickly, “They could’ve been coerced. Held against their will. But Yoichi won’t trust any of them. He’ll tell you to block the train tunnel.”

“He might,” Kudo says, “But, he’s also been running the numbers, ever since we saw that broadcast where Izuku talked about the dangers of killing ourselves off. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded…I think he’ll agree it’s at least worth a conversation.” 

Only a handful of people are invited to be part of that conversation. Katsuki and Kirishima are released with the rest, and go hunting to blow off some steam. Katsuki is quietly grateful that Kirishima had made the suggestion to leave the train tunnel alone, despite the fact he was clearly angry with Katsuki for going up against him during the meeting—if his continued silence is anything to go by. It reminds Katsuki of the fact that, despite his convictions, Kirishima isn’t so cold-hearted as to invent a death trap; that he at least had some interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. Katsuki doesn’t know for certain if Kirishima would have made the suggestion to spare the train tunnel if Katsuki hadn’t been so against the plan, but Katsuki is certain that he can’t handle considering the alternative. To him, Kirishima was the only scrap of goodness that was left in this world. It’s all Katsuki has to cling to anymore. 

Kudo makes a call back to 13, and a decision is finalized by Yoichi. They would close off all the entrances, but leave the train tunnel in tact.

Katsuki can’t help but wonder how if it hadn’t been for Yoichi being influenced by Izuku’s propos, he would have surely chosen to trap everyone within the mountain. 

Look at that, Izuku, Katsuki thinks, Guess we’re all finally starting to catch up to you. 

By evening, Katsuki is suited up in his Mockingjay outfit, with his bow slung over his shoulder and an earpiece that connects him to Toshinori back in 13—just in case a good opportunity for a propo arises. They all wait on the roof of the Justice Building with a clear view of their target, watching on as their hover planes are initially ignored, seen as no more than flies buzzing around a honeypot. After two rounds of bombings in the higher elevations of the mountain, however, the planes have the attention of the commanders in the Nut. But by the time the Nut’s anti-aircraft weapons begin to return fire, it’s already too late. 

Kirishima’s plan exceeds anyone’s expectations. Whole sections of the Nut collapse before their eyes, obliterating any sign that human beings have ever set foot in the place. They all stand speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone thunder down the mountain, burying the entrances under tons of rock, raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackens the sky.

And turning the mountain into a tomb. 

Katsuki imagines the hell that is breaking loose inside of the mountain. Sirens wailing, lights flickering into darkness. Stone dust choking the air. The shrieks of panicked, trapped beings stumbling madly for a way out, only to find the entrances, the launchpad, and the ventilation shafts all clogged with earth and rock trying to force its way in. People slamming, shoving, scrambling like ants as the hill presses in on them, threatening to crush their fragile shells. 

On the day his father died, sirens went off during lunchtime when Katsuki was in school. Katsuki sprang out of his seat, not waiting for dismissal, and not being expected to. He wove through the streams of people pouring out onto the streets to pool at the main entrance of the mine. He found his mother clenching the rope that had been hastily strung to keep the crowd back. In retrospect, that should have been Katsuki’s first clue that there was a problem. Because why was he looking for her, when the reverse should have been true? 

The elevators were screeching, burning up and down their cables as they vomited smoke-blackened miners into the light of day. With each group that returned came cries of relief, relatives diving under the rope to reunite with their loved ones. Katsuki and his mother stood in the freezing cold air as the afternoon turned overcast, as a light snow began to dust the earth. The elevators began to move slower, carrying less and less beings. Katsuki knelt on the ground and pressed his hands into the earth, wanting to pull his father free. There was not a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone who was trapped underground. 

They waited through the night, watching them carry out the wounded, and the bodies. Blankets were put around their shoulders by strangers. A mug of something warm was put into Katsuki’s hands that he never drank. And then, finally, at dawn, the mine captain approached them with a grieved expression which could only mean one thing. 

“Kid!” Toshinori’s voice calls through his earpiece. Katsuki isn’t sure how many times he’s already called his name. He was probably scheduling his surgery for that chip to be implanted in his ear at this very moment. “Are you there?” 

Katsuki realises his hand is clamped over his mouth, and lowers it. “Yeah.” 

“Get inside. Just in case the Capitol tries to retaliate with what’s left of its air force.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki repeats. 

Everyone on the roof begins to make their way inside. As Katsuki descends the stairs, he brushes his fingers along the unblemished white marble walls, so cold and beautiful. There’s no give to the surface—his flesh yields, his warmth taken. Stone conquers people every time. 

He sits at the base of one of the gigantic pillars in the great entrance hall of the Justice Building. Through the doors he can see the white expanse of marble that leads to the steps of the square. He remembers how sick he was the day he and Izuku were here, worn down by the Victory Tour, failing in their attempt to calm the districts, facing the memories of Himiko Toga and Neito Monoma. Particularly Monoma’s slow and gruesome death by the mutts. 

“Young Bakugou.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says again. It seems he’s only capable of that one word now. 

“Thought you’d like to hear about an interesting turn of events with Young Midoriya this afternoon,” Toshinori says. Katsuki doesn’t really have any choice but to listen. “We showed him that clip of you singing ‘The Hanging Tree’. It was never aired, so the Capitol couldn’t have used it against him when he was being hijacked. He said he recognized the song.” 

For a moment, Katsuki’s heart skips a beat. Then he realizes it’s just more tracker jacker serum confusion. “He never heard me sing that one.”

“No, but he heard your father sing it. He said he was small, probably six or seven, and your father was in the bakery, singing that song. He said he remembered because he was listening to see if the birds went silent. He says they did.” 

“Was I there?”

“Not sure. He didn’t say so. But it’s the first connection to you that hasn’t triggered some mental breakdown,” says Toshinori. He pauses for a moment, then says, “It’s something, kid.” 

Katsuki’s father seems to be everywhere today. Dying in the mine. Singing his way into Izuku’s muddled consciousness. Katsuki misses him so badly it hurts. 

The gunfire is really picking up outside. Katsuki doesn’t petition to join the fighters. He has no stomach for it, no heat in his blood. They wouldn’t have let him, anyway. He wishes Izuku was here—the old Izuku, Deku—because he would be able to articulate why it is so wrong of them all to be exchanging fire when there were people trying to claw their way out of the mountain. Or maybe it was just Katsuki’s own history making him too sensitive. 

Night falls quickly. Huge, bright spotlights are turned on, illuminating the square and the train tunnel. Hours pass, and no one comes. With each minute, it becomes harder to imagine that anyone survived the assault on the mountain. 

It’s well after midnight when Jirou comes to attach a special microphone to Katsuki’s costume. “You’re not gonna like this, but…they need you to make a speech,” she says. 

Katsuki immediately feels queasy. 

“I’ll feed it to you, line by line,” Toshinori says in his ear, “Look, kid. There’s no sign of life from that mountain. We’ve won, but they’re still fighting out there. So maybe you might get the rest of their forces to surrender.” 

“The mic I attached to you will broadcast your voice through their emergency audio system, and your image wherever people have access to a screen,” Jirou explains. 

There’s a couple of huge screens out in the square; Katsuki saw them on the Victory Tour. But they tried to feed him lines before, and it was a flop. How could this possibly work? 

“You could save a lot of lives, Young Bakugou,” Toshinori says quietly. 

“…Fine.”

Katsuki steps out onto the top of the stairs of the Justice Building, costumed and brightly lit. His television crew, positioned in the square with special cameras, indicate to him that they’re ready. Katsuki clicks on his mic and listens carefully as Toshinori dictates the first line of the speech. A huge image of Katsuki lights up one of the screens over the square. 

Just as Katsuki opens his mouth to begin, a pair of trains come screeching to a halt in the train station, side-by-side. The doors slide open and people stumble out in a cloud of smoke they’ve brought from the Nut. They’ve come heavily armed, but also badly wounded. Someone kills the lights on the stairs, leaving Katsuki in shadow. One of the trains blooms with fire, and the people aboard have no choice but to billow out into the square, choking on thick black smoke but defiantly waving their guns.

A man staggers out from the station, and trips and falls to his face. Katsuki can see scorch marks down the back of his shirt, and the red flesh underneath. And suddenly all Katsuki sees is another victim of a mining accident. Someone who needs help. Katsuki’s feet fly down the steps and he takes off running for him. He's just nearing the man, reaching down to help him, when suddenly the man drags himself up to his knees and jabs the barrel of his gun against Katsuki’s jaw. His eyes are crazed with pain and fear and fury. 

His garbled speech is barely comprehensible. “Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”

The rest of the world recedes. Surely Katsuki should be able to come up with thousands of reasons, but instead the words that make it to his lips are, “I can’t.” 

The man is perplexed, trying to make sense of Katsuki’s words. 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Katsuki murmurs, “We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We’ve got every reason to kill each other. So go ahead,” He presses his jawbone against the tip of the gun’s barrel. “Do it. Make All For One happy. I’m done killin’ his slaves for him.”

“I’m not his slave,” the man says tightly.

“I didn’t think I was, either. But I am,” Katsuki says, “That’s why I killed Monoma. And he killed Yoarashi. And Yoarashi killed Toga. And she tried to kill me,” His voice drops to a whisper. “It all just goes around and around, and who wins? Always All For One. I am done bein’ a piece in his fuckin’ Games.” 

Izuku. He really had been so far ahead of all of them. He understood it all before they’d even set foot in the arena. 

“Keep talking, kid,” Toshinori insists quietly in his earpiece. 

Izuku should be the one here, trying to bring an ending to the fighting. He wouldn’t need anyone to feed him lines. What would Izuku say to this man, if he were in Katsuki’s place now?

“District Two and District Twelve have no fight with each other, except the one the Capitol gave us,” Katsuki goes on, his voice low and urgent. The man blinks at him uncomprehendingly. “Why are you even fighting with the rebels? Those people were your neighbours. Maybe even your family.” 

The man shakily lowers his gun. Katsuki rises back to his feet and looks around the square, towards the rebel machine guns pointed towards the trains. “I come from a mining town, too,” Katsuki calls out, “Since when do miners condemn other miners to that kind of death, and then pick off whoever manages to crawl outta the rubble? These people”—His voice rises to a shout as he indicates the wounded bodies in the square—“are not your enemy!” He whips back around to the train station. “The rebels are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and that’s All For One!”

The cameras are tight on him as he reaches out his hands to the man, to the other wounded, to the reluctant rebels across Panem. 

Would Izuku see this, too? Were they showing it to him right now? 

Hey, Izuku. Can I still catch up to you?

“He corrupts everyone and everything! He turns the best of us against each other. Stop killing for him! Instead, turn your weapons to the Capitol! Turn your weapons to All For—”

And then Katsuki watches himself get shot on television.

“Always…”

In the twilight of morphling, Izuku whispers and Katsuki goes searching for him through a gauzy, violet-tinted world with no hard edges and many places to hide. Katsuki pushes through cloud banks, following faint tracks. He feels Izuku’s hand on his cheek and tries to catch it, but it dissolves like mist through his fingers. 

When he finally begins to surface into the sterile hospital room in District 13, he remembers. Back in 12, after Katsuki had broken his heel after getting over the electrified fence and had been given a dose of sleep syrup, Katsuki had asked Izuku to stay with him as he was drifting off to sleep. Izuku had whispered something to him that Katsuki couldn’t quite catch. But some part of his brain had trapped the word, and allowed it to swim through his dreams now as though to taunt him: Always. 

Morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, so instead of a stab of sorrow, Katsuki merely feels emptiness. 

The white curtain that divides his bed from the next patient’s suddenly whips back, and Ochaco Uraraka stares down at him. Katsuki instantly bristles, feeling threatened. The last time he’d seen Uraraka, she attacked him in the clock arena. He has to remind himself that she did it to save his life. That it was part of the rebel plot. Still, he swears the scar on his arm from the tracker getting removed, and his temple from where she struck him with a heavy metal coil of wire, both begin to throb in her presence. 

“Well, there he is,” Uraraka says loftily, “The Mockingjay.”

In the weeks since Katsuki left District 13, Uraraka’s hair has started to grow back in light, downy tufts, helping to hide some of the scars. And she’s gained some weight back. But her round eyes were hollow, and ringed with heavy purple bags. 

She walks over and sits down on the edge of Katsuki’s bed with a heavy plunk that sends spikes of pain shooting across Katsuki’s chest. Unfortunately there’s not enough morphling left in his veins for him to ignore the ache in the left side of his body. Where the bullet hit him. His hands fumble over the thick bandages encasing his ribs and he wonders what he’s even still doing alive. Everything after the moment of impact is confusion riddled with gunfire. Katsuki tries to sit up, but the only thing he can manage is a moan. 

With an expert hand, Uraraka quickly detaches the morphling drip from Katsuki’s arm and plugs it into a socket taped in the crook of her own. “You don’t mind, do you? They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. I’ve had to borrow from you when the coast was clear.” 

How can he mind, when she was almost tortured to death by All For One because of Katsuki? He has no right to mind, and she knows it. 

“They’ve got this head doctor here, I’m sure you’ve had a chat or two with him yourself. He comes around every day to talk to me, trying to help me adjust to reality,” Uraraka leans over to give the morphling bag at Katsuki’s bedside a few impatient flicks to speed along its descent down the tube and into her veins. “As if anyone who has spent their life in this rabbit warren knows a thing about my reality.” 

Uraraka takes in a deep breath through her nose as the morphling enters her bloodstream. Some of the tension releases from her shoulders and she closes her eyes. “At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I’m ‘totally safe’. Safe from the Capitol. Safe from All For One,” She opens her eyes and peers over at Katsuki. “What about you, Mockingjay, do you feel totally safe?” 

“Until I got shot,” Katsuki mutters. 

Uraraka waves her hand. “Please. The bullet barely touched you. Jeanist saw to that,” she says, “Just some bruised ribs and a ruptured spleen. They couldn’t repair it, it had to be removed. Don’t worry, you don’t need one. And if you did, then I’m sure they’d find you one. Hell, I was right here, I’m sure they would have given you mine. It’s everyone’s job to keep you alive, after all. Right, little bird?” 

“Is that why you hate me?” Katsuki asks. 

Uraraka regards him quietly for a moment. “I guess I just find you a little hard to swallow,” she admits, “What with your sappy little romance, and heroic defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn’t an act, is it?” 

“Which part?” 

“You tell me, brainless,” Uraraka grabs Katsuki’s wrist and presses something into his hand. “Here. They pulled it out of your fancy bulletproof costume.” 

Katsuki looks down at his palm to see his pearl, and his chest aches anew. He’s starting to resent Uraraka for dipping into his morphling. But, she kept the pearl safe for him, she saved his life, and endured weeks of ruthless torture, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“I hear Deku is getting better,” Uraraka says. 

Katsuki winces a little, hearing that nickname. “Maybe. But he’s not Deku anymore,” Katsuki murmurs. 

Uraraka rolls her eyes. “None of us are who we used to be,” she says, “They messed us all up pretty good. There’s no going back. So we might as well get on with things.” 

Turns out getting your spleen removed doesn’t entitle you to lie around for a few weeks, because the doctors want Katsuki up and moving almost immediately. Even with morphling, the internal pain is severe for the first few days, but then slacks off considerably. The soreness from his bruised ribs, however, promises to hang on for a while. Still, Katsuki allows Uraraka to tap into his morphling drip whenever she likes. 

As part of his rehabilitation, he takes short walks above ground each day. One afternoon, Hawks joins him, falling right into step beside him, his hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit and a light skip to his step. He seems to be in a particularly good mood. 

“Doin’ alright there, Katsuki?” 

Alright? Sure, he’s alright. He’s got nothing to live for, except for his vow to kill All For One. And that puts him in a position of power, because it also means he’s got nothing to lose. 

“I bet you think you’re a good person, don’t you, Bird-for-Brains?” Katsuki mutters, “That you’re a good guy because you gave me that hint about the clock, and broke me outta the Quell arena. But all you’ve really done all this time is help create propaganda—first for the Capitol, then for the rebels—and broadcast it to the country. Hundreds of kids have died for it, but you give it all the old Hawks spin and think it makes you some kinda hero.” 

Hawks takes a moment to answer him. “I’m nobody’s idea of a hero, Katsuki. But at least I’m still in the game. The question is, are you?”

So that’s what this friendly little check-in was for. For Hawks to make sure that the star of his big show was still willing to perform. Katsuki looks at Hawks with narrowed eyes, thinking he would like to scream in his face, or hit him, or both. But what would be the point? So all he says in response is, “Tell me what happened.”

And so Hawks tells him. After Katsuki was shot, the workers from the Nut turned on the Capitol soldiers, and District 2 officially allied with the rebels. Now that all the districts were secured, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup by fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, and reorganising their troops. The Capitol finds itself completely cut off from outside help, and unlike District 13, is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self-sufficient. 

“So now what?” Katsuki asks. 

“Well, the city might be able to scrape by for a while with whatever emergency supplies they’ve likely stockpiled,” says Hawks, “But the big difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the people. Thirteen is used to hardship and frugality. But in the Capitol, all they’ve ever known is panem et circenses.”

The phrase is complete nonsense to Katsuki, except for the ‘panem’ part, of course. “The hell is that?” 

“A saying from thousands of years ago,” Hawks tells him, “It’s written in a language called Latin, about a place called Rome. It translates to ‘bread and circuses’.” 

Katsuki frowns. “What does it mean?” 

“It’s about how the government provides full bellies and entertainment to appease the masses,” Hawks explains, “Tale as old as time, apparently. Humankind knew it even way back then.”

Katsuki thinks about the Capitol, with its excess of decadent food, and the ultimate form of entertainment: The Hunger Games. “So that’s what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses.”

“Yep. As long as those two things kept rollin’ in, then All For One could control his little empire,” Hawks says, “But now, the Capitol isn’t able to provide either one at the standard its people are accustomed to.” 

“So when can I go to the Capitol?” Katsuki asks. 

Hawks slows to a stop, and turns to face Katsuki. He rests a hand on his shoulder. “Katsuki, you’ve done your job. You shook up the Capitol, both figuratively and literally. You ignited the rebellion, and unified the districts. And now, you get to rest. To move on with your life.” 

None of us are who we used to be. They messed us all up pretty good. There’s no going back. So we might as well get on with things. 

Katsuki knocks aside Hawks’ hand. “The last time the rebels saw me, I got shot.” 

“Exactly. As far as the soldiers know, you survived a shot to the heart. I think they’ll understand why you’re not with them.” 

“I need to be with them,” Katsuki argues, “I need to be in the Capitol.” 

First the districts, then the Capitol. Then kill All For One, and then die himself. Getting himself shot was only a temporary setback. His job isn’t done yet. He can’t rest. He doesn’t get to move on with his life, because his life isn’t part of the plan. Only his death. His, and All For One’s. 

“Katsuki, we won’t let the momentum you created go to waste,” Hawks insists, “We’ll shoot more propos right here in Thirteen. We’ll show them that you’re alive. You can show off your badass stitches and impressive bruises, and congratulate the districts on their successful battle for unity. Point into the camera and say something real intense, like,”—Hawks drops his face into a performative scowl and shoots finger-guns at Katsuki—“…’Now it’s your turn’. Ooh. I think I just gave myself chills. It’s even got a double meaning! You're passing off the torch of the rebellion to the soldiers, and also tellin’ All For One to expect us soon,” Hawks slaps his forehead and lets out a frustrated groan. “Maaan, where’s Mina when I need her? She should be writing this down…” 

Katsuki feels his eyelid twitching. Now he really was in danger of hitting him. 

“Young Bakugou.” 

Katsuki turns away from Hawks, who has already completely forgotten about him as he walks off, sending a hasty message to his assistant through his communicuff, completely absorbed with the next instalment of propos. Katsuki watches as Toshinori walks up to him. He hasn’t seen him since he returned to 13. 

“What?” Katsuki grumbles, “Here to lecture me for goin’ off-script again and gettin’ myself shot?” 

Toshinori’s expression is unreadable. “It’s Young Midoriya,” he says, “He wants to see you.”

Katsuki feels as though he’s suddenly on a sailboat, tossed around on the waves, the deck shifting beneath his feet. There’s nothing around to grab onto to steady himself. He staggers backwards, his knees buckling beneath his weight. This was not part of the plan, either. Katsuki wrote Izuku off when he was in District 2. And no matter what Hawks or anyone else said, he was supposed to go to the Capitol, kill All For One, and get taken out himself. That was it. He was never supposed to hear the words he wants to see you.

“…What?” Katsuki says. His voice sounds small, alien, and disjointed to him.

“We’ve been showing him footage of you. From your Games, interviews, propos. All while continuing the anti-hijacking strategy your mother and Young Shinso have worked on,” Toshinori explains, “Sometimes he’s almost rational, and then he goes off again. But then we showed him footage of you in Two. And he had real memories of you.” 

“That…doesn’t mean anything,” Katsuki forces out, “It was new footage of me, so it wouldn’t have been something All For One could have altered. So…so it wouldn’t have triggered him. It doesn’t mean anything. How the hell d’you know that’s what he really wants? Maybe he just wants me to be brought to him so he can try to kill me again.” 

“He can’t hurt you,” Toshinori assures him, “He’s restrained.” 

“I don’t care. That doesn’t mean he actually wants to see me,” Katsuki retorts, “Who’d he say this to, anyway? Was it just somethin’ he was mumblin’ to himself while you watched him through a pane of one-way glass?”

Toshinori shakes his head. “I’ve talked to him.”

“Face-to-face? And he didn’t go nuts?” 

“Well, he was pretty angry with me,” Toshinori admits, “But for all the right reasons. For not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot.”

It would seem that, yet again, Toshinori has been keeping a great deal from him. Katsuki’s hands clench into fists at his sides. When he was still stationed in 2, he eventually requested that only Toshinori be allowed to give him any updates on Izuku’s condition. And Toshinori had spoken very little about it, just that different techniques were being tried. That there would never truly be a way to cure Izuku. Katsuki had once again placed too much faith in Toshinori; he had been counting on him to be the one person that would tell Katsuki things in plain words, that he wouldn’t give Katsuki any false hope. 

“I don’t want to,” Katsuki says. It feels petulant, but he doesn’t care. 

“Come on, kid,” Toshinori says. He pauses, looking like he’s deciding on something, then starts to add, “It’s for De—“ 

“He’s not Deku,” Katsuki says, sharp and automatic. 

Toshinori sighs. He regards Katsuki for a long moment with an imploring stare. He crosses his arms. “He watched you get shot on live television, kid. I think when he said he wants to ‘see’ you…he wants to make sure you’re really alive. We’ve told him you survived the gunshot, but it doesn’t seem like he’ll believe it until he sees you for himself.”

He’s probably pissed that the bullet didn’t finish the job, Katsuki thinks. 

Toshinori shrugs. “What’s the harm in trying?” 

The harm? There is plenty of harm. But now that Katsuki has heard the words he wants to see you, it seems his plans have been put on hold. As badly as he wants to, there’s no way to refuse. 

At midnight, he’s standing outside the door to Izuku’s hospital room. Or perhaps he should call it a cell. He wishes he could meet with Izuku privately, but it would seem they would never be free of having an audience of some kind. A team of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass with clipboards raised, pens poised. Toshinori gives Katsuki the go ahead in his earpiece, and he slowly opens the door. 

Those forest-green eyes lock on him instantly. Izuku has three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t struggle to free himself, though. He only observes Katsuki with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt.

He’s looking slightly better than the last time Katsuki saw him, but anything would have been an improvement on the broken, emaciated boy they had pulled out of the Capitol’s clutches. He’s a bit less gaunt in the face, but he’s still severely underweight, and there’s dark circles beneath his eyes, which seem clouded and lost. A shadowy clone of Deku, wearing his skin and nothing more.

There’s a chair next to Izuku’s bed. Katsuki crosses the room slowly and tentatively sinks into the seat. There’s nothing to do with his hands, so he crosses his arms over his aching ribs.

“…Hey,” Katsuki says. 

“Hi,” Izuku says.

It’s almost his voice, but it’s wrong. There’s an edge of suspicion and reproach right beneath the thin veneer that’s just a flicker of his usual, cordial greeting. 

“Toshi said you wanted to talk to me,” Katsuki says. 

“Look at you, for starters,” Izuku clarifies.

So Toshinori had been right about Izuku specifically wanting to ‘see’ Katsuki. He watches Katsuki like he’s waiting for him to transform into a bipedal drooling wolf right before his eyes. Probably trying to figure out how Katsuki had become so disappointingly bulletproof. He stares for so long that Katsuki starts casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, but his earpiece remains silent.

“You look terrible,” Izuku concludes, “I thought you had an ugly scowl on your face when you first walked in, but that’s just how you look, isn’t it? Ugly. You’re awfully pale, too.” 

Katsuki knows Izuku has been through hell and back, and yet the observations and insults rub him the wrong way. “Yeah, well, you look like shit, too.”

Izuku lets out a harsh laugh. “You’ve got a lot a nerve to say that to me after all I’ve been through. You’re not even the least bit nice, are you?” 

“I was never the nice one,” Katsuki says in a clipped voice, “You were.” 

What was wrong with him? He’s doing everything wrong! Why does he feel so defensive? 

Just when Katsuki thinks he’s about to start screaming—and he’s not even sure about what—Izuku speaks up again.

“When I watched you get shot, I remembered something.”

Katsuki keeps his gaze pinned on Izuku while he picks at the skin around his thumbnail. “About what?” 

“About the bread.” 

The pain in Katsuki’s chest wraps around his aching ribs. “What about it?” 

“I remember seeing you in the rain,” Izuku says, “Digging through the trash bins. I remember…burning the bread. I did it on purpose. I was supposed to give the bread to the pig, but I gave it to you.” 

Izuku had never confirmed whether or not he burned the bread on purpose. Not until this very moment. Hearing it now makes Katsuki’s insides feel like they’ve turned into grey, cold slush. 

“It was the first thing I’d eaten in days,” Katsuki murmurs, “The next day at school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” 

“At the end of the school day, you were walking home, and I tried to catch your eye,” Izuku says, “But you looked away. And then…for some reason, you picked…a dandelion.”

Katsuki has never spoken about that moment aloud. The first dandelion of spring. The sign of hope that he would get to live. He had looked away from Izuku’s bruised face, plucked the dandelion carefully and hurried home. He grabbed a bucket and headed for the meadow, which was dotted with the golden-headed weeds. He harvested every last one, then scrounged along inside the fence until he had filled the bucket full of dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, he and Mitsuki had gorged themselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread. Katsuki spent the rest of that night poring over the family plant book.

Then the following day, after school, Katsuki went under the fence and into the woods for the first time without his father to protect him. He collected a small bow and arrows Masaru had made for him from a hollow tree. After several hours, he had the good luck to shoot a rabbit. They hadn’t had meat in months. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something within Mitsuki. She roused herself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with it and more greens that Katsuki had gathered. Then, she had acted confused and went back to bed. But when the stew was done, Katsuki made her eat a bowl. 

Slowly, his mother returned to him. She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food Katsuki brought in for winter. People began to pay them or trade them goods for her medical remedies. Of course, she still wasn’t the same as before, and Katsuki kept watching, waiting for her to disappear on him again. He didn’t trust her. And some small gnarled place inside of him hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put them both through. He thought that things would never be the same between them again, but he’s managed to mend the cracks in his relationship with his mother. He used to think her fire had only begun to return the day he volunteered for the Games, but he was wrong. It began the day he shot that rabbit, the rabbit he was only alive to shoot because Izuku had given him that bread. Katsuki not only had Izuku to thank for his life—which was a costly debt to pay on its own—but for the life that was breathed back into his mother. 

All he can do is nod in confirmation to let Izuku know that the memory is real. 

“My mother hit me for burning that bread,” Izuku goes on, “Why would I take a beating like that for someone like you?” 

“It’s like I said. You’re the nice one,” Katsuki says, “You’re kind. Generous. Selfless.” 

“I must have loved you a lot,” Izuku says. 

“You do,” Katsuki’s voice catches and he coughs, then he quickly corrects himself, “You did.” 

“And did you love me?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki looks away. He thinks about the days he spent in the bunker, those long nights of uncertainty as he rolled his pearl around between his fingers. He thinks of Todoroki’s words, about when he had watched Katsuki’s reaction to Izuku’s heart being revived in the clock arena. 

And I knew that I had misjudged you. That you really do love Midoriya. I’m not saying in what way. Maybe you don’t even know that yourself. But…anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him.

“All For One used you to hurt me,” Katsuki says, “He wanted to break me.” 

Izuku narrows his gaze. “That’s not an answer.” 

Katsuki knows that. But it’s the only one he has the capacity to give. 

“I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes,” Izuku moves on, “In the first arena, it looked like you were trying to kill me with that nest of tracker jackers.” 

“You stayed awake under the tree I was trapped in all night,” Katsuki tells him, “You allied with the Careers in order to protect me, but I didn’t know your real intentions at the time. I thought you were tryin’ to kill me, too. But you stopped Monoma to let me escape.” 

Izuku doesn’t acknowledge any of this, and continues on. “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?”

“Sometimes,” Katsuki admits, haltingly. He spares another glance at the two-way glass. “You know we’re bein’ watched, right?” 

“I know,” Izuku says, “What about Kirishima?“

“What about him?”

“Did you like kissing him, too?”

Katsuki bristles. “How do you even know about that?”

Izuku blinks. “I didn’t,” he says, “Not for certain, anyway. But I guess you just told me.” 

Katsuki’s skin burns as shame and anger well up in him in equal measure. “Well, he’s not a bad kisser, either,” he says shortly. 

“And how did he feel about all that kissing you and I did, huh? The kissing you only liked doing sometimes.” 

“Dunno. He never told me, and I never asked,” Katsuki says tersely, “I sure as hell never asked for fuckin’ permission from either of you.” 

Izuku laughs again, cold and dismissive. “Wow. You’re a real piece of work,” he mutters, “All For One says everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie. But there’s one thing I know for certain. I would have saved myself a whole lot of suffering if I had just given that bread to the pig.” 

Toshinori doesn’t protest in Katsuki’s ear when he abruptly gets up and walks out. Katsuki walks down the hall, through the beehive of compartments. He finds a warm pipe in the laundry room to hide behind. It takes a long time before he gets to the bottom of why he’s so upset. When he does, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking for granted that Izuku thought he was wonderful are over. Finally, Izuku can see Katsuki for who he really is. Ugly. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. 

And Katsuki hates him for it. 

The following morning, Katsuki flies down the steps to Command and bursts right into the middle of a war meeting. 

“I need to go to the Capitol,” Katsuki says. 

Yoichi barely looks up from his screen. “You’re not authorized for combat, Private Bakugou,” he says, “But we can fly you in for the surrender.” 

“That’ll be too late! I’ll miss all the fuckin’ fighting!” Katsuki shouts, “You need me. I’m the best shot you’ve got! I’m the fuckin’ Mockingjay! And Kirishima is going.” 

“Because he’s shown up for training every day unless occupied with other approved duties,” Yoichi says, “I’m confident he can manage himself in the field. He’s even due to have his Quirk factor re-activated soon. How many training sessions have you attended?”

None. That’s how many. “I went hunting. Sometimes I trained down in Special Weaponry.” 

“That's not the same, Bakugou,” Kudo says, “We all know that you’re smart, brave, and a good shot. But we need soldiers on the field. You don’t know the first thing about executing orders, and you’re not exactly at your physical peak.” 

Katsuki scowls. “That didn’t seem to bother anyone when I was in Eight. Or Two,” he counters. 

The bomber battle in 8 and his intervention in 2 were both spontaneous, rash, and definitely not authorised. And both resulted in his injury. Suddenly, Katsuki sees himself through the eyes of someone like Colonel Kudo. A teenaged boy who can’t quite catch his breath because his ribs haven’t fully healed. Ugly, dishevelled, undisciplined. Someone who needs to be looked after; not a soldier. 

“Besides, I have to go,” Katsuki forges on.

“Why?” Yoichi asks. 

He has no shortage of good reasons why. Because his home was destroyed. Because the idea of remaining here in 13 with the latest version of Izuku while Kirishima goes off to fight is unbearable. 

“Because you told me I could kill All For One,” Katsuki says, “You said you’d flip me for it. So turn out your pockets and let’s have that coin toss right now.” 

Yoichi considers Katsuki for a moment, and seems to think about it. Then he says, “Even if you won that coin toss, you’re not fit for active duty in your current condition. But if you’re serious about wanting to join the troops, then you’ll have three weeks to train. It’s not long, but if the Assignment Board deems you fit by then, then your case will be considered for review.” 

Katsuki supposes it’s his own fault that this is the best he can hope for. He blew off his schedule every single day unless something suited him. It didn’t seem like much of a priority to jog around a field with a gun with so many other things going on. And now he’s paying for his negligence. 

Back in their hospital room, he relays the news to Uraraka. “There’s no way they’ll let you go to the Capitol, either. We’ll both have to train,” he says. 

“Fine,” Uraraka says tersely, “But I’m going to the stinking Capitol even if I have to steal a hovercraft and fly there myself.” 

“Better not bring that up in training,” Katsuki says, “But nice to know that I’ll have a ride.” 

Uraraka grins at him, and Katsuki feels a slight but significant shift in their relationship. He wouldn’t exactly say they’re friends, but possibly allies. That’s good. Katsuki was going to need an ally. 

The next morning, he and Uraraka report for training at 7:30, and reality slaps him in the face. They’ve been funnelled into a class with relative beginners—kids ranging from thirteen to fifteen years old—which seems a little insulting until it becomes glaringly obvious that they’re all in far better condition than Katsuki and Uraraka are. 

They stretch, which hurts. Then there’s a couple hours of strengthening exercises, which also hurts. And then an eight kilometre run, which fucking kills. Even with Uraraka’s motivational insults driving him on, Katsuki is in so much agony he has to drop out after one kilometre.

“It’s my stupid fuckin’ ribs,” Katsuki explains to his drill sergeant, Usagiyama. “They’re still bruised.” 

“I’ll tell ya, Private Bakugou, that kinda injury is gonna take at least another month to heal up on its own,” she says firmly. 

“I don’t have a month,” Katsuki snaps. 

Usagiyama looks him up and down. “The doctors haven’t offered ya any treatment?” 

“Didn’t know there was any. They said they had to mend naturally.” 

“They could expedite the process if I recommend it. I have to warn ya though, it ain’t any fun.” 

“I don’t care,” Katsuki says, “I have to get to the Capitol.” 

She doesn’t question him on the matter. She scribbles something out on a pad, tears it out and hands it to him, telling him to head back to the hospital. He hesitates to leave; he really doesn’t want to miss any more training than he already has. He promises her that he’ll return for the afternoon session, and Usagiyama just purses her lips at him in lieu of an actual response. 

No fun, she said. Yeah, no fucking kidding. Twenty-four needle jabs to his ribcage later, and he’s flattened out on his hospital bed, gritting his teeth to stop himself from begging them to bring back his morphling drip. It’s been by his bedside so he can take a hit as needed. He hasn’t used it much himself lately, but has kept it around for Uraraka’s sake. But the doctors took it away when they started this treatment for his ribs, since the mix of the two drugs—the morphling and whatever is currently setting Katsuki’s ribs on fire—have dangerous side effects. So they’re both in for a difficult couple of days. 

It’s a bad night in his and Uraraka’s room. Sleep is out of the question. Katsuki thinks he can actually smell the ring of flesh around his chest burning, and Uraraka is fighting off withdrawal symptoms. Early on, Uraraka waves it off, saying that it had to happen eventually, anyway. But by three in the morning, Katsuki is the target of every colourful bit of profanity that District 7 has to offer. And at dawn, Uraraka drags Katsuki out of bed, determined to get to training even though she’s a sickly greenish colour and shaking like a leaf. 

“You can do it. We both can. We’re victors, remember? We can survive anything they throw at us,” she snarls. 

Katsuki thinks he’s going to lose Uraraka once they get above ground and realise it’s pouring rain. Her face turns ashen and she seems to have ceased breathing altogether. She’s frozen in the entryway. 

“Fuck is wrong with you, Pink Cheeks?” Katsuki grunts at her. It’s taking a great deal of effort not to lean against the doorway and hold his ribs. “I hate the rain, too, but it’s just water. It won’t kill us.” 

Uraraka clenches her jaw and stomps out into the mud. 

They really must be victors to make it through the morning. Rain drenches them to the core as they work their bodies and slog around the running course. Katsuki has to bail again, this time after only half a kilometre, and resists the urge to peel off his shirt so the cold water can sizzle off his ribs. He forces down his lunch of soggy fish and beet stew. Uraraka gets halfway through her bowl before it comes right back up. 

In the afternoon, they learn how to assemble guns. Katsuki can manage it, but Uraraka can’t hold her hands steady enough to fit the parts together. Katsuki helps her out when Sergeant Usagiyama’s back is turned. Even though the downpour continues, the afternoon is still an improvement because they’re on the shooting range. Finally, something Katsuki is good at. It takes some adjusting moving from a bow to a gun, but by the end of the day he’s got the best score in the class. 

They’re just inside the hospital doors when Uraraka declares, “We have to stop living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients, not soldiers.”

When Uraraka tries to get discharged from the hospital, however, the doctors won’t agree to let her live in one of the living compartments on her own, not even if she comes in for daily talks with the head doctor. Katsuki thinks they might have put two and two together about the morphling, which only adds to their view that she’s unstable. 

“She won’t be alone,” Katsuki announces, “I’ll move in with her.” 

The doctors and Uraraka all stare at Katsuki. There’s some dissent—from the doctors, at least; Uraraka stays oddly quiet—but Toshinori backs him up, and by bedtime, they’re officially moved into Compartment 3A, just across the hall from Mitsuki, who agrees to keep an eye on them. 

After Katsuki returns to their compartment after having a shower, he finds Uraraka—who didn’t go to the showers with him despite being out in the mud and the rain all day—making a cursory inspection of their new accommodations. When she opens a drawer that holds Katsuki’s few worldly possessions, she shuts it instantly. 

“Sorry,” Uraraka says quickly. 

Katsuki thinks about how when they had moved into the compartment, Uraraka didn’t have anything to put in her drawer other than her government-issued clothes, and wonders if Uraraka has a single thing in the world to call her own. 

“It’s fine,” he says, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “Take a look if you want.” 

Uraraka eyes him rather suspiciously for a moment, then pulls the drawer back open. She studies the gold locket, unlatching it and looking curiously at the photos of Mitsuki and Kirishima inside. She pulls out the spile, and slips it onto her pinkie. 

“Makes me thirsty just looking at it,” she says. She picks up the pearl between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light for a moment to inspect its iridescent hues before placing it back in the drawer. “Not carrying it around in your pocket anymore? Aren’t you scared you’ll lose it?” 

He may as well have already. The person who gave him that pearl is gone. “It’s managed to make it through this long,” Katsuki says. 

“You still wear that ring twenty-four seven,” Uraraka says, “Still holding out some hope for wedding bells, then?” 

“No,” Katsuki says. He doesn’t want to talk about Izuku. One of the best things about training is it keeps Katsuki from thinking about him for a while. “How did you get the gem out?” 

“Of the ring?” Uraraka asks. She walks over to Katsuki and takes his left wrist, holding up the ring. “It’s kind of like a button. You press and twist, and it’ll release as a tiny capsule out of the band,” There’s a sudden sly glint in her eye. “I can show you how to get the second one out if you want. Those lousy head doctors fought me on getting a compartment, so I’m sure they won’t let me get my Quirk reactivated, even if I pass the training. I’m surprised they never confiscated this from you.” 

Honestly, Katsuki is, too. “Maybe they forgot about it.” 

“Trust me, they haven’t. There isn’t exactly a surplus of the antidote,” Uraraka says, “And the stuff is totally useless if you’re Quirkless, so they don’t exactly want to just go doling it out to everyone.” 

Katsuki didn’t know that ‘Quirkless’ was something one could be. “There’s no way to tell if someone will have a Quirk or not?” 

“There’s a Quirk analysis team here that’s doing some research, but with the whole war going on, it isn’t exactly top priority,” Uraraka explains, “Instead the team focuses on analysing the Quirks of the soldiers they pick to have their Quirks activated.” 

“I figured anyone in the class would get their Quirks if they passed,” Katsuki says. 

Uraraka rolls her eyes and knocks her knuckles against his head. Right over the scar on his left temple that’s entirely her doing. “You really don’t know anything, do you, brainless? Only a select few soldiers get to have their Quirk activated.” 

Katsuki grabs Uraraka’s wrist. From their current position, he gets a close look at her hand. She’s got an awful lot of dirt under her fingernails. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says slowly, “What’d they do to you in the Capitol?” 

Uraraka jerks her arm back. “It would be faster to tell you what they didn’t do,” she says tightly. 

“So safe to say it involved somethin’ to do with water?” 

He’s not sure if Uraraka is about to throttle him, or run out of the room screaming. Maybe a bit of both. She clenches and unclenches her fists at her sides, and doesn’t respond for so long that Katsuki doesn’t think she’s going to. 

“They’d soak me and shock me,” she finally mutters. 

Katsuki nods. “Right,” he says. Then he pushes himself up off the bed, grabs Uraraka by the arm, and starts to drag her to the door. “Come on.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Uraraka asks, stumbling along behind him. 

“We’re going to the showers,” Katsuki tells her. 

Uraraka rips her arm free of his grasp and backs away from him. “No,” she snaps. 

“I’m not gonna live in close confines with someone who refuses to bathe,” he says firmly, “I can smell you from here. So we’re getting you over this dumb fear. Haven’t those head doctors of yours done anything to address it?” 

Uraraka looks akin to a wounded, cornered animal Katsuki has approached a thousand times in the woods. “You know they’re useless,” she says. She considers him warily for a moment before adding on, “Aren’t you worried I’ll try and kill you?” 

“Like I couldn’t take you,” Katsuki says, “And I’m not just gonna shove you into a stall and turn the water on, stupid. We’ll work up to that.”

“Bathing time is only at twenty-two hundred,” she argues, “We can’t go now.” 

“Who the hell says? I’m the Mockingjay. I’ll go to the showers whenever I damn well please,” Katsuki retorts, “Now are you gonna keep on makin’ excuses or are we gonna do this? Think of it as part of our training. What if it rains the day we storm the Capitol? You gonna let a little bit of water keep you from the fight? You need to be ready for whatever the fuck All For One tries to throw at us.” 

Uraraka chews on her lip for a moment, and then lets out a large huff of air. “Okay,” she says, “But I’m done when I say we’re done.” 

Katsuki nods. He wasn’t about to push her past her limits on the first night. He honestly wasn’t even sure if they would make it to the showers tonight. They wait until lights out, and then sneak out of their compartment and down to the showers. It splits off into three sections, separated by gender, and a communal family room where parents could help bathe their small children. Katsuki decides they should go into the women’s baths, in the hopes that with enough exposure therapy, Uraraka could eventually make this journey on her own; it would probably be helpful to keep the destination the same. 

Uraraka is too occupied with them not getting caught to get held up in her trepidations until they’re actually in the women’s baths. It’s a large room that’s tiled from floor to ceiling with several drains spaced out along the ground. There’s an area to clean off before going into the baths, as well as just some simple shower stalls. The bathing area has some small stools set up in front of mirrors, with small taps to fill up buckets of water to rinse off soap.  Katsuki decides that’s a good place to start. Uraraka doesn’t move to follow when he mentions the bathing area, but when he reaches for her arm again, she instantly slaps his hand away. 

“We do this at my pace or not at all,” she snaps at him. 

“Fine,” Katsuki says, “How about you just watch me then?” 

Uraraka wrinkles her nose. “Watch you bathe?” 

“What, did I discover something scarier than water?” When Uraraka still looks grossed out, Katsuki rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna bathe, dumbass. I’m just gonna, I dunno. Turn the water on and sit there. Let you come to me.” 

Katsuki doesn’t wait for any confirmation that she understands. It’s not like he really has much of a plan here himself. He walks over to the plastic bath stool that’s closest to Uraraka and sits down. He pulls over a bath bucket, places it under the tap, and turns on the water to a slow, gentle trickle. 

“Did they use cold or hot water against you?” Katsuki asks. 

“Cold,” Uraraka says. 

Katsuki nods, and twists the hot tap. “We’ll see how you do with hot water then. Tonight let’s just see if we can get you to come and sit next to me.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

Uraraka doesn’t say anything for so long that Katsuki has to look up to make sure she hasn’t already bolted. She’s still there. Finally she says, “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you already. I’m not havin’ a roommate who stinks,” Katsuki mutters, “Do you think it’ll help you to see me touching the water?” 

Uraraka gives it some thought. “Yes, but not yet. It’s…the sound is worse enough.” 

“But you haven’t taken off yet. That’s good,” Katsuki says, “The bucket is getting full. I’m gonna turn off the water, and pour the water down the drain. And you’re gonna try and listen to it.”

Uraraka nods. “What I meant was…why are you doing this for me, and not Deku?” 

“Because Deku isn’t here,” Katsuki says. He turns off the water once the bucket is filled to the brim. “And you are. And you hate me a little less than you hate water.”

And Izuku only hates me, he thinks. 

“So you’re working yourself up to him? I’m your trial run?” 

“Izuku isn’t trying to get to the Capitol,” Katsuki says, “But we are. And I ain’t about to have a member of my squad be scared of somethin’ as stupid as water. I’m gonna pour this bucket out now.” 

He slowly overturns the bucket into the drain. If any natives from District 13 could see him being so wasteful right now, they would probably throw a fit. Might even report him to Yoichi. Mina had crumpled up a piece of paper with only a few words written on it once, and you would’ve thought she murdered someone from the looks she got. One of Katsuki’s few pleasures in 13 was watching the handful of pampered Capitol rebels squirming as they tried to fit in. 

The entire bucket of water goes trickling down the drain, and still Uraraka doesn’t retreat. 

“Good job,” Katsuki tells her. And then he pauses. “Is me sayin’ shit like that helpful, or condescending?” 

Uraraka smirks. “Both,” she answers, “Is that all for the day, Doctor Bakugou?”

“Do you want it to be?” Katsuki asks, “You still haven’t come over here.” 

Uraraka purses her lips. “Turn the tap back on,” she says slowly, “And just…let me see you touching it. Without convulsing.” 

“Sure,” Katsuki says. He turns the water back on and sticks his hand under the still-warm running water. He turns his hand over, letting the water run over his knuckles, then fill up his palm. He looks back to Uraraka. “See? No convulsing. Try taking a step closer.” 

Uraraka crosses her arms over her chest, and exhales slowly. 

“C’mon, Cheeks. You stepped out into that rain today easy enough. This is nothing in comparison. That was cold and shitty and this is nice and warm. You can do this. You’re a victor, remember?” 

Uraraka huffs, exasperated, and storms across the room over to Katsuki. She watches him expectantly. “Well?” she says impatiently, “You gonna praise me condescendingly or not?” 

“I knew you could do it,” he says, “Have you had enough? We can be done for tonight. Today was shit. You already spent the whole day out in the rain. It’ll be a miracle if we can get up tomorrow with how wrecked our bodies are.” 

Uraraka stares down at the water running over Katsuki’s fingers. “How long are you going to do this?” 

“Until you stop being scared,” Katsuki tells her. 

Uraraka doesn’t touch any water that night, but she lowers into a crouch and watches water run over Katsuki’s hand until Katsuki’s fingers are thoroughly waterlogged. It’s their own fatigue from the day as a whole, and not Uraraka’s aversion to the exposure, that finally does them both in. They head back to their compartment and are asleep seconds after their heads hit the pillow. 

It really is a miracle that they manage to get out of bed the next day, but they do. Each morning, they do. And each night, they go down to the showers. It’s not a linear thing. The fear of being penalised for being out of bed past lights out vanishes after the second night when they get away with going to the showers and back yet again without being caught. Without that distraction, Uraraka struggles to just walk to the showers by the third night. She can only manage to hang in the threshold while Katsuki fills up buckets of water and dumps them out, and stick his hands under the tap until they prune, when on the second night she had crouched beside him again straight away without having to be asked, and had eventually allowed Katsuki to place his wet fingertips on the back of her hand. A featherlight touch before she shot upright and demanded to go back to their room. 

They always start from step one each night. First, the walk to the showers. The second step is entering the bathing area and sitting next to Katsuki. Then watching Katsuki touch the water. Allowing Katsuki’s wet hands to touch her. 

And then on night four, Katsuki manages to coax Uraraka to sit on the bath bucket herself and put her fingertips under the tap. Then he fills a bath bucket and she submerges her hand up to the knuckles. By the fifth night, she allows Katsuki to try pouring water over her hand. The first time he did it, she jerked her arm away like he had burned her, and curled up with her hands over her ears for several minutes before he was able to bring her back to their room. On the sixth night, she is able to handle having water poured on the backs of her hands, then up to her elbows. Then they tried her feet, and her calves before she was sent into another flashback that had her curled up into a ball on the tile floor with Katsuki unable to touch her without her lashing out. 

But by the end of the week, Katsuki’s ribs feel almost like new, and Uraraka can assemble her rifle without help. Sergeant Usagiyama even gives the pair of them an approving nod when they’re heading out for the day. 

When they’re well out of earshot, Uraraka mutters, “I think winning the Games was easier.”

By the look on her face, however, Katsuki can tell she’s pleased. 

That night, Uraraka is in such high spirits that she makes a request for their water training. “I want to try being fully submerged,” she says, “But I can’t be the only one getting wet anymore. I think that’s what’s making me shut down.”

Katsuki supposes that makes sense. It’s not like Uraraka would have someone bathing her. The goal of their training was for her to get comfortable with the concept of going to the showers alone and being able to wash herself. So after they go through all their other baby steps—which take even longer than usual, because Uraraka knows what’s coming; and just because it was her idea doesn’t mean she doesn’t dread it—they stand in front of one of the shower stalls, both stripped down to their underclothes. 

“Should we do this the same as before, then?” Katsuki says, “I go in first, you can see me not convulsing, and join me when you’re ready?” 

“No,” Uraraka says, “Turn on the water, you go in first, but…lead me in with you. Don’t let go of me. Don’t let me leave.” 

Katsuki frowns, and turns to look at her. “We’ve only been at this a week. Last night you couldn’t even get your arms and legs splashed without shutting down. We’ve still got two weeks—”

“We only have two weeks,” Uraraka grinds out, “It’s the same as your ribs. I’m expediting the healing process.” 

Katsuki steps into the shower stall and stands out of the way of the shower head as he turns on the water, getting it good and warm. Uraraka hasn’t been able to handle even remotely tepid water so far, and this was already going to be brutal enough as it is, so he may as well try and set them up for some success. For a time, they both just stand there watching the water rain down onto the tile floor. 

Then, Katsuki moves over to Uraraka, and takes her by both of her wrists. He starts to slowly back into the shower stall, leading her along after him. Just as he starts to feel the shower spray on his bare shoulders, Uraraka freezes up. 

“Almost there, Cheeks,” he tells her, “C’mon.” 

He takes another step backward, and after a beat, Uraraka stiffly moves forward. The water is starting to soak the back of Katsuki’s head. 

“You won your Games the year before De—Izuku and I did,” Katsuki says, taking another half-step back. “You pretended to be a weakling and then came out swinging towards the end. But you wanna know what I thought when I was watching?”

Another step. His body is still blocking most of the water from touching her, but a few droplets must hit Uraraka’s arm, because she sharply jolts. Katsuki tightens his grip on her wrists. 

“I thought, ‘there’s nothing fragile about this girl’,” Katsuki says, “Those morons were just too dumb to see it. And look what it cost ‘em.” 

With his next step, he’s fully submerged under the spray, and the water is starting to touch Uraraka’s face. She cringes, recoils, tries to pull away from him again. 

Don’t let go of me. Don’t let me leave.

Katsuki yanks Uraraka under the spray and locks his arms around her. She bucks in his hold instantly, but he’s got her arms pinned to her sides. It’s not enough to take the fight out of her, though. Not by a long shot. She thrashes, she kicks, she bites. His neck and shoulders are mauled by her teeth and she knees him straight in his poor ribs, which were finally feeling better. But still he doesn’t let go. He holds her close until the fight leaks out of her, until she’s trembling against his chest. 

He removes one arm from her to turn off the water, and finds he has to hold up most of her weight. He half-leads, half-carries Uraraka out of the shower stall and over to a bench. He scrubs a towel gently over the brown peach fuzz on her scarred scalp, and then bundles her up in another towel, swaddling it around her small shoulders and rubbing warmth back into her.  

He rubs his hand over her downy wisps of hair. “You did it, Cheeks. Good job.”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t seem to be locked in a flashback; she’s withdrawn, but not combative, allowing him to touch her and manipulate her around to get her dried off. She’s still shivering, and her wet underclothes are still clinging to her. 

“You want this off?” Katsuki asks, hooking a finger under the strap of her bra and giving it a small tug. 

Uraraka stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. She’s likely lost the ability to speak. That had happened a few times during their week of training. But Katsuki had found a tactic of nonverbal communication that worked for both of them.  

“Cheeks. Blink if you want them off.” 

A beat. Then, she blinks once. 

“Okay. Can you do it?” Two blinks. No, she can’t. “Okay. Want me to do it?” She blinks once. “Fuck. Alright, hang on.” 

He helps her to her feet and removes the towel from her shoulders, leaving it on the bench. Then he pulls off her soaked underclothes, leaving her as bare as the day he’d met her, that day in the elevator after the Tribute Parade when she’d stripped off her godawful tree costume. He quickly grabs the towel and wraps it around her again, taking the last remnants of cool dampness from her skin before he helps her back into her clothes. 

And then, so they’re even, Katsuki strips out of his soaked underclothes until he’s completely bare in front of her, too. Not that she’s even looking at him, as she stares off into space. He wraps all their wet underclothes up in the towel and leaves them in the laundry area. Once he gets dried off and dressed himself, he has to carry Uraraka back to their compartment bridal-style, and there’s no reaction from her until he gets her under the sheets and goes to move away. She shoots her hand out from under the blankets and seizes his arm in a vice grip. 

Without a word of protest, Katsuki crawls into bed next to her, tucking himself under the covers. She scoots in close instantly; not putting her arms around him, but nestling against his chest. Katsuki gets the blankets tucked up around the both of them, drapes an arm over her shoulder, and they both fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep, too exhausted from the week to be visited by nightmares for a change. 

Chapter Text

vii.

When Katsuki and Uraraka wake up in the morning, still wrapped up in each other, they quietly disentangle their limbs, climb out of bed and get dressed for the day, which Katsuki always does with his back turned, for modesty—he never bothers to check if Uraraka offers him the same courtesy, however. His suspicions about that are confirmed when he pulls off his shirt and Uraraka starts laughing. He turns around, elbows still wrapped up in his sleeves, to give her a quizzical look. 

“Oh, we’re never beating the allegations now,” Uraraka says. She has a downright maniacal grin on her face. “I marked you up good.” 

She is not exaggerating. His neck, collarbone, and the balls of his shoulders are covered in red bruises; some were even full on bite marks with perfect indentations of her teeth. “For fuck’s sake, Cheeks.” 

“We could try and tell people we were training, but I doubt they’d believe us,” Uraraka says, snickering. “After a bunch of their people got wiped out by small pox, the Thirteen locals are just begging us to become broodmares. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled. Your mother will have a fit, though. Her son’s virtue is tainted.” 

“Pretty sure that ship sailed a long time ago.” 

“Oh? I always figured you and Deku hadn’t gone that far. You were both way too—“

Katsuki whips his shirt at her head. “We didn’t, you idiot.”

Uraraka pulls Katsuki’s shirt away. “Like, never ever? With anyone?” Katsuki’s expression must tell her everything she needs to know. “Wow. No wonder you’re so uptight. Y’know, I bet sex with the evil Capitol mutt version of Deku would be—“

“I will fucking drown you.” 

The dining hall is the liveliest it’s ever been when they arrive, and it’s not long before Katsuki understands why when he’s served a giant helping of beef stew.

“That’s real beef, from District 10,” Lunch Rush tells Katsuki, “First shipments of food arrived today. No more of your squirrels or wild dogs.” 

“Like you ever turned ‘em down,” Katsuki tosses back. 

Katsuki and Uraraka join a table that includes Todoroki and his mother, Kirishima, and Tsu. It’s been something to see Todoroki’s transformation since his mother was rescued from the Capitol. He always had a mild-mannered way about him, but he always had an air of reservation around him. Now he radiates life, with an easygoing nature and dry humour that’s truly on display for the first time. As for Rei, she seems lost in a daze of happiness, staring at her son like he hung the moon. There are still moments when something seems to slip in her brain and another world seems to blind her momentarily to what’s around her, but a few words from Todoroki always calls her back. 

Tsu, who Katsuki has known since he was little but never gave much thought to—other than to think she resembled a frog—has supposedly been Katsuki’s best defender when Izuku goes off on some kind of tear about him, according to reports from Toshinori. She always takes Katsuki’s side, and blames Izuku’s negative perceptions on the Capitol’s torture. She has more influence on him than the others, because he truly knows her. Even if she’s merely sugar coating some of Katsuki’s good points, he appreciates it. Frankly, he could use a little sugar coating. 

Katsuki is starving and the stew is so delicious—beef, potatoes, turnips, and onions in a thick, rich gravy—that he has to force himself to slow down. All around the dining hall, the rejuvenating effects of a good meal are evident. It makes people kinder, funnier, and more optimistic. Katsuki sops up his gravy with his bread while he listens to Todoroki tell some ridiculous tale about a sea turtle that swam off with his hat that has everyone at the table laughing—safe for Katsuki, naturally, although he almost finds himself about to smirk a little at the story until he sees him. Standing behind the empty seat next to Uraraka, watching Katsuki intensely. 

“Midoriya,” Tsu says, “It’s nice to see you out and about.”

Katsuki’s gravy-soaked bread sticks in his throat when he swallows.

Two large guards stand behind Izuku, who is holding his lunch tray awkwardly with his wrists shackled.

“What’s with the fancy bracelets?” Uraraka asks lightly.

“I’m not quite trustworthy yet,” says Izuku, “I can’t even sit here without your permission.”

“Sure, he can sit here. We’re old friends,” Uraraka says, patting the space beside her. “We had adjoining cells in the Capitol, so we’re very familiar with each other’s screams.” 

Rei, who is on Uraraka’s other side, does that thing where she covers her ears and exits reality. Todoroki shoots Uraraka an angry look before turning to his mother to console her. 

“C’mon, Uraraka…” Kirishima sighs. 

“What? My head doctor says I shouldn’t censor my thoughts. It’s part of my therapy,” Uraraka says flippantly, going back to her stew. 

The life has gone out of their little party. Todoroki murmurs to his mother until she eventually removes her hands. Then there’s a long silence while everyone pretends to eat. 

“Mom, we better go if we want to fit in that walk before I go to training,” Todoroki says. He gathers up both his and his mother’s trays. “It was good seeing you, Midoriya.”

“Yeah, sure,” Izuku says curtly, not meeting Todoroki’s gaze.

“…Right. Well, see you all later,” Todoroki says, then leads his mother away, giving Katsuki a concerned glance as he goes. 

Once they’re gone, Tsu gives Izuku a reproachful look. “You shouldn’t be so cold to Todoroki, Midoriya. He did save your life. More than once.”

“Yeah, for him,” Izuku nods stiffly towards Katsuki. “For the rebellion. Not for me. I don’t owe him anything.” 

Katsuki shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he can’t seem to help himself. “Well, Granny Chiyo is dead and you’re still here. That should count for somethin’, don’t ya think?” 

Izuku shoots him a cold stare. “Sure, but then again, there’s a lot of things that should count for something that don’t seem to. I’ve got some memories I can’t make sense of that I don’t think the Capitol touched. A lot of nights on the train, for instance.” 

Right. Izuku was implying that more must have happened on the train than what actually did, and that what did happen—those nights where Katsuki only kept his sanity because Izuku’s arms were around him—no longer matter. Everything was just a lie, everything was just a way for Katsuki to use him. And Katsuki has no defence, no way to disprove him. How can he, when Izuku would also have memories of when Katsuki had snuck them off to empty stairwells and dark closets during the Victory Tour? Those memories wouldn’t have even needed to be tampered with to prove Izuku’s point, they already establish Katsuki’s reputation in Izuku’s mind as a conniving schemer who used Izuku and then tossed him aside when he had gotten what he wanted out of him. So instead Katsuki says nothing.  

Izuku makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Kirishima and Katsuki. “So, are you two officially a couple now? Looks like Kirishima wasn’t very careful with those pointy teeth of his.”

Kirishima blinks confusedly and looks over at Katsuki, giving him a once over. When his eyes land on one of the visible bruises left by Uraraka’s teeth, Kirishima blanches, Uraraka starts cackling, and Katsuki considers trying to drown himself in the last dregs of his beef stew. 

“Wh-what the hell—?” Kirishima begins to ask, his hand reaching for Katsuki’s neck.

Katsuki instantly slaps his hand away. “It’s not what it fuckin’ looks like.”

“It was me,” Uraraka chortles, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. She waggles her eyebrows playfully at Izuku. “You don’t mind, right? Figured you didn’t want him anymore, Deku.” 

Izuku visibly bristles. Katsuki can feel Kirishima tense up beside him, fearing an altercation. Spasms cause Izuku’s hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion. Katsuki wonders if that is all he can do to keep them from Katsuki’s neck, and what it was about what Uraraka had said exactly that had triggered such a reaction. The inference that he and Uraraka had messed around—even though it’s the farthest thing from the truth, and Uraraka was clearly joking—or perhaps it was the use of Katsuki’s old nickname for him? If it was the latter, then it was all the more reason for Katsuki to avoid saying it himself, if the Capitol has warped its meaning in Izuku’s mind somehow. It wouldn’t have been hard for them to do, after all. In fact, it might have played a major catalyst in their hijacking, convincing Izuku that Katsuki had called him ‘Deku’ to be intentionally cruel, to bully him, calling him a worthless, useless nothing. 

After a couple of tense minutes pass, Izuku seems to reign in some control over himself, taking in a steady, deep breath. 

“So, are they still dragging out the star-crossed lovers thing?” Izuku asks slowly. 

“Still dragging,” Uraraka says, “Look, Bakugou even has the ring to prove it.” 

Katsuki jerks his hand away from Uraraka before she can grab his wrist, but from the way his brows disappear into his bangs, Izuku clearly catches the gleam of silver and green before Katsuki can stick his hand down in his lap out of sight. 

“Uraraka, that’s enough,” Kirishima says firmly, “I don’t care what your doctors tell you. You’re upsetting both of them.” 

Katsuki knocks back the last of his milk. “Kirishima, you done?”

The two of them rise to go and drop off their trays, leaving Izuku at the table with Tsu and Uraraka, and make their way above ground to go to the training yard in silence.  

“Man,” Kirishima speaks up, “I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“Told you he hates me,” Katsuki says, “Or maybe he just finally sees me as I really am. A nasty, deceitful, ugly liar."

Kirishima brings them to a stop, catching Katsuki’s arm. His eyes are wide with alarm. “...Do you really think that?” 

Katsuki shrugs. Kirishima’s shoulders go slack, and then he squeezes Katsuki’s bicep. “Believe me, man, as your best friend…he’s not seein’ you as you really are,” he says softly, “Not one bit.” 

That night, in stark contrast to how she had been during lunch, Uraraka is seated in her underclothes between Katsuki’s knees in the women’s showers after lights out. He’s seated on the bath stool, also in his underclothes, and is scrubbing down her arms with a slightly damp bar of soap. He was only able to run it under the water for two seconds, so it’s difficult to work into a proper lather over her dry skin, but after the shower from the previous night, Uraraka isn’t feeling up to much else. 

“You missed a show after you left the dining hall this morning,” she says suddenly, “Tsu lost her temper at Deku over how he treated you. The whole dining hall was riveted.” 

Katsuki holds up her hand to work the bar of soap under her fingernails. “What’d Izuku do?” 

“He started arguing with himself like he was two people,” Uraraka says, “The guards ended up having to take him away. On the bright side, nobody noticed that I finished his stew.” 

She goes quiet again as Katsuki starts to rinse off the tacky, dry layer of soap he’s smeared across most of her skin. 

It’s not until they’re back in their compartment and Katsuki is laying on his back staring up into the darkness that he finally asks, “Could you really hear him screaming?” 

“It was like the jabberjays in the clock arena,” Uraraka says, “Part of the torture. Only it was real, and it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.” 

“Tick, tock,” Katsuki whispers back. 

Roses. Mutts. Friends. Jabberjays. Izuku. Himself.

Everything screams in Katsuki’s dreams that night.

Uraraka crawls into bed with him after the second time he rips them both out of sleep, spooning him from behind as Katsuki curls in on himself. He can feel her sigh heavily against his shoulder, her cheek pressed into his back, but otherwise she doesn’t make a sound. Like she knows that to announce herself would be to break the illusion Katsuki has that it’s someone else trying to shield him from the nightmares. 

But that person is gone now, and the thought of who has taken his place being in his bed instead has Katsuki’s throat clenching in panic, like his hands are closed around it again. Before a cold sweat can break out on his skin, Katsuki flips over in bed so he can see the outline of Uraraka in the darkness. He throws an arm over her, and she shuffles in a little closer, until her head is under Katsuki’s chin, and when she sighs again Katsuki feels the exhale in the deep rise and fall of her back, like she’s slowly deflating, the tension releasing gradually from her shoulders. 

She’s back to sleep in a few minutes, and Katsuki eventually closes his eyes, matches the pace of his breath to hers, and goes back under. 

Katsuki throws himself into training with a vengeance. He pours over military tactics books in his compartment during Reflection. He eats, lives, and breathes the workouts, drills, weapons practice, lectures on tactics, and of course, the Quirk history and analysis lessons. A handful of his class is moved into an additional class that gives Katsuki hope he may be a contender for the actual war. The other soldiers simply call it Ground Beta, but the official term is Simulated Street Combat.

Deep in District 13, they’ve built an artificial Capitol city block. Their instructor breaks them into squads of eight and they attempt to carry out their missions—gaining a position, destroying a target, searching a home—as if they were fighting their way through the Capitol. The thing is rigged so that everything that can go wrong, does. A false step triggers a land mine, a sniper appears on a rooftop, a gun could jam, a crying child could lead to an ambush, the squad leader gets hit by debris and they have to figure out what to do without orders.

Of course, none of it is actually real—if a land mine is set off, then an explosion sound effect goes off and the one who triggers it just needs to pretend to fall over dead. In other ways it feels pretty real, with the enemy soldiers dressed as Peacekeepers, and the confusion of a smoke bomb. They even get gassed—Uraraka and Katsuki are the only ones who get their masks on in time—and the rest of their squad gets knocked out for ten minutes. And the supposedly harmless gas gives Katsuki a wicked headache for the rest of the day.

Jirou and her film crew tape Katsuki and Uraraka on the firing range, as well as Kirishima and Todoroki. It’s part of a new series of propos to show the rebels preparing for the Capitol invasion. All in all, things are going pretty well. 

Then Izuku starts showing up. The manacles are off, but he’s constantly accompanied by a burly pair of guards. After lunch, Katsuki can see him across the field, drilling with a group of beginners. Katsuki has no idea what the hell they’re thinking. If a spat with Tsu can reduce Izuku into arguing with himself, then he’s got no business learning how to assemble a gun. 

When Katsuki confronts Hawks about it, he assures him that it’s all for the cameras. 

“All of Panem is wondering about Izuku,” Hawks explains, “We’ve got footage of the rest of the victors shooting at targets, but we need to show that Izuku is fighting for the rebels, not for All For One. And maybe if we could just get a couple of shots of the two of you, not kissing or anything, obviously, but just lookin’ happy to be back together—“

Katsuki walks away from the conversation right then. That is not going to happen. 

Just a few days before the first troops are due to move out, Usagiyama unexpectedly tells Uraraka and Katsuki that she’s recommended them for the exam, and they’re to report immediately. 

There are four parts to the exam: an obstacle course to assess physical condition, a written tactics exam, a test of weapons proficiency, and then a simulated combat situation in Ground Beta. Katsuki and Uraraka both fly through the first three, and then it’s on to Ground Beta. There’s no predicting what situation they will throw them into, but they each go through their own simulation. There’s rumours amongst the other troops that they are designed to target each individual’s weaknesses. 

Uraraka is called into her simulation three ahead of Katsuki, and he gives her a nod of encouragement as she heads off, and by the time Katsuki’s name is called, he still has no idea what his strategy should be, or what kind of weakness the simulation would use against him. Fortunately, once he’s in Ground Beta, a certain amount of training does kick in. 

He’s placed in an ambush situation. Peacekeepers appear almost instantly and Katsuki has to make his way to a rendezvous point to meet up with his scattered squad. He slowly navigates the street, taking out Peacekeepers as he goes. It’s challenging, though not as difficult as Katsuki was expecting. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that if it’s too simple, then he must be missing the point. He’s within a couple of buildings from his goal when things begin to heat up. A half dozen Peacekeepers come charging around the corner, outgunning him. 

And that’s when Katsuku catches sight of a drum of gasoline lying carelessly in the gutter. This is it. His test. To perceive that blowing up the drum will be the only way to achieve his mission. But just as he steps out to do it, his squad leader, who’s been fairly useless up to this point, orders in Katsuki’s ear for him to hit the ground. Every instinct Katsuki has screams at him to ignore the voice, to pull the trigger and blow the Peacekeepers sky-high. And suddenly, Katsuki realises what the military thinks his biggest weakness is. From his very first moment in the Games, when he ran out for the bow and arrows in the Cornucopia, to the firefight in 8, to his impulsive race across the square in 2. He cannot take orders. 

Katsuki smacks into the ground hard and fast, and someone else blows the gas tank. The Peacekeepers die, and Katsuki makes his rendezvous point. When he exits Ground Beta on the far side, a soldier comes up to congratulate him, stamps his hand with squad number 1561, and tells him to report to Command. Almost giddy with success, Katsuki runs through the halls, skidding around corners, bounding down the steps because the elevator is too slow, and banging into Command. 

Kudo smiles (which might be the first time Katsuki’s seen him do so) and shakes his head at Katsuki when he sees him. “Let’s see it,” he says. Katsuki shows him his stamped hand. “You’re with me. It’s a special unit of sharpshooters. Go join your squad.” 

Kudo nods over at a group lining the wall, which includes Todoroki and Kirishima, and four others he doesn’t know. His squad. Katsuki is not only in, but he gets to work under Colonel Kudo, and with his friends. Katsuki forces himself to take calm, soldier-like steps to join them instead of jumping up and down. 

Hawks stands over a wide, flat panel in the centre of the table. He hits a button, and a holographic image of a block of the Capitol projects into the air. 

“All For One has pulled back Peacekeepers to fortify the City Centre,” Hawks begins, “He’s evacuated residents from the outer blocks. To slow our advance, he’s built a minefield of traps and lethal devices called ‘pods’. These pods could include anything from a bomb to a band of mutts,” Hawks presses another button, and the holographic map lights up with multiple green lights scattered throughout. “Each of these green lights represents a pod. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others have been developed over the years. This program, which one of my people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. And they don’t know we have it. Even so, it’s likely that new pods have been activated in the last few months. This is what you’ll be in for once you reach the city.”

Katsuki moves closer to the table until he’s inches from the holograph. Todoroki comes up beside him, his body tense. Of course he is; only another victor would see what Katsuki sees so immediately. An area laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers, designed to trap and kill them… 

“Ladies and gentleman…” Todoroki murmurs quietly. 

But Katsuki’s voice rings through the room: “Let the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games begin!” Katsuki laughs, sharp and quick. “I don’t even know why we bothered with training, Half-and-Half.” 

“Indeed. We’re easily the two best-equipped soldiers they have,” Todoroki says. 

“Back in line, soldiers,” Hawks says, waving at them impatiently. “I’ve got a presentation to finish.” 

If that was a test, then Katsuki and Todoroki both pass it. They retreat to their places, ignoring the questioning looks thrown their way. Katsuki adopts an attitude of extreme concentration as Hawks continues, nodding his head here and there, shifting his position to get a better view, all while telling himself to hang on until he can get to the woods and scream. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person anyone would want on their squad. 

Katsuki and Todoroki gravitate towards one another in the hallway after the meeting is adjourned. “What will I tell Mom?” Todoroki says under his breath. 

“The same thing I’m tellin' mine: not a damn thing,” Katsuki tells him, “Bad enough that we know we’re headin’ back into a fully-equipped arena. No use droppin’ it on them.”

“If my mother sees that holograph—“ Todoroki begins. 

“She won’t. It’s classified,” Katsuki says, “Anyway, it’s not like an actual Games. We’re just overreacting because—well, you know why. You’re still gonna go, right?” 

“Of course,” Todoroki says instantly, “I want to destroy All For One as much as you do.” 

“It’ll be different this time,” Katsuki says firmly, to convince himself just as much as Todoroki. “Because now, he’ll be a player, too.”

Just then, Toshinori appears. Katsuki didn’t see him in the meeting. “Young Uraraka is back in the hospital.” 

Katsuki had assumed Uraraka was fine, that she had passed her exam but simply wasn’t assigned to the sharpshooter’s unit. She was about average with a gun, after all. “What the hell happened?” 

“For her simulation, they flooded the street,” Toshinori explains, “She had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn’t know where she was. She’s back under sedation.”

Todoroki and Katsuki share a silent, solemn look. 

“We’ll go see her,” Todoroki says. He moves to head in the direction of the hospital, and looks over his shoulder when Katsuki doesn’t automatically follow him. “Bakugou, are you coming?” 

“You go on ahead, I’ll be there in a bit,” Katsuki says. 

Todoroki nods and walks off, and Katsuki goes back into the Command room and approaches Kudo. He’s Katsuki’s commander now, so he supposes Kudo is the one to ask for any special favours. 

“I wanna get permission to go above ground during Reflection today,” Katsuki tells him. 

“That should be fine, as long as you stay within sight of the guards,” Kudo says. “I’ll write you a pass.” 

Then, Katsuki runs back to his and Mitsuki’s compartment and takes a white cotton bandage from a box of medical supplies for his mother that he had brought back from his last visit to District 12. 

In the woods, he finds a pine tree and strips handfuls of fragrant needles from the boughs. After making a neat pile in the middle of the bandage, Katsuki gathers up the sides and gives them a twist, tying it tightly with a length of vine, making an apple-sized bundle. 

At the hospital door, Katsuki watches Uraraka for a moment, and realises in that moment that most of her ferocity is in her abrasive attitude. Stripped of that, as she is now, there’s only a slight young woman, her round brown eyes fighting to stay awake against the power of the drugs, terrified of what sleep will bring her. Katsuki crosses over to her and holds out the bundle. 

“What’s that?” Uraraka asks hoarsely. 

“Somethin’ to put in your drawer,” Katsuki says. He places it in her hands and she stares at it, puzzled. “Smell it.” 

Uraraka lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. Then tears flood her eyes.

“…Smells like home,” she whispers. 

Katsuki nods. “That’s what I figured, with you bein’ from Seven,” Katsuki says. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come see me,” Uraraka mumbles, “Or that if you did, it would be to yell at me. All that time training me, and I messed up.” 

“You didn’t mess up. The Capitol worked on you for a lot longer than three weeks. You can’t expect to be magically fixed in such a short time,” Katsuki tells her, “The simulation test was designed to go after your weakness. This wasn’t your fault. No sense moping about it. Might as well get on with things.” 

Suddenly, Uraraka has Katsuki’s wrist in an iron grip. “You have to kill him, Bakugou.” 

“I know,” Katsuki says, “I will.” 

“Swear it,” Uraraka hisses, “Swear it on something you care about.”

“I swear it. On my life.” 

Uraraka doesn’t let go; in fact, she only tightens her grip. “Something else. On your mother’s life.”

Guess his concern for his own survival isn’t compelling enough. “Fine, on her life, then,” he says. Uraraka lets him go and Katsuki rubs his wrist. “Why the hell d’you think I’m goin’ for, brainless?” 

That makes her smile a little. “I just needed to hear it.”

Uraraka presses the bundle of pine needles to her nose, and closes her eyes.  

The remaining days go by in a whirl. After a brief workout each morning, Katsuki’s squad is on the shooting range full-time in training. Katsuki practises mostly with a gun, but two hours are blocked out each day for specialty weapons and Quirk training. Katsuki has already gotten some field experience with his Mockingjay bow, so he decides to use the entire two hours to work on honing his Explosion Quirk.

Now that they’ve all passed their training, Kirishima and Todoroki have been administered their antidote serum and have had their own Quirks reactivated. In their Quirk history and analysis classes, they all got to learn more about the nature of their own Quirks. Katsuki’s volatile sweat was lab tested to find that it has similar properties to nitroglycerin. While his Quirk factor has made all of his sweat nitroglycerin-like, he seems to be limited to only releasing explosions using the sweat from his palms. 

During his two hours of Quirk training, Katsuki tests the limitations of Explosion, seeing how expansive he can make his blasts before his body reaches its limit. He also tries to test ways to make his Quirk more multifaceted for combat, like having controlled, targeted detonations instead of just pure destructive power. It’s while they’re shooting at Peacekeeper dummies to become familiar with the weaknesses in their protective gear that Katsuki comes up with a new move. A single blast shot out from the very centre of his palm instead of a large burst from his entire hand. It shoots across the range and blasts through the Peacekeeper’s gear, right through one of the chinks in its armour. Katsuki dubs the move Armour-Piercing Shot, which Kirishima says sounds 'badass as hell'. 

As for Kirishima, his Quirk is called Hardening. He’s able to turn every inch of his skin into a rock-hard impenetrable shield that’s even sharp enough to cut like a knife. It’s while training with Kirishima on the longevity and durability of his Hardening that Katsuki further develops his AP Shot, allowing him to rapid-fire the targeted blasts towards Kirishima like an automatic assault rifle. He calls the move AP Shot: Auto-Cannon. Kirishima gushes about his manliness for hollering out the name of his new move while he flung explosive blasts at him. Every single one of them struck Kirishima, leaving singed holes in his gear, but not a single scratch on him otherwise. It’s the perfect Quirk for Katsuki’s best friend to have when they’re going off to war: being incapable of getting hurt. And of course, Kirishima is a total ace with his heavily militarised bow. He’s a force to be reckoned with; not just a mere meat shield. 

Then there’s Todoroki. His Quirk, Half-Cold, Half-Hot, allows him  produce ice from the right side of his body, and fire from his left. Having both the power of hot and cold allows him to use either side of his body, and counter-balance it with the opposite side to keep him from freezing up or overheating. He can fully immobilise targets with his ice, or incinerate them with his flames. The trident that Kaminari designed for Todoroki has a lot of special features, but the most remarkable thing is that he can throw it, press a button on a metal cuff on his wrist, and return it to his hand without having to chase it down. He’s taken to coating the spears of his trident in a layer of ice, hurling it at his targets and then using his Quirk to spread out the ice from the trident imbedded into the target to use his Quirk at range without needing to expand it from his own body to reach his opponent, which keeps him from overusing his right side and getting too cold.  

It’s reassuring to see the overall high level of accuracy and capability in their squad. Along with Kirishima and Todoroki, their squad also includes five soldiers from District 13. Kudo, their squadron leader, has a Quirk called Gearshift. He change the speed at which things accelerate through space, while ignoring the laws of inertia. It only works on small objects, so mostly Kudo uses his ability on the bullets in his gun to make each of them reach his targets with even more rapid succession and precision. 

Kudo’s second-in-command is Bruce, a tall, athletic man with small, dark eyes and silver hair that he always kept tied back in a spiky ponytail. With his Quirk, Fa Jin, he can build up and store kinetic energy using repetitive movements. For instance, he would build the energy by repeatedly bending at the knees, and then later release the stored energy as an explosive burst of speed and power. 

The third officer, Hikage Shinomori, is a lean, broad man with sandy beige hair that fell to the base of his neck, and thin, downward-turned green eyes, with two jagged bolt-shaped scars down the left side of his face. His Quirk might just be one of the most valuable assets to their squad. It was called Danger Sense, and allowed him to detect any potential threats in the surrounding area. It would be crucial to them in the Capitol with active pods lurking around every corner. 

Then there was Daigoro Banjo, who has the Quirk Blackwhip, granting him the ability to produce black tendrils of energy from any part of his body and command them at will. He uses it primarily to ensnare targets with the tendrils as well as increase his own mobility, grabbing objects to swing around through the air. His Quirk also seems to be powered by emotions, primarily anger. The stronger the emotion, the more powerful that Blackwhip becomes. Banjo is a large, muscular man with a wide build. He’s also bald, and seems to have no visible eyebrows, with minimal facial hair on his square jaw. He has an incredibly energetic personality which lends itself well to his emotion-fuelled Quirk, which he seems to have a solid grasp on. He explained to Katsuki one day that Blackwhip obeys him because he has learned to ‘control his heart’. 

The final member of their squad, En, was considerably younger and smaller than the rest of the soldiers from District 13. He has short black hair and narrow eyes, and is reserved but friendly. His Quirk is called Smokescreen, and allows him to generate a thick cloud of purple smoke from his body, which can be spread to cover a very wide area. Much like Shinomori’s Danger Sense, while it has no offensive capabilities, it would still be vital to their squad on the battlefield for obscuring them from their opponent’s vision and catching them by surprise. 

Katsuki sees other squads that are also quite good, with soldiers with exceptional military training and impressive offensive or defensive Quirks in their arsenal, but none quite like the well-rounded wheelhouse that is Squad 1561. So it’s not much of a surprise when Hawks approaches them one day with news that they’ve been selected for a special mission. Katsuki bites the inside of his lip, hoping against hope that it’s to assassinate All For One.

“We have handpicked the eight of you to be what we call our ‘Star Squad’,” Hawks tells them, “You’ll be the on-screen faces of the invasion.” 

Disappointment, shock, and anger run through the group. 

“So what yer sayin’ is, we ain’t gonna be in actual combat?” Banjo snaps. 

“You will be, but perhaps not always on the front line,” Hawks says, “If one can even isolate a 'front line' in this type of war.” 

“None of us wants that,” Todoroki says sternly. His remark is followed by a general rumble of assent from all except Katsuki. “We want to fight.” 

“You’re still goin’ to be incredibly useful to the war effort,” Hawks assures, “And it’s been decided that you're of the most value on television. Just look at the effect Katsuki had runnin’ around in his Mockingjay suit. It turned the whole rebellion around. Do y’all notice how he’s the only one not complaining? He understands the power of the screen.” 

Actually, Katsuki isn’t complaining because he has no intention of staying with the ‘Star Squad’, but he recognizes the necessity of getting to the Capitol before carrying out any plan towards his personal vendetta. Still, he can’t be too compliant or he might arouse suspicion. 

“It’s not just gonna be all pretend, though, right?” Katsuki asks, “That’d be a waste of talent.” 

“Don’t worry about that, you’ll have plenty of real targets to hit,” Hawks tells him, “But don’t get blown up. I’ve got enough on my plate without havin' to replace you. Before y'all ship out, you’re wanted in the Remake Room. All of you, not just Katsuki.” 

Banjo wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I don’t need to get gussied up fer the cameras like that pretty boy over there!” 

“What the hell did you call me?!” Katsuki snaps.

“Aww, I touch a nerve, little blondie?”

“Shut up, fat baldy!”  

“Surely only the young ones are expected in the Remake Room?” Shinomori asks, ignoring Katsuki and Banjo’s banter behind him. 

Hawks shakes his head. “Nah, this goes for all of you,” he says. He grins at the dissenting glares from the group. “I promise, nobody is gonna be wearin' any makeup. Just head on down there and see for yourselves.” 

When Squad 1561 arrives in the Remake Room, it’s in a flurry of activity. Midnight and Katsuki’s prep team barely have a moment to acknowledge them, and to Katsuki’s great surprise, it’s Hakamada that approaches them all at the door. Katsuki has barely had a chance to visit him while he was recuperating since his escape from the Capitol, but it turns out that the old Games stylist has been far from idle while on bed rest. 

“Since the Star Squad will be our on-camera talent for the war, it only made sense that you all looked the part,” Hakamada explains, “So I’ve developed you all costumes that will set you apart from the troops, while also providing you supportive gear for your individual Quirks, giving you an edge in combat. Let’s get you all suited up so you can see what I mean.” 

While the rest of his squad is dragged away by Midnight and the Flaming Sidekickers to try on their costumes, Katsuki turns to Hakamada. “I’m guessin’ I’ll just be in my Mockingjay costume?” 

Hakamada smooths down his hair. “Quite the contrary. I’ve been working on your new costume the longest of anyone’s. Kirishima and Todoroki’s designs had to be quite rushed due to the time crunch of their Quirks only having been recently activated, but you’ve had yours for months now. And I’ve been finessing your suit’s design ever since I watched you blow up that force field. Come with me.” 

Hakamada brings Katsuki over to a mannequin wearing his new costume. Katsuki recognizes parts of the design straight away. “Hey, this looks a lot like that costume I wore for the Quarter Quell Tribute Parade.” 

“Indeed. I pulled inspiration from that look once I realised how well it suited the…motif, as it were, of your ability,” Hakamada says, “Try it on.” 

Katsuki gets suited up. It’s nearly an exact replica of the Tribute Parade costume, with a few key differences. Instead of black glittery face paint covering his eyes, he’s given a black fabric eye mask that has two pieces at the back that resemble the string fuses on bombs. The top is black and skin-tight with the same large orange X splashed across his chest, with a large collar. His baggy pants include a utility belt with small grenades and pouches for other supplies. He has the same black grenade-shaped gauntlets from his parade look, but these ones were noticeably heavier—a clear sign they were no longer just for show, but suited some form of function. 

“This material is designed to trap your body heat, allowing you to produce more sweat, which will be beneficial to you in these colder weather conditions,” Hakamada explains, “The more you move, the more sweat you make, providing you more ammunition to your blasts. Additionally, the gauntlets you’re wearing include a reservoir to syphon your sweat over time, allowing you to release massive explosions using the pin on the gauntlet. It’ll allow you to produce large attacks without exhausting your Quirk. Oh, and the pointy knee pads are so you can kill with your knees, if you so choose.”

Katsuki grins. As always, Hakamada had thought of everything. “I guess you’ve found a way to keep yourself in business even once there’s no more tributes to parade around.”

Hakamada swipes a comb through his hair, even though there isn’t a single strand out of place. “Like a classic, sturdy denim…the best fashion finds a way to adapt, and never go out of style.”

The morning they ship out, Katsuki says his goodbyes to his mother. He hasn’t told her about how much the Capitol’s defences mirror the weapons in the arena, but his going off to war is awful enough on its own. 

Mitsuki holds him tightly for a long time. Unlike both times he was slated for the Games, now she has tears running down her cheeks. She had always suppressed them before for his benefit, but now it seems she can no longer keep them at bay. 

“Quit blubberin’, I’ll be perfectly safe,” Katsuki reassures her, “I’m not even a real soldier. Just one of the bird’s televised puppets.” 

Mitsuki pulls away, and pushes Katsuki’s eye mask up into his hair so she can properly see his face. “Next time we see each other, we’ll be free,” she says wetly.

She squeezes his face between her hands and pulls him down to kiss him firmly between his eyebrows, which he allows, not meeting it with any resistance. This is her free pass to dole out all the motherly affection she withheld for all those years when her sorrow was too deep to feel anything else. He would never admit it out loud, but this is all just as much for him as it is for his mother. She peppers his face with more kisses, then throws her arms around his neck again, holding him in a vice grip, which he returns. He's glad he thought to take off his gauntlets for this. He can properly get his arms around her.  

“Oh, Katsuki,” Mitsuki whispers, “My baby. You better come back to me, you brave, stupid kid.” 

Katsuki says nothing to this, because it's another promise his mother is asking of him that he knows he won't be able to keep. His coming back is not in the plan. The plan is to kill All For One, and bring an end to this war and the Hunger Games. To finally make this a world that his mother can live in. But even once it's saved, it won't be a world Katsuki can live in. Because Deku is gone, to a place that Katsuki can’t even follow him to in death. 

Katsuki considers saying a final goodbye to Izuku, but decides it would only be bad for the both of them. He does, however, slip the pearl into one of the pouches on his utility belt. A token of the boy with the bread, his last piece of Deku, to carry with him until his job is done.  

A hovercraft takes them to District 12, where a makeshift transportation area has been set up outside the fire zone. A cargo car gets packed to the limit with soldiers in their dark grey uniforms, sleeping with their heads on their packs. After a couple of days’ travel, they disembark inside one of the mountain tunnels leading into the Capitol, and make the rest of the six-hour trek on foot, taking care to step only on a glowing green paint line that marks safe passage to the air above. They come out to a rebel encampment, a ten-block stretch outside the train station where Katsuki and Izuku had made their previous arrivals. 

The area has been secured by the rebels now for over a week. Rebels pushed out the Peacekeepers, losing hundreds of lives in the process. The Capitol forces fell back and regrouped farther into the city. Between them lies the booby-trapped streets, empty and uninviting. Each one will need to be swept of pods before they can advance towards the city centre. 

As Squad 1561 pitches their tents, En asks, “What about hoverplane bombings? Aren’t we leaving ourselves exposed, camping out in the open like this?” 

“It’s not an issue,” says Kudo, “Most of the Capitol’s air fleet was destroyed in Two or during the invasion. If it has any aircrafts left, it’s holding on to them.” 

“Probably so All For One and his inner circle can make a last-minute escape to some presidential bunker somewhere if needed,” Bruce adds. 

“Buncha freakin’ cowards,” Banjo spits, “What about our own aircrafts?” 

“Our hoverplanes were grounded after the Capitol’s anti-aircraft missiles decimated the first few waves,” Kudo explains. 

“So this battle will be fought out solely on the streets,” Shinomori surmises. 

Banjo knocks his fists together. “Awright, bring it on! I’ll tear their candy-coloured city to the ground!” 

“We only want superficial damage to the infrastructure if we can help it, Banjo,” Kudo tells him, “We want the Capitol, just as much as the Capitol wanted Thirteen.” 

Banjo sucks on his teeth and then scoffs. “Y’all never let me have any fun ‘round here.” 

And no fun is right. After three days, much of Squad 1561 risks deserting out of boredom. Jirou and her team (who arrived a day after their squad did) take shots of them firing at things that don’t matter, like random windows. Jirou explains that this is to throw the Capitol off their scent with disinformation. If they only shoot at the pods, it will take the Capitol about two minutes to realise they have the holograph. So most of their time is spent adding to the piles of rainbow glass that’s already been blown off the buildings. Katsuki suspects they are intercutting this footage with the destruction of significant Capitol targets. Once in a while, it seems a real sharpshooter’s services are needed. Eight hands go up every time, but Kirishima, Todoroki, and Katsuki are never chosen. 

“It’s your own fault for bein’ so camera-ready,” Kirishima says to Katsuki with a shit-eating grin. Katsuki shoves his palm in his face and Kirishima barely manages to activate his Hardening in time. His eyebrows wind up badly singed. 

But while Katsuki outwardly expresses his discontent about their lack of any real participation, he’s busy with his own agenda. Each of them has a paper map of the Capitol. The city forms an almost perfect square. Lines divide the map into smaller squares, with letters along the top and numbers down the side to form a grid. Katsuki consumes the map, noting every intersection and side street, but it’s remedial stuff. The squad leaders are working off of Hawk’s holograph. Each of them has a handheld contraption called a Holo, an independent unit, essentially a glorified map, that produces images like what they all saw in Command. It can zoom into any area on the grid and see what pods await them. It’s far superior to Katsuki’s paper version. 

A Holo is activated by a specific squad leader’s voice, saying their name. Once it’s activated, if Kudo was killed or severely disabled, someone else could take over the Holo if they provide their name. In case they get captured, they can also destroy the Holo by saying ‘nightlock’ three times to activate its self-destruct feature. It’s understood that any one of them would do so if the need arose.

So, what Katsuki needs to do is steal Kudo’s activated Holo and clear out before anyone notices. It would be easier trying to steal Kudo’s teeth. 

On the fifth evening, someone else arrives at the rebel encampment, walking out of the train station with a gun swinging from the strap over his shoulder. Garbed in Hakamada’s handiwork, wearing something that is similar to the last costume he wore for the Tribute Parade, just like Katsuki. With no guards, and no manacles, and the number 1561 stamped on the back of his hand in fresh ink. Izuku. 

There’s shock, confusion, and resistance from the rest of the squad. Kudo relieves Izuku of his weapon and then goes to make a call. 

“It won’t matter,” Izuku tells the rest of them, “President Yoichi assigned me himself. Said the propos needed some heating up.” 

Kudo is eerily quiet when he returns from his call with Yoichi. The first thing he does is instruct Bruce, his second-in-command, to set up a two-person round-the-clock guard on Izuku. Then he takes Katsuki on a walk, weaving through the sprawling tent encampments until their squad is far behind them. 

“He’s gonna try and kill me,” Katsuki says firmly, “Especially out here, with everything going on. It’ll set him off.” 

“I’ll keep him contained, Bakugou,” Kudo promises. 

“Does Yoichi think I’m worth more dead than alive now? Because he doesn’t need me as a rallying point anymore? These stupid propos could be done without me, and there’s only one thing I could do now to add fire to the rebellion, and that’s die. Give the people a martyr to fight for.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kudo says. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “We both know Yoichi doesn’t fuckin’ like me. Never has. He wanted to rescue Izuku from the arena instead of me.” 

“He did. But no one else agreed with him. Not even me,” Kudo says, “You’re the face of the rebellion. You have more influence than any other single person.” 

“Which is exactly why he wants to kill me. To shut me up,” Katsuki mutters. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” Kudo tells him, “I’m planning for you to have a long life.” 

Katsuki frowns. That kind of thinking will only bring Kudo trouble. “Why? You don’t fuckin’ owe me anything.” 

“Because you’ve earned it,” Kudo says. 

Katsuki knows he should feel appreciative of Kudo sticking his neck out for him, but really he’s just frustrated. How the hell can he steal the Holo out from under him and desert the squad now? Betraying Kudo was already complicated enough without this whole new layer of debt. And Katsuki already owed him for saving his life, back when Izuku attacked and nearly killed him. 

“What time is my watch?” Katsuki asks. 

Kudo squints at him doubtfully. “I didn’t include you in the rotation,” he says, “I’m not sure you could shoot him, if it came to it.” 

“I wouldn’t be shooting him,” Katsuki mutters, “It would be like shooting a Capitol mutt.” 

“Well, I’m not sure that sort of comment recommends you for the job, either,” Kudo sighs, “But fine, I’ll put you in the rotation. Midnight to four. You’re on with Bruce. Let’s head back to the others.” 

When the dinner whistle sounds, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Katsuki line up together at the canteen. 

“Hey, man, you doin’ okay?” Kirishima asks tentatively. 

“I’m fine,” Katsuki says, “I can handle it.” 

“Is that because you’re planning on taking off?” Todoroki murmurs. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Katsuki says evenly, keeping his gaze forward as they move up the line. 

Katsuki doesn’t need to see Kirishima to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Come off it, man. You’ve always been a crappy liar. D’you think Todoroki and I haven’t seen you porin’ over that paper map? Keepin’ tabs on Kudo’s every move? Bet you’re trying to figure out when your best chance to swipe the Holo from him would be, huh?” 

So his friends haven’t missed his preparations. Katsuki can only hope he hasn’t been so obvious to the others. 

“You’re not seriously planning on leaving us behind, are you?” Todoroki asks.

Up until this point, he was. But having his capable hunting partner and his trusted ally from the clock arena watching his back doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. “As your fellow soldier, I have to strongly recommend that you two idiots stay with your squad,” Katsuki says, “But sounds like I couldn’t stop you from followin’ me, anyway.” 

Kirishima grins. “Nope. Not unless you want us to tattle on ya.” 

The day turns from brisk to cold. Most of the squad hunker down in their sleeping bags. Some sleep under the open sky, close to the heater in the centre of their camp, while others retreat to their tents. Katsuki huddles in his tent, staring up at the canvas ceiling, his mind racing.

Even if Yoichi sent Izuku here hoping that he would kill Katsuki, Katsuki is fairly certain Izuku isn’t aware of such a plan. Now that Izuku’s presence looms over him like a constant cloud, Katsuki is forced to reconcile with the shame that his fixation with assassinating All For One has allowed him to ignore a much more difficult problem: trying to rescue Izuku from the shadowy world the hijacking has stranded him in. 

If he flips the scenario in his head—if it had been Katsuki that got taken by the Capitol, hijacked, and turned into a mutt to kill Izuku—he knows without a doubt that Izuku would not be treating Katsuki the way Katsuki has been treating Izuku since his rescue. Izuku would be trying to get Katsuki back at any cost. He wouldn’t have shut Katsuki out, abandoned him, or met him with hostility. Even if Katsuki had nearly killed him. 

Katsuki doesn’t know how to find Izuku, let alone lead him out of that shadowy world he’s trapped in. He can’t conceive of a plan. It makes the task of crossing a loaded arena, locating All For One, and putting a bullet through his head look like child’s play by comparison. 

At midnight, Katsuki crawls out of his tent and positions himself on a camp stool near the heater to take his watch with Bruce. Kudo told Izuku to sleep out in full view where the rest of the squad could keep an eye on him. He isn’t sleeping, though. Instead, he sits up in his sleeping bag, clumsily trying to make knots with a short length of rope. Katsuki wonders if Todoroki had given it to him, in an attempt to placate Izuku’s clear distrust towards him. Todoroki hasn’t cast Izuku off for his contempt. Now might be a good time for Katsuki to try that himself. 

He tries to think of something to say, but he can’t. So he doesn’t. 

After about an hour, Izuku saves him the trouble and finally speaks up himself. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Going back and forth, trying to decide whether to kill me or not.” 

Katsuki’s first impulse is to say something cutting. But he swallows it down and tries for a different approach, “I never wanted to kill you,” Katsuki says quietly. 

“I saw it,” Izuku retorts, “During the first Games. That look in your eye.” 

“I told you already, that’s because I thought you were tryin’ to help the Careers kill me. But, even then, I still didn’t want to,” Katsuki says, “But after that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good, safe word, Katsuki thinks. Empty of any emotional obligation, while also being non-threatening. 

“Ally,” Izuku says the word slowly. Tasting it. “Friend. Stranger. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancé. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try and figure you out,” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

“Then just ask,” Katsuki says. 

“Who? You?” Izuku huffs out a dark, humourless laugh. “Right.” 

“Ask any of us,” Bruce speaks up suddenly. “We’re your squad.” 

“Hardly. You’re my guards,” Izuku mutters. 

“True. But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen with your warning about the bombing, kid,” Bruce says, “It’s not the kind of thing we forget.” 

Izuku doesn’t respond, going back to his rope. In the quiet that follows, Katsuki tries to imagine not being able to tell illusion from reality. Not knowing if his friends or family loved him, or were out to destroy him. If All For One was his enemy. If the person across the heater saved or sacrificed him. With very little effort, Katsuki’s life rapidly morphs into a nightmare. Katsuki suddenly feels the urge to tell Izuku everything about who he is, and who Katsuki is, and how they both ended up here. But he doesn’t know how to start. So he doesn’t. Coward. He’s a fucking coward. 

Izuku looks up from his rope. “Your favourite colour…it’s…green?” 

Katsuki feels his shoulders droop a little with relief. Once again, Izuku has spared him having to begin. Katsuki nods. “That’s right,” he says, “And yours is orange. Not a bright orange, but soft, like the sunset.” 

“Oh,” Izuku says quietly. He closes his eyes for a moment, as though trying to conjure up that sunset. And then he nods his head. “Thank you.”

But Katsuki isn’t done. Now that Izuku has gotten him started, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. More words tumble out.

“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You take honey in your tea. You always double-knot your shoelaces. You never learned how to tie a tie. You have terrible penmanship even though you’re always writing notes on everything you see, but you’re a great artist. You had three helpings of the pork cutlet bowls they served us in District 10 on the Victory Tour. You’re one-hundred and sixty-six centimetres tall, which is six centimetres shorter than me. You’re somehow both a night owl and a morning person. You’re a crybaby, but not a weakling. You always mutter to yourself out loud when you’re deep in thought or taking notes or sketching. Your favourite thing at the bakery were apple and goat cheese tarts, even though you could only ever eat them stale. Your favourite thing from the sweetshop were the peppermint candies.” 

Katsuki has to press his lips together to make himself stop. 

Izuku stares at him for a long time. Then, finally, he murmurs, “Thank you.” 

“How about we make it a game?” Bruce offers. Katsuki had forgotten entirely that he was even there. “Real or Not Real. You tell us something, and we can tell you whether it’s real or not.” 

Izuku nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. He thinks on it for a moment, then, “Most of the people from Twelve were killed in the bombing.” 

“Real,” Bruce says, “Less than nine hundred people from Twelve made it to Thirteen.” 

“The fire was my fault.” 

“Not real,” Bruce says, “All For One destroyed Twelve to send a message to the rebels.” 

The game seems like a good idea until Katsuki realises he’ll be the only one who can confirm or deny most of what weighs on Izuku. But Bruce decides to break up the watches, matching up Katsuki, Kirishima, and Todoroki each with a soldier from 13. With those pair-ups, Izuku always has access to someone who knows him more personally. Kirishima fills him in on a lot of stuff about 12; Todoroki is the expert on both of Izuku’s Games, as he was a mentor in the first and a tribute in the second. 

But since Izuku’s greatest confusion centres around Katsuki—and not everything can be explained simply—their exchanges are painful and loaded, even though they only touch on the most superficial of details. Like the colour of Katsuki’s shirt when they were visiting District 7 for the Victory Tour. Katsuki’s preference for Izuku’s cheese buns, and spicy food. The name of their math teacher when they were little. 

Reconstructing Izuku’s memory of Katsuki is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what All For One did to him. But it feels right to help him try. 

They get notified one afternoon that the whole squad is needed to stage a fairly complicated propo. Izuku has been right about one thing: Yoichi and Hawks are unhappy with the quality of footage they’re getting from the Star Squad. It’s dull and uninspiring. 

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so boring if they let us do more than playact with our damn guns,” Banjo grumbles. 

“This isn’t about defending ourselves,” Shinomori tells him, “It’s about coming up with a usable product,” He turns to Jirou. “We are in your hands. Please tell us what you need us to do.” 

“We’ve got a special block that’s been set aside for filming,” Jirou explains, “It even has a couple of active pods in it. One unleashes a spray of gunfire. The other releases a net trap.” 

“We intend to provide a sense of heightened jeopardy by releasing smoke and adding gunfire sound effects,” Tokoyami adds, “Those of you with specialty weapons will be allowed to bring them along.”

“Here’s your gun back,” Kudo says to Izuku, giving him back his weapon. “It’s only loaded with blanks now, though.” 

Izuku shrugs after pulling the strap of his gun over his shoulder. “I’m not much of a shot, anyway,” he says, preoccupied. He’s been watching Koda to the point that it’s getting a little worrisome. Then he blurts out, “You’re an Avox, right?” 

Koda jumps a little, not expecting to be addressed, and then offers Izuku a nervous nod. 

“I can tell by the way you swallow,” Izuku says, pointing to his own throat, “There was an Avox with me in prison. Her name was Melissa. She was our servant in the Training Centre, so they arrested her. I watched her get tortured to death. It took days. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking her questions, but she couldn’t speak, so she just made these horrible, animal-like sounds. Eventually they used too much voltage on her and her heart stopped. They didn’t want any information from her. They just wanted me to see it.” 

Izuku looks around at everyone’s stunned faces, as if waiting for a reply. When none is forthcoming, he asks, “Real or not real?” The lack of response upsets him even more. “Real or not real?!” Izuku demands. 

“Real,” Kudo says quietly, “At least, to the best of my knowledge.” 

Izuku sags. “I thought so. There was nothing…shiny about it.” He wanders away from the group, muttering something about fingers and toes. Shoji rubs Koda’s back to get him to stop shivering. 

With Izuku’s grisly account fresh in everyone’s minds, they all crunch through the street of broken glass until they reach their target. They all gather around Kudo to examine the Holo projection of the street. The gunfire pod is positioned about a third of the way down, just above an apartment awning. They should be able to trigger it with bullets. The net pod is at the far end of the street, almost the next corner. It’ll require someone to set off the body sensor mechanism. Everyone volunteers, except Izuku, who doesn’t seem to know quite what’s going on. 

The squad positions itself under Kudo’s direction, and then they all wait for Jirou to get the cameramen in place. Tokoyami instructs En to activate Smokescreen for some atmosphere, which gets a weary sigh from En, using his power for something so trivial. Then Jirou calls, “Action!” 

They slowly proceed down the hazy street. Everyone has at least one section of windows to blow out, but Kirishima is assigned the real target. When he hits the pod, everyone takes cover, ducking into doorways or flattening onto the orange-and-pink paving stones, as a hail of bullets sweeps back and forth over their heads. After a while, Kudo orders everyone to move forward. 

Jirou stops everyone before they can rise, however, since she needs some close-up shots. Everyone takes turns re-enacting their responses, falling to the ground, grimacing as they dive into alcoves. It’s supposed to be serious business, but the whole thing feels a little ridiculous. They all find out the worst actor among them is En, who can pull off stoic with ease, but when his prompt by Jirou to ‘look desperate’ is followed up by a lot of teeth grinding and nostril flaring, Banjo and Kirishima start howling with laughter, and En ducks his chin into his collar, and his face is starting to put his red jacket to shame.

“Pull it together, One-Five-Six-One,” Kudo says firmly, but he’s suppressing a smile himself. Even their commander knows his squad needed something to lighten the mood a little. He backs away from the group a little as he double-checks the position of the next pod on the Holo.

Suddenly, Shinomori steps forward, reaching out towards Kudo. “Kudo, wait—!”

But Danger Sense is a second too late. Kudo is still facing them as he steps backwards onto an orange paving stone, and triggers a bomb that blows off both of his legs.

Chapter Text

viii.

In an instant, blood stains the pastel stones, and real smoke darkens the purple wisps of Smokescreen. A second explosion splits through the air and leaves Katsuki’s ears ringing, but he can’t make out where it came from. 

Katsuki reaches Kudo first, and tries to make sense of the torn flesh, the missing limbs, to find something to stem the red flow from his body. Bruce pushes him aside, wrenching open a first-aid kit. Kudo seizes Katsuki’s wrist. His face is grey with dying and ash, but his next words are an order. “The Holo…”

Katsuki scrambles around, digging through chunks of tile slick with blood, shuddering when he encounters bits of warm flesh. He finds the Holo rammed into a stairwell with one of Kudo’s boots. He retrieves it, wiping it clean with his bare hands before returning it to Kudo.

Bruce has the stump of Kudo’s left thigh cupped by some sort of compression bandage, but it’s already soaked through. He’s trying to tourniquet the other leg above the existing knee while the rest of the squad forms a protective formation around them and the TV crew. Todoroki is rousing Tokoyami, who was thrown into a wall by the explosion. Banjo is barking into a field communicator, trying unsuccessfully to alert the camp to send medics, but Katsuki knows it’s too late. He’s watched his mother work enough times to learn that once a pool of blood has reached a certain size, there’s no going back. 

Katsuki kneels beside Kudo, prepared to repeat the role he played with Mahoro in the first arena and with the morphling from 6 in the second, giving Kudo someone to hold on to as he’s released from life. But Kudo is whispering something to Bruce, who is leaning down with his ear right by Kudo’s mouth. Then Kudo is typing a command into the Holo, pressing his thumb to the screen for print recognition, and then a green shaft of light bursts out from the Holo and illuminates his pale face. 

“Unfit for command,” Kudo says, “Transfer prime security clearance to Squad One-Five-Six-One Private Katsuki Bakugou,” He turns the Holo towards Katsuki. “Say your name.”

“Katsuki Bakugou,” Katsuki says. The green shaft traps him in its light, freezing him in place, unable to move or even blink as it flickers for several seconds before it vanishes. 

Bruce scrubs his hand, covered in Kudo’s blood, over his mouth, smearing his lips red. “Prepare to retreat!” Bruce hollers. 

Todoroki is shouting something to them, gesturing to the end of the block where they entered. Black, oily matter spouts like a geyser from the street, billowing between the buildings, creating an impenetrable wall of darkness. It seems to be neither liquid nor gas, mechanical or natural. But surely it’s lethal. Todoroki shoots out a huge wall of ice to block its path, but Shinomori grabs his arm to haul him away. 

There’s deafening gunfire as Kirishima and Banjo begin to blast a path across the stones towards the end of the block. Another bomb ten meters away detonates, opening a hole in the street. Katsuki and Bruce latch onto Kudo and begin to drag him after Kirishima and Banjo. Kudo cries out in pain but they can’t stop; Todoroki’s ice wall is already starting to give way as the blackness rises above the buildings, swelling, crashing through the ice and rolling towards them like a wave. 

Suddenly Katsuki is yanked backward, losing his grip on Kudo, and slams into the stones. Izuku looks down at him, eyes wide with madness, his mind gone back to the land of the hijacked, his gun raised into the air. Just as the butt of Izuku’s gun descends down to crush Katsuki’s skull, Katsuki rolls out of the way, and hears the gun slam into the stones. Then out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki catches sight of a tumble of bodies as Bruce tackles Izuku to the ground. But Izuku, always so powerful and now fuelled by tracker jacker insanity, grapples his arms around Bruce and launches him over his head and farther down the block. 

There’s a loud snap of a trap as a pod triggers. Four cables, attached to tracks on the buildings, break through the stones and drag up a net that encases Bruce. It makes no sense how instantly bloodied he is, until Katsuki notices the barbs sticking out from the wires encasing him. As Katsuki tries to call out to Bruce not to move, he gags on the smell of thick black tar that’s begun to crest and fall towards them. 

Shinomori moves over to Bruce, reaching for one of his bloody hands through the barbed wire. Katsuki goes back over to Kudo, prone and bleeding on the stones, and hauls him up. Banjo rushes over to help Katsuki carry Kudo, while Kirishima and En shoot through the front door lock of the corner building. Katsuki and Banjo drag Kudo inside the apartment, through someone’s pink and velvet living room, down a hallway hung with family photos, and onto the marble floor of a kitchen, where they all collapse. Shoji and Koda carry in a writhing Izuku between them. Shinomori arrives and slaps cuffs onto Izuku, but it only makes him wilder. They’re forced to lock him in a closet. 

Back in the living room, the front door slams, voices shout. Then footsteps pound down the hall as the black wave roars past the building. From the kitchen, Katsuki can hear the windows in the living room groan and shatter. The noxious smell of the tar fills the air. Todoroki carries in Tokoyami. En and Jirou stumble into the room after them, coughing. 

“Kirishima!” Katsuki yells. 

Kirishima appears, and slams the kitchen door shut behind him, choking out one word, “F-Fumes!” 

Shoji and Koda grab towels, dish cloths and aprons to stuff in the cracks of the door as Kirishima retches into a bright yellow sink. 

“Bruce?” En asks. Shinomori just shakes his head. 

Kudo forces the Holo into Katsuki’s hands, then grabs Katsuki by the back of the neck and yanks him down with the last vestiges of his strength until Katsuki’s ear is by his mouth. 

“Don’t go back. Do what you came to do,” Kudo whispers harshly.

Katsuki tries to draw back so he can see Kudo’s face, but Kudo drags him back down and hisses into his ear. “One…For…All…” 

“What? Kudo? Kudo!” Katsuki pulls away, looking down at Kudo’s face. His eyes are still open, but dead. 

And pressed in Katsuki’s hand, glued to it in Kudo’s blood, is the Holo. 

“He’s gone?” Todoroki asks. Katsuki nods. “We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. If Peacekeepers didn’t know where we were before, they do now.” 

“They probably already knew we were there,” Shoji says, “All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off that wave of tar manually, when they saw us taping the propo.” 

Todoroki glowers out the window. “The Gamemakers are putting on quite the show.” 

“Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately,” Banjo mutters, “I couldn’t get back through to camp.” 

“I can lead us back there,” Shinomori says, “Bakugou, give me the Holo.”

Katsuki clutches the Holo to his chest. “No. Kudo gave it to me,” he says, “He transferred the prime security clearance to me while he was dying.” 

“Why the hell would he do that?” Banjo demands. 

Why indeed? Katsuki’s head is reeling from the ghastly events of the last five minutes—Kudo mutilated, dying, then dead. Izuku’s homicidal rage. Bruce bloody and netted and swallowed up by that foul black wave. Katsuki turns to Kudo, very badly needing him alive. Suddenly certain that he, and maybe he alone, was completely on Katsuki’s side. He thinks of his final words…

Don’t go back. Do what you came to do.

One For All. 

Had Kudo figured him out, then? Did he guess that what Katsuki had really come here to do was hunt down and kill All For One? But he had said the name backwards. Was it the delirium of the dying, or some kind of hidden message? Katsuki can’t work all of this out right now; those who remain of his squad are waiting for him to respond. 

“I’m on a special mission for President Yoichi,” Katsuki lies, “I think Kudo was the only one who knew about it.”

Banjo hardly seems convinced. “To do what?” 

Telling them the truth would be more plausible than anything else Katsuki could come up with. He just needed to make it sound like a real mission, and not a personal vendetta for revenge. He thinks back to what Kudo had said, the day they took down the Nut, about how Yoichi had been considering the heavy losses during the war…

Katsuki lifts his chin, staring down the remaining District 13 soldiers with conviction. “To assassinate All For One before the loss of life from the war makes our population unsustainable.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Shinomori says. His Danger Sense allowed him to detect malice in someone’s intentions; perhaps it could pick up on Katsuki’s lie because of his malice towards All For One. “As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me.” 

“No,” Katsuki says, “That would be in direct violation of the president’s orders.” 

“It’s true,” Jirou speaks up suddenly, “That’s why my team and I are here. Hawks wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating All For One, it will put an end to the war.” 

This gives Shinomori pause. Unlike Katsuki, Danger Sense detects no malice from Jirou. Shinomori gestures towards the closet, where Izuku had been banging around and screaming up until a few moments ago. Now it’s completely silent behind the door. “And why is he here?” 

Katsuki can’t think of a sane reason why Yoichi would send someone unstable and programmed to kill Katsuki on such a key assignment. It certainly weakens Katsuki’s story. But Jirou comes to his aid yet again.

“Because the broadcasts they shot with Midoriya took place in All For One’s mansion,” Jirou continues, “Hawks thinks Midoriya may be of some use as a guide in such a location, since we have so little knowledge of it.” 

Katsuki wants to ask Jirou why she’s lying for him, why she’s fighting for them all to go on with his self-appointed mission. But now isn’t the time. 

“Look, we've gotta get outta here,” Kirishima says strongly, “And I’m on board with any plan that involves takin’ down All For One. If anyone doesn’t wanna come, then head back to camp. But we’ve gotta move!”

Banjo unlocks the closet and heaves an unconscious Izuku over his shoulder. “The kid is right; let’s clear out.”

“What about Kudo?” En asks quietly. 

“We can’t take him. He’d understand,” says Todoroki. He frees Kudo’s gun from his shoulder and slings the strap over his own. “Lead on, Bakugou.” 

Katsuki doesn’t know how to lead on. He looks at the Holo for direction; it’s still activated, but it might as well be dead for all the good that does him. There’s no time to fiddle around with it, either. “I don’t know how to use this thing,” he says. He looks over at Shinomori. “Kudo said you would help me.” 

Shinomori frowns deeply, but steps over and takes the Holo from Katsuki and taps in a command. An intersection comes up. “If we go out the kitchen door, there’s a small courtyard, then the back side of another corner apartment unit.” 

Katsuki tries to get his bearings as he stares at the cross section of the map blinking with pods in every direction. And those are only the pods that Hawks knew about. The Holo didn’t indicate that the block they just left was mined, had the black geyser, or that the net was made from barbed wire. Besides that, there may be Peacekeepers to deal with, now that they know about their position. Katsuki bites his lips, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. 

“We’ll put on our masks, and go out the way we came in,” Katsuki decides, “If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed the other pods in our path.”

“It may have disabled the cameras as well,” Shoji adds on, “Coated the lenses.” 

Kirishima props one of his boots on the counter and examines the splatter of black on the toe. He scrapes it with a kitchen knife from a block on the counter. “It’s not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us.” 

“It’s probably our best shot,” En says. 

Everyone puts on their mask. Todoroki adjusts Izuku’s mask over his face from where he hangs limp over Banjo’s shoulder. Jirou and En prop up a woozy Tokoyami between them. 

Katsuki pushes open the kitchen door and is met with no resistance. A half-inch layer of the black goo has spread from the living room about three-quarters of the way down the hall. When Katsuki gingerly tests it with the toe of his boot, he finds it has the consistency of gel. When he lifts his foot, the goo springs back into place. He takes three steps into the gel and looks back to find it leaves behind no footprints. The black tar becomes slightly thicker as he crosses the living room. He opens the front door, expecting gallons of the stuff to pour in, but it holds its form. 

The once pink-and-orange cobblestones seem to have been dipped in glossy black paint and set out to dry. Paving stones, buildings, and rooftops are coated in the gel. Hanging above the street is a teardrop blob of black that Katsuki can see two objects projecting from. A gun barrel and a human hand. Bruce. Katsuki waits on the sidewalk, staring up at him until the entire group has joined him outside. 

“If anyone wants to go back, for whatever reason, now’s the time,” Katsuki mutters, “No questions asked, no hard feelings.” 

No one seems inclined to retreat. 

Katsuki nods. “Then let’s go.” 

The thick goo makes a sucking sound each time they pick up their feet, but it still covers their tracks. 

The wave must have been enormous, with tremendous power behind it, as it’s affected several blocks that lie ahead. Though Katsuki treads with care, he believes his instinct was right about the tar wave triggering the other pods. One block is sprinkled with the golden bodies of tracker jackers—they must have been set free only to succumb to the fumes. A little further along, an entire apartment building has collapsed and lies in a mound beneath the gel. Katsuki sprints across the intersections, holding a hand up for the others to wait while he looks for trouble, but the wave seems to have dismantled the pods better than any squad of rebels could. 

On the fifth block, the gel is only an inch deep. The afternoon light has faded, and they badly need to get under cover and form a plan. Katsuki chooses an apartment two-thirds of the way down the block. Shinomori jimmies the lock open, and everyone files inside. 

Flashlights built into everyone’s guns illuminate a large living room with mirrored walls. It seems to be laid out exactly like the last apartment they took refuge from the wave in. A huge television screen, blank but glowing softly, occupies one wall. There’s plush chairs and sofas strewn about the room. Everyone congregates there, slumping into the upholstery to catch their breath. Banjo lays Izuku down on one of the couches then drops down to the floor next to him with a heavy sigh. 

Katsuki looks around at his squad, already two men down from one street of pods in the span of five minutes, their two most senior soldiers. What is Katsuki going to do? With Izuku, with the whole crew, frankly, besides Todoroki and Kirishima? Katsuki would much rather track down All For One with those two than without them, but he can’t lead ten people through the Capitol on a pretend mission, even if he could read the Holo himself. 

Just as the complexity of the mess he’s dragged everyone into begins to overload Katsuki’s brain, a distant chain of explosions sends a tremor through the room. 

“It wasn’t close,” Shinomori assures them, “Sounds like it was a good four or five blocks away.” 

“Where we left Kudo,” En says. 

Just then, the television flares to life, emitting a high-pitched beeping sound that brings half the party to its feet. 

“It’s alright!” Jirou calls out, “It’s just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for them.” 

Suddenly, there they all are on the screen, just after the bomb took out Kudo. A voice-over begins to play over the footage. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Present Mic, here with our continuing coverage of the defence of the Capitol.” 

On the screen, Squad 1561 tries to regroup, reacts to the black gel shooting from the street, and loses control of the situation. 

“Today, as our Peacekeepers valiantly hold off the rebels, our story takes a surprising twist,” Present Mic goes on, “Katsuki Bakugou, also known to us as Dynamight, has infiltrated the city with some of the victors whose names we also know all too well. Shoto Todoroki, and Izuku Midoriya.” 

They watch the chaos that follows, as Katsuki and Bruce try to carry Kudo, as Izuku pulls Katsuki to the ground and nearly strikes him with the butt of his gun before Bruce tackles him, and as Izuku throws Bruce overhead and straight into the barbed wire net trap. 

“Clearly, some alliances don’t last forever,” Present Mic says grimly, “Take a look at what happened, just a moment ago, when our Peacekeepers cornered Katsuki Bakugou and his band of foolish rebels.” 

Coverage continues from the courtyard behind the apartment where they all took shelter earlier. 

“Whatever arrogance brought this traitorous boy back to us, rest assured you are about to witness a great victory,” Present Mic continues, “Not only for the Capitol, but all of Panem.” 

Peacekeepers line the roof across from their former hideout, and shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the chain of explosions they had all heard just a few moments ago. The building collapses into rubble and dust. Then it cuts to a live feed, showing as the apartment block burns. 

“So there you have it, folks,” Present Mic says, “Katsuki Bakugou, the boy on fire, a boy who inspired so much violence, finally meets a fiery, violent end himself.” 

Maybe they should consider themselves lucky. This means the Capitol won’t be in pursuit of them now. But Katsuki keeps imagining how this will be playing back in District 13. Where his mother, Toshinori, Uraraka, Kaminari, and everyone else will think they have all just seen him and his entire squad die. 

They all continue to watch in stunned silence as they replay the footage over and over. As they revel in their victory, especially over Katsuki. They break away to do a montage of the Mockingjay’s rebel rise to power, and then go live to a couple of reporters who discuss Katsuki’s well-deserved death. Later, they promise that All For One will make an official statement himself, and then the screen fades back into a faint glow. 

The rebels made no attempt to break in during the broadcast, which leads Katsuki to believe they think it’s true. That meant they were really on their own. 

“So, now that we’re all dead, what’s our next move?” Kirishima asks. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

No one even knew Izuku had regained consciousness. Katsuki doesn’t know how long he’s been watching, but by the look of misery on his face, it was long enough to see what happened on the street. How he went mad, tried to bash Katsuki’s head in, and hurled Bruce into the pod. He painfully pushes himself up into a sitting position and looks over at Kirishima. 

“Our next move is to kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child,” Shinomori says, “No one is killing you.” 

“I just murdered a member of our squad!” Izuku shouts. 

Todoroki steps forward, raising his hands placatingly. “It was an accident. You pushed him off you. You couldn’t have known he would trigger the net pod at that exact spot.” 

“Who cares? He’s still dead!” Tears begin to run down Izuku’s face. “I-I didn’t know. I’ve never seen myself like that before. I’m the mutt. I’m the one All For One turned into a weapon. It’s only a matter of time before I snap again. You have to kill me!”

“It’s not your fault, Midoriya,” Todoroki says calmly. 

“You can’t take me with you,” Izuku says urgently, “So I need one of those nightlock pills, so I can die when I need to.” 

Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s the pods, or watching Kudo and Bruce die, or the fear, but he feels the arena all around him. It’s as if he’s never left, really. Once again he’s battling not only for his own survival but for Izuku’s as well. How satisfying, how entertaining it would be for All For One to have Katsuki kill Izuku. To have Izuku’s death on Katsuki’s conscience for whatever is left of his life. 

“We’ve got a mission to do, and you’re necessary to it,” Katsuki says. Then he turns to the rest of the group. “Let’s see if we can scrounge up some food while we’re here.” 

Half the group stays to guard Izuku or keep an eye out for a broadcast from All For One, while the others hunt for something to eat. Tokoyami proves to be most valuable for this because he lived in a near replica of this apartment and knows where people would be most likely to stash food. He knows about a storage space concealed by a mirrored panel in the bedroom, or how easy it is to pop out the ventilation screen in the hallway. So even though the kitchen cupboards are bare, they find over thirty canned goods and several boxes of cookies. 

The hoarding absolutely disgusts the soldiers raised in 13. “Ain’t this shit illegal?” Banjo asks, turning over a box of cookies in his hand. 

“On the contrary, in the Capitol you’d be considered foolish not to do it,” Tokoyami explains, “Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies.” 

“While others went without,” mutters En. 

“Correct,” Tokoyami nods, “That’s how it works here.” 

“Well, good thing, or we wouldn’t have dinner,” Kirishima says, shoving a can into En’s hands. “C’mon, let’s eat.” 

Katsuki pokes around the pile of cans, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Izuku holds out a can to him. “Here.” 

Katsuki takes it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads Lamb Curry. Katsuki presses his lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, his inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of Katsuki’s favourite Capitol dish in the chilly air. How happy, how hungry, how close they were when that picnic basket arrived outside their cave. The memory of that kiss, coming back to him now of all times, in this place, doesn’t stop the heat from rushing to his face. 

“Thanks,” Katsuki says. He pops open the lid, bending it into a makeshift spoon, and scoops a bit into his mouth. Now this place tastes like the arena, too. 

They’re all passing around a box of fancy cream-filled cookies when the beeping starts again, and the seal of Panem lights up on the screen. The anthem plays out, and the seal fades as they begin to show images of the dead, just as they did with tributes in the arena. They start with the four faces of their TV crew, followed by Kudo, Kirishima, Todoroki, Izuku, and Katsuki. Except for Kudo, they don’t bother with the other soldiers from 13, either because they have no idea who they are or because they know they won’t mean anything to the audience. 

Then, seated at his desk, with a fresh white rose gleaming on his lapel, is All For One. 

“Good evening, good people of Panem,” All For One begins, “First and foremost, I must give my congratulations to our brave Peacekeepers on their masterful job in ridding our country of the menace known as the Mockingjay. With his death, I predict a turning of the tide in this war. Katsuki Bakugou was just a poor, unstable boy with nothing but a small talent with a bow and arrow. He was not a thinker, not a leader. Simply a face plucked from the masses, because the rebellion has no true leader among them—“

Somewhere in District 13, Kaminari must have hit a switch, because now it’s an entirely different President Shigaraki who is looking at them. 

“Good evening. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Yoichi Shigaraki,” Yoichi says, “I am the president of District 13, and leader of the rebellion. I have interrupted this broadcast in which my twin brother and your president has attempted to defame a brave young boy. A ‘face plucked from the masses’, you called him. As if a leader, a true leader, could be anything else. I had the privilege of knowing a small-town boy from the Seam in District Twelve, who survived The Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell, who rose up and turned a nation of slaves into an army of freedom fighters. Dead or alive, Katsuki Bakugou will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in him you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors. Katsuki Bakugou may be gone, but his spirit will be passed down and refined for generations to come. Those crying out to be saved and those with brave and true hearts will join together and cultivate a crystalline network of power. He will not have died in vain. The power of one can be a power for all.”

“I had no idea how much I meant to him,” Katsuki mutters, which earns a laugh from Kirishima, but when Katsuki looks over to En, Shinomori, and Banjo, they’re staring at the screen all bearing the same strange, solemn expression. 

Then a photo of Katsuki takes up the screen, heavily doctored, beautiful and fierce with a bunch of flames flickering in the background. There’s no words, no slogan. His face is all they need now. 

Kaminari gives the reins back to a very controlled-looking All For One, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that shows he’s been rattled by this interference. That he’s seen his brother’s face, and heard his voice. Katsuki has a feeling the president thought the emergency channel was impenetrable, and someone will end up dead tonight because it was breached. All For One neatly clasps his hands together on the tabletop, his pale, snakelike eyes as cold as ever.

“Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katsuki Bakugou’s body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the boy on fire, the Mockingjay, truly was,” All For One says softly, “A dead boy who could save no one. Not even himself.” 

Seal, anthem, and out. 

“Except you won’t find him,” Todoroki mutters, voicing what everyone else in the room is thinking.

“We won’t have a long grace period,” Shinomori remarks.

“Yep. Once they go diggin’ through the rubble and come up missin’ eleven bodies, they’ll know we escaped,” Banjo says.

“We can get a head start on them, at least,” Katsuki says, “But first, show me the basics of usin’ this Holo.” 

Shinomori talks him through the most basic commands—which are really about entering the coordinates of the nearest map grid intersection—so that Katsuki can at least begin to operate the thing on his own. As the Holo projects their surroundings, Katsuki’s heart sinks even further. They must be moving closer to crucial targets, because the number of pods has noticeably increased. He sees no possible way for them to move forward into the bouquet of blinking lights without being spotted. And if they can’t, then they’re trapped. 

Suddenly, Katsuki is so tired. All he wants to do is lie down on the nearby green plush sofa, cocoon himself in a comforter made of rabbit fur and goose down, and go to sleep. He tries to think of a plan, but instead his eyes keep drifting back to that green sofa. 

“Anyone got any ideas?” Katsuki asks finally. 

“Well, let’s rule out possibilities,” Todoroki says, “The street is not a possibility.” 

“Neither are the rooftops,” En adds. 

“We may have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came,” Shinomori offers, “But that would mean a failed mission.” 

A pang of guilt hits Katsuki, since he’s fabricated said ‘mission’. “It was never part of the plan for all of us to go through with this,” he says, “You just had the misfortune of bein’ with me.” 

“Well, that’s a moot point, kid. We’re with ya now,” Banjo says, “Right, so we can’t stay put here like sittin’ ducks. And we can’t move up. The streets are out. So that only leaves us one option.” 

“Underground,” Kirishima murmurs. 

Underground. Which Katsuki hates. Like mines, tunnels, and 13. Where he dreads dying, which is stupid, because even if he died aboveground he’d just get buried underground, anyway. 

The Holo can show subterranean as well as street-level pods. There’s a twisting, turning mess of tunnels, but the pods look less numerous. Two doors down, a vertical tube connects their row of apartments to the tunnels. To reach the apartment with the tube, they’ll need to squeeze through a maintenance shaft that runs the length of the building. They can enter the shaft through the back of a closet space on the upper floor. 

“Koda knows the tunnels well,” Shoji says, “He worked sanitation down there, right after they made him an Avox.”

“Took him and Shoji five years to buy his way up to ground level,” Jirou comments in a low voice, rubbing at Koda’s arm. “Koda didn’t see the sun once.” 

Katsuki looks to Koda, whose face is ashen with the thought of having to go back to the tunnels, and fresh guilt tears into Katsuki anew. “I hate bein’ underground, too,” Katsuki mumbles to him. Then he tucks away the Holo and looks around to everyone. “Right, let’s get this shit over with, then. Let's make it look like we were never here.” 

They erase all signs of their stay, sending empty cans down a trash chute, packing away the full ones for later. They flip over sofa cushions smeared with blood and wipe traces of black gel from the floor. There’s no fixing the latch on the front door, but they lock a second bolt, which will at least keep the door from swinging open on contact. 

Then, there’s only Izuku to contend with, who has planted himself on the blue sofa, refusing to budge. “I’m not going. I’ll either disclose our position or hurt someone else.” 

“All For One’s people will find you,” Todoroki tells him. 

“Then leave me a nightlock pill. I’ll only take it if I have to.” 

“That isn’t an option,” Shinomori says quietly, “Come along.” 

“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” Izuku snaps. 

“We’ll knock ya out and drag ya with us,” Banjo says, cracking his knuckles. 

“Which will slow us down, and endanger us,” En mutters. 

“Stop being noble! I don’t care if I die!” Izuku turns to Katsuki, his eyes pleading. “Please. I’m useless to all of you. Don’t you see I want to be out of this?” 

The trouble is, Katsuki does see. So why can’t he just let him go? Slip him a pill, or pull the trigger? Is it because he cares too much for Izuku, or too much about letting All For One win? Has Katsuki turned Izuku into a piece in his own personal Games? It’s despicable, but Katsuki isn’t quite so sure it’s beneath him at this point. And if it’s true, then the kindest thing to do would be to kill Izuku here and now.

But Katsuki’s never been motivated by kindness. 

“You’re wastin’ time. Are you comin’ willingly or is Banjo gonna have to knock your ass out?” 

Izuku buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then slowly rises up from the sofa to join them. 

“Should we free his hands?” En asks. 

“No!” Izuku growls at him, drawing the cuffs close to his body. 

“No,” Katsuki echoes, “Give me the key.” 

Shinomori passes over the key without a word, and Katsuki pops open one of the pockets on his utility belt, slipping the key inside, where it clicks against the pearl. 

Even going single file, holding their packs and gear out to the side, it’s a tight fit through the maintenance shaft. They side-step their way past the first apartment and break into the second. There, one of the bedrooms has a door labelled ‘Utility’, and behind it is a room with the entrance to the tube. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city. Koda, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches onto one of Shoji’s arms as they all gather at the foot of the ladder and breathe in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.

Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say to Koda now. Instead, they all stand there for a long time, trying to come up with any words of comfort. 

Finally, it’s Izuku who turns to Koda. “You’re going to be our most valuable asset down there,” he says, and Katsuki hears that old note of gentleness in his voice that he thought was gone forever. “I’m sorry you have to go back down there, but…we need you, Koda.” 

Koda stares at Izuku for a moment in awe, and then he nods. 

They’re halfway down the first tunnel before Katsuki glances back at Izuku, watching as he trudges along under his current guards, Shinomori and Banjo. His eyes are fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. 

But for a moment, a brief but remarkable moment, he sounded like his old self again. The one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. For a moment, Deku was back. 

Koda turns out to be worth ten Holos. There is a simple network of wide tunnels that directly corresponds to the main street plan above, underlying the major avenues and cross streets. However, hundreds of additional passages, utility shafts, train tracks, and drainage tubes form a multi-level labyrinth. Koda knows details that would lead to disaster for a newcomer, like which offshoots might require gas masks, have live wires, or rats the size of beavers. He alerts them to the gush of water that sweeps through the sewers periodically, anticipates the time the Avoxes will be changing shifts, and leads them into damp, obscure pipes to dodge the nearly silent passage of cargo trains. And most important of all, he has knowledge of the cameras. There aren’t many in this gloomy, misty place, but with Koda’s expertise, they keep well out of their way. 

Under Koda’s guidance they make good time, but after six hours, fatigue takes them all over. It’s three in the morning, which leaves them with a few more hours before their bodies are discovered missing, and the hunt begins. 

Nobody objects when Katsuki suggests a rest. Koda finds a small, warm room humming with machines loaded with levers and dials. He holds up his fingers to indicate they must be gone in four hours. Shinomori works out a guard schedule for Izuku, and since Katsuki isn’t on the first shift, he wedges himself in the tight space between Kirishima and En, and goes right to sleep. 

It seems like only minutes later when Shinomori shakes Katsuki awake for his watch. It’s six in the morning, and in one hour they must be on their way. Katsuki drags himself into a state of relative alertness, eats a can of potato and bean stew, and props himself up against the wall facing the door. Koda is the other guard on duty, and seems wide awake. He was the first in the rotation when Katsuki went to sleep. There were plenty of them available to change out the watch.

“Have you slept at all?” Katsuki asks Koda.

Koda shakes his head, and the haunted look in his eyes tells Katsuki all he needs to know. Koda has been too busy reliving those five years of imprisonment down here, and was too nervous to face the nightmares waiting for him in sleep. Katsuki looks down at the sleeping soldiers, crew, and his friends, and wonders how many of them will ever see the sun again. 

Katsuki’s eyes fall on Izuku, whose head rests right by Katsuki’s feet, and sees that he’s wide awake, too. Katsuki wishes he could read what’s going on in Izuku’s mind—an ability he had always wished for, now more than ever—so he could go in and untangle the mess of lies. 

“Have you eaten?” Katsuki asks. Izuku must think he’s still talking to Koda, because he doesn’t respond. Katsuki considers giving him a nudge with his boot to get his attention, then quickly retracts that idea. He draws in a tight breath, and tries something else. “Izuku.”

Forest-green eyes flicker over to him instantly, his eyebrows lifting in subdued surprise. After a long moment, Izuku shakes his head slightly. 

Katsuki opens a can of chicken and rice soup and hands it to him. Izuku sits up and tilts back the can, chugging back the soup without really bothering to chew it. The bottom of the can catches the glow of the lights on one of the machines, and the sight of it jogs something in Katsuki’s memory. 

“When you asked us if what happened to the Av—to Melissa was real or not real, you said there was nothing ‘shiny’ about it,” Katsuki says, “What did you mean by that?”

Izuku tilts his can of soup back and forth, looking down into the remnants. “I don’t really know how to explain it,” he says, “At first, everything was just complete confusion. When they used the venom on me, they would show me pictures of my life. But some weren’t real. They changed them. In the beginning, they all just blurred together. Now I can sort certain things out. The ones they changed have this…strange quality about them. Like they’re too intense, or the images aren’t…stable. You were stung by tracker jackers before, too. Real or not real?” 

“Real,” Katsuki tells him, “I saw all kinds of weird shit. Trees gushing blood, ants crawling out of the blisters on my hands. I fell into a pit of tiny orange bubbles that felt like they were burning me. It turned out to be just a pile of dead leaves. And you were…sparkling. Like you were covered in morning dew. Is that the shine you’re talkin’ about?”

Izuku nods. “But nothing about Melissa was like that. I don’t think they’d given me any venom yet,” Izuku’s eyes suddenly fill with tears. “I couldn’t save her. I was useless all over again…” 

Katsuki tries to think of something to say that could offer Izuku some comfort, the way that Izuku had done for Koda earlier, the way Deku had done for Katsuki so many times in the past. Katsuki doesn’t have the same power with words, but he makes an attempt to be reassuring. "Well, if you have a way to separate the memories between what has that shine and what doesn't, then you can figure out what's true. That's good, isn't it?"

Izuku's lashes are still wet with tears, but his voice is cold. "Right. And if I had wings, I could fly," he says, "Only people can't grow wings. Real or not real?" 

That feels a bit like a loaded question now, with what Katsuki knows about Quirks. Someone like Hawks could have grown his wings, if his Quirk factor hadn't been destroyed. Or maybe he would have even been born with them. Did he grow them when All For One restored his Quirk factor when he was made Head Gamemaker, or did they just reappear? None of these questions would do Izuku any good, however. So instead, Katsuki says, "People don't need wings to survive." 

Izuku's gaze find his in the darkness. Green eyes staring into red. In the fluorescent light, the dark circles under Izuku’s eyes look like bruises. "Mockingjays do." 

“You should try and get some sleep," Katsuki says, "We have to head out soon."

Unresisting, Izuku finishes the rest of his soup and then returns the can to Katsuki. Their fingers brush, and a jolt shoots up Katsuki’s arm as he sets the can down. Izuku readjusts to lay down with his head at Katsuki’s side—it’s the closest he’s brought himself to Katsuki willingly—and he stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches back and forth. Slowly, as he would with a wounded animal, Katsuki’s hand reaches out and brushes a stray curl from Izuku’s forehead. Izuku freezes at his touch, but he doesn’t recoil. So Katsuki continues to gently smooth back his hair, the same way Izuku had done for him on countless sleepless nights. It’s the first time Katsuki has voluntarily touched Izuku since the clock arena. 

“You’re still trying to protect me,” Izuku whispers, “Real or not real?” 

“Real,” Katsuki answers, “That’s what you and I do. We protect each other.” 

After a few minutes, Izuku drifts off to sleep. 

Shortly before seven, Koda and Katsuki rouse the others. There are the usual yawns and sighs that come with waking. But Katsuki’s ears pick up something else. Almost like a hissing. Perhaps just steam escaping a distant pipe, or the far-off whoosh of one the cargo trains…

Katsuki hushes the group to get a better read on it. It’s definitely a hissing, but not just one, extended sound. More like multiple exhalations that form a single word. Echoing throughout the tunnels, repeating over and over again. One word. One name. His name. 

“Katsuki.”

The grace period has ended. 

“Katsuki…”

Perhaps All For One had them digging through the rubble all through the night. As soon as the fires died down, anyway. They found Kudo’s remains, briefly felt reassured, and then as the hours went by without further trophies, began to suspect. 

“Katsuki…”

At some point, they realised they had been tricked. And All For One can’t tolerate being made to look like a fool. 

“Katsuki…”

It doesn’t matter whether they tracked them all to the second apartment or assumed they went directly underground. They know they are down here now, and they’ve unleashed something. A pack of mutts, no doubt, bent on finding Katsuki. 

“Kacchan!” 

Katsuki jumps at the proximity of the sound, and looks to find Izuku, sitting up, his eyes wide with alarm. “Kacchan! You have to get out of here!” His voice is alarmed, but not insane, “Run! Go!” 

Katsuki has no time to register the fact this is the first time Izuku has addressed him by his name, no time to contemplate the emotions that makes him feel, as he looks around and takes in the anxious faces around him. “Whatever is out there, it’s after me. This might be a good time for us to split up.” 

“But we’re your squad,” Shinomori says.

“And your crew,” adds Jirou. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Kirishima and Todoroki say in unison.

Katsuki rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. Stupid fucking noble, loyal bastards. “Fuck, alright. Fine. But we have to arm the TV crew. Can’t fight off mutts with cameras and clipboards. Todoroki, give the gun you took off Kudo, and give it to Shoji. Let’s eject the blanks from D—from Izuku’s gun, load it with real rounds, and arm Koda. Kirishima, you and I have our bows, so let’s give our guns to Tokoyami and Jirou.”

The room is a flurry of activity as Katsuki barks out the orders. He makes sure his gun is fully loaded and shoves it into Jirou’s arms. It’s about as big as she is. There isn’t time to show her anything but how to point and shoot, but it’s better than being defenceless. 

Now the only one without a weapon is Izuku. And perhaps that’s for the best—with the horrors that are tracking them down, it was only a matter of time before Izuku lost his lucidity again—but Katsuki’s hands move on their own as he pulls the key for Izuku’s cuffs out of his utility belt and frees him of the restraints. Izuku’s wrists are raw and red, with several cuts from the edges of the cuffs where they seemed to have dug into his skin. The cuffs weren’t latched that tightly around his skin—had he struggled against them when he had been locked in the closet back when they escaped the tar wave? Some of those cuts looked pretty fresh, however. Was he doing it on purpose? 

Katsuki presses down on the green gemstone on his ring, twists it, and releases a tiny capsule with a nearly microscopic hypodermic needle on the end. 

He holds it out between his thumb and forefinger to Izuku, whose eyes flutter with confusion. “I don’t know what kind of Quirk you’ll have, but anythin’ will be better than havin’ no weapon at all.” 

There’s no time to argue. Izuku takes the tiny capsule with shaking fingers, finds a vein in his wrist, and sticks himself with the needle. 

“How do I know if it worked?” Izuku asks.

“It’ll take a couple of minutes for your Quirk factor to manifest,” Banjo says, “Let’s just hope it’s somethin’ good for mutt-killin’.” 

Izuku stares down at the little bead of blood on his wrist, and closes his hand over it. 

Outside the hum of the room, the hissing becomes more distinct, making it possible to get a better sense of the mutts’ location. They’re behind them, and still a fair distance away. All For One probably had them released underground near the apartment they blew up. Theoretically, they should have a good lead on them, although the mutts are certain to be much faster than they all are. 

Katsuki and Koda worked out a plan on the Holo during their watch, and since their agreed-upon route already has them heading away from the sounds of the hissing, Katsuki sees no reason to alter it. 

“If we’re fast, we might be able to reach All For One’s mansion before the mutts get to us,” Katsuki says, “Todoroki. Throw up another ice wall over there to slow ‘em down.” 

There’s a sloppiness that comes with speed: the poorly placed boot that results in a splash, the accidental clang of a gun against a pipe, and even Katsuki’s own commands, issued too loudly for discretion. They’ve covered about three blocks via an overflow pipe and a section of neglected train track when the screams begin, thick and guttural, bouncing off the tunnel walls. 

“Avoxes,” Izuku says immediately, “That’s what Melissa sounded like when they tortured her.” 

“The mutts must have found them,” says En. 

“So they ain’t just after the kid,” Banjo says, “They’ll kill anyone, and won’t stop ‘till they get to ‘im.” 

Here Katsuki is again, with people dying because of him. Friends, allies, complete strangers. All losing their lives for the Mockingjay. “Let me go on alone,” Katsuki insists, “I’ll transfer the Holo to Shinomori, and lead them off. The rest of you can finish the mission.” 

“No one is going to agree to that,” Shinomori says firmly. 

“We’re wastin’ time!” Kirishima cries. 

“Listen,” Izuku whispers. 

The screams have stopped, and in their absence Katsuki’s name has rebounded, startling in its proximity. It’s coming from below as well as behind them now. 

They all start to run. They planned to descend to a lower level, but that’s out of the question now. They reach an area known as the Transfer, a roadway where delivery vehicles can drive through with ease, empty now of everything but them. Katsuki swings up his arm and sends an AP Shot that blows up a pod, killing a nest of flesh-eating rats inside. Then he sprints for the next intersection, where he knows one false step will cause the ground beneath their feet to disintegrate, feeding them all into a pod labelled the Meat Grinder. Katsuki shouts a warning to the others to stay close to him, planning to skirt around the corner and detonate the Meat Grinder, when Todoroki pulls him to a stop. 

Katsuki whips back around, hand poised to detonate another unmarked pod, but it’s already too late. Two of Kirishima’s arrows already lie useless beside the wide shaft of golden light that radiates from floor to ceiling. Inside the beam of light is Tokoyami, still as a statue, his head tilted back. Katsuki can’t tell if he’s screaming, although his beak is stretched open wide. They all watch, utterly helpless, as the feathers and flesh melt off his face and body like candle wax. 

Jirou’s eyes fill with tears and she lets out a scream, stepping towards the beam, but Shoji grabs her arm and pulls her back. 

Izuku starts shoving people forward. “Go, go! There’s nothing we can do!” 

Amazingly, Izuku is the only one functional enough to get everyone moving. Katsuki doesn’t know how or why he’s in control right now, but at the pressure of Izuku’s hand on his shoulder, Katsuki turns away from the grisly thing that was once Tokoyami, and makes his feet move forward. He runs fast, so fast he can barely skid to a stop before they reach the next intersection. 

A spray of gunfire brings down a shower of plaster. Katsuki jerks his head side to side, looking for the pod, before he turns and sees a squad of Peacekeepers pounding down the Transfer towards them. With the Meat Grinder pod blocking their way, there’s nothing to do but fire back. Blossoms of red stain their white uniforms, and three-quarters of them are down and dead when more begin to pour in from the side of the tunnel—

Those aren’t Peacekeepers, Katsuki thinks. 

They are white, four-limbed, about the size of a full-grown human, but that’s where the comparisons stop. They are naked with long, reptilian tails, arched backs, and heads that jut forward. They swarm over the Peacekeepers, living and dead, clamp on to their necks with their mouths and rip off their helmeted heads. They can only watch in mute horror as the Peacekeepers still living are decapitated in seconds. One of them fires off his gun haphazardly in the last seconds of life in his panic, and a stray bullet flies towards their group. Shinomori, with his Danger Sense, leaps in front of Izuku to block the bullet, pushing him out of the way. Katsuki tears his gaze away from the mutts just long enough to see the bullet go through Shinomori’s throat. 

“Hikage!” Banjo shouts, moving over to his fellow soldier, who’s clutching at his neck. A river of blood oozes over his fingers as he sinks to his knees. 

Then the mutts fall to their bellies and clamber over the headless corpses of the Peacekeepers, skittering towards them on all fours. 

“Run!” Katsuki hollers. He hugs the wall and makes a sharp right turn to avoid the pod. “This way!” 

Everyone but Shinomori joins him, but one look at Banjo, who takes up the rear of their line-up, and Katsuki knows Shinomori is gone. Katsuki grits his teeth and fires into the intersection, and the Meat Grinder pod activates. Huge mechanical teeth burst through the street and chew the tile into dust. 

Katsuki seizes Koda’s arm. “Fuck the mission. What’s the quickest way above ground?” 

There’s no time to check the Holo. They all follow Koda along the Transfer and go through a doorway. The tile changes to concrete, and then they’re crawling through a tight, stinking pipe onto a ledge about a foot wide. They’ve reached the main sewer. Below them is a poisonous brew of human waste, garbage, and chemical runoff bubbling by them. Parts of the surface are on fire, and others emit evil-looking clouds of noxious vapour. One look is all Katsuki needs to know that if any of them fall in, they’re never coming out. 

They move as quickly as they dare along the slippery ledge, make their way to a narrow bridge and cross it to a small alcove on the far side. There, Koda smacks a ladder and points frantically up the shaft. This is it. Their way out. 

The mutts have quickly gained on them, already slithering along the ledge towards them. 

“Stand back!” Katsuki shouts. He holds out his hand and pulls the pin from his gauntlet, releasing a massive blast that rattles the walls of the sewers and rips the far side of the bridge from its foundation. The debris of the destroyed bridge sinks into the bubbles, just as the mutts reach it. But despite its toxicity, the mutts throw themselves into the foul sewer. 

Everyone opens fire. Katsuki removes his right gauntlet, now that the sweat reserves are depleted from it, it’s too cumbersome to wear when trying to shoot from his bow. Katsuki chooses his arrows without discretion, sending regular arrowheads, incendiary, and explosive-tipped arrows into the mutt’s bodies. They’re mortal, but only just. No natural thing could keep coming with two dozen bullets in it. An endless supply pours out from the pipe, not even hesitating to take on the sewage. It’s not long before his quiver is nearly empty of fire and explosive arrows, leaving him with only a handful of normal arrows that he can’t risk losing to the mutt pack. So he changes to his Quirk instead, aiming focused blasts at the swarms of creatures as they move on them. Even with Todoroki's alternating ice and flames, there's so many of the creatures that they shatter the ice within a matter of seconds, barely slowing down. They shriek as flames lick across their shiny wet flesh, but continue to surge forward, as if they are impervious to the heat. Katsuki wouldn't put it past All For One to make these mutts fire-proof. 

One of the mutts carves a fast path through the toxic waste and scrambles into their alcove, forcing them all to draw back and cease fire. Banjo fires out multiple tendrils of Blackwhip, apprehending the mutt and flinging him back out into the pipe, slamming him into the bodies of several other ascending mutts. Two more mutts reach the edge of the alcove and grab on to Banjo, sending them all sprawling off the ledge. 

Even as the mutts tear into his flesh, Banjo sends more Blackwhip tendrils towards the ledge. En cries out for his comrade, rushing forward just as Banjo pulls himself back into the alcove with his Quirk. En’s hand reaches out, and just as he grabs hold of Banjo, another mutt leaps out of the sewage and sinks its teeth and claws into Banjo’s legs, dragging him back off the ledge. 

More mutts emerge from the waste and swarm the alcove. Everyone fires rapidly, helpless to come to Banjo or En’s aid, as En keeps a hold of Banjo’s hand where he dangles over the edge as mutts tear into him from below. With a pained grimace, En releases Banjo’s hand, and lets what remains of Banjo’s mutilated body fall down into the putrid river below. 

There’s people shouting at Katsuki, but he can’t seem to respond. Suddenly there’s multiple strong arms lifting him just as Katsuki blasts the head off a mutt whose claws has just grazed his ankle. Shoji slams him into the ladder. His hands are shoved against the rungs and someone orders him to climb. His wooden limbs obey and the movement slowly brings him back to his senses. He detects two people above him. Koda, and Todoroki.

They reach a platform and switch to a second ladder, the rungs slick with sweat and mildew. Katsuki glances down, only for a second. Jirou, Izuku, and En are directly below him. Around Jirou’s panicked face, he just catches sight of En helping Izuku onto the ladder, his hand closed tightly around Izuku’s wrist. Katsuki looks ahead and keeps climbing. 

On the next platform, Katsuki’s head has cleared and the reality of what’s happening slams into him. He begins to frantically pull people up off the ladder. Jirou. Izuku. That’s it. Katsuki begins to scramble back down the ladder when one of his boots hits something. 

“Climb!” Kirishima barks at him. Katsuki scurries back up the ladder, hauls Kirishima up the rest of the way, and then peers down into the gloom, checking for more, but Kirishima grabs Katsuki’s chin to face him and shakes his head. Kirishima’s uniform is shredded. There’s a gaping wound in the side of his neck. 

There’s human cries from down below. “En and Shoji,” Katsuki breathes, “They’re—“

“They’re not coming,” Kirishima chokes out.

Unable to accept it, Katsuki looks down the shaft. Far below, he can just make out Shoji and En. Shoji struggles to hang on as the mutts tear away at his flesh, and then one of the mutts yanks back his head to take the death bite. As for En, Katsuki watches as he’s ripped completely in half, then five mutts gouge into his torso while three more fight over his severed legs. 

Katsuki slides the Holo from his belt. “Nightlock, nightlock, nightlock,” he hastily whispers. Then he drops it down the pipe. 

He hunches against the wall with the others as the Holo self-destructs below, rocking the platform. Bits of mutt and human flesh shoot out of the pipe and shower them. There’s a loud clunk as Koda slams a cover over the pipe and locks it firmly in place. 

Koda. Jirou. Todoroki. Kirishima. Izuku. And Katsuki. 

Of the thirteen members of Squad 1561, the six of them are all that’s left. 

Chapter Text

ix.

Human feelings will come later. For now, Katsuki is only aware of an animal-like need to keep the remnants of their band alive. And yet he can’t seem to bring himself to speak, or to get to his feet.

It’s Todoroki who manages to act first. “We can’t stop here,” he says.

Todoroki ties a bandage around Kirishima’s neck while Katsuki helps Jirou, who is shaking from head to toe, to her feet, and then she moves to Koda’s side, coaxing him to stand. Only one figure stays huddled against the wall. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmurs. 

There’s no response. Has he blacked out? Katsuki crouches down in front of him, pulling his hands away from his face. His eyes are like black pools, the pupils so dilated the forest-green irises have all but vanished. 

“Leave me,” Izuku whispers, “I’m useless. I’m a mutt. A useless mutt. Nothing manifested. I couldn’t do anything to help.” 

Nothing manifested. The antidote didn’t work. Katsuki thinks back to his talk with Uraraka about the serum…

And the stuff is totally useless if you’re—

“Who cares if you’re Quirkless?” Katsuki tells him, “Look at all the good anyone else’s Quirks did back there. We were all useless, Izuku.” 

“Just leave me,” Izuku begs, “I can’t hang on.” 

Katsuki grips Izuku’s shoulders. “Yes, you can. Look at me, Izuku. Just keep your eyes on me.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I can’t keep control!” 

Katsuki grabs either side of Izuku’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. Izuku’s pupils have shrunk back down, revealing where once there had been forest-green was now bright, electric teal. Unnatural neon. 

“Izuku. Don’t fuckin’ let him do this,” Katsuki demands, “Don’t let All For One take you from me.” 

Izuku’s neon eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want to…”

It’s a long shot, it’s possibly even suicide, but Katsuki does the only thing he can think of. He leans in and kisses Izuku full on the mouth. 

Behind his eyelids, he sees that electric teal light streaking across his vision. Other beams of colour begin to join it—purple, orange, green, red, blue—before bursting into stars. Lightning strikes in Katsuki’s blood. Every hair on Katsuki’s body stands on end, every nerve ending crackles like a frayed live wire. The multi-coloured stars in Katsuki’s vision culminate into a single, powerful sunburst that rattles Katsuki’s bones, and then, suddenly, it’s like the universe clicks into place. 

The last few hours of his life flash by at triple speed. 

Kudo whispering into Bruce’s ear. Kudo’s blood smeared across Bruce’s mouth. Shinomori running towards Bruce, caught in the barbed wire net pod, reaching for his bloodied hand. Banjo going to Shinomori after he was shot in the throat. En clinging to Banjo while the mutts tore him apart. En gripping Izuku’s wrist, rubbed raw and bloodied by his cuffs, as he forced him onto the ladder. 

Katsuki remembers the final words of Yoichi’s eulogy to him.

Those crying out to be saved and those with brave and true hearts will join together and cultivate a crystalline network of power… 

The power of one can be a power for all…

He recalls the strange expressions on the faces of the remaining District 13 soldiers as they watched Yoichi’s broadcast. Now Katsuki knows they were grim looks of understanding and determination. They understood Yoichi’s underlying message before Katsuki did. They knew what they had to do. 

He remembers Kudo’s final words as he lay dying. 

One…For…All…

He remembers the first time he locked eyes with Yoichi, and was rattled by how uncanny the similarities were between his and Izuku’s eyes. All except for one thing. The unnatural neon green colour of the irises. The electric teal. The same colour Katsuki just saw in Izuku’s eyes before he kissed him. 

One For All. 

Katsuki can see the vestiges of all of their spirits. Kudo, Bruce, Shinomori, Banjo, En. A misty white silhouette in the shape of Yoichi. This one is featureless, with no eyes or mouth to speak. And Izuku. His image is the most distorted, a billowing cloud of vibrant teal that only makes up the vague outline of him. He hears the voices of the dead ones calling out to him in the back of his mind. 

Izuku’s whole body is shuddering, but Katsuki keeps his lips pressed to his, holding tightly to either side of Izuku’s face, as though he could keep him from breaking apart with his bare hands. Katsuki pushes back the transference, willing the power he feels flowing through his core to pass back into Izuku, until the colours behind his eyelids fade into blackness, and the voices in his brain go quiet. 

He’s already got a Quirk. Izuku can have this one back. He doesn’t know if he can will it to be so, if he has any control on how and when and who the power is passed to…but he doesn’t want it. And if it can be given, then surely it can be given back…

His lungs screaming for air, Katsuki pulls his lips away from Izuku’s. He keeps his face held between his hands. 

“Stay with me,” Katsuki tells him. 

Izuku’s pupils have dilated again, swallowing up any colour. Then they rapidly shrink down into pinpoints, and forest-green shifts into electric teal for an instant, and neon sparks leap off of Izuku’s skin as the power he had passed to Katsuki—perhaps unknowingly—surges through him again. And then his pupils dilate again briefly before returning to something resembling normalcy, back to their familiar forest-green, and look at Katsuki with the most clarity Katsuki has seen from them yet.

“Always,” Izuku whispers. 

Katsuki helps Izuku to his feet and turns to Koda. “How far is the street?” 

Koda indicates it’s just above them. They climb the last ladder and push open the lid to a different apartment’s utility room. This apartment would be a classy place to hole up in for a while, but that’s a luxury they can’t afford. Katsuki goes to a window that overlooks the street, and when he peeks through the blinds, he finds he’s not faced with Peacekeepers, but a bundled crowd of people going about their business. They must have left the fully-evacuated zones far behind in their underground journey, and surfaced into a busy section of the Capitol. Jirou joins Katsuki at the window. 

“I know where we are,” she says, “We’re only a few blocks from the president's mansion from here.” 

Katsuki takes a look around at what remains of his squad. Todoroki is tending to Kirishima’s neck wound, which will need to be properly dressed and cleaned. Izuku is sitting on a velvet sofa with his head between his knees and fingers gripping into his green curls, fighting off madness. Koda is over by an ornate fireplace, weeping quietly. Jirou stands determinedly at Katsuki’s side, but she’s so pale there’s not a trace of colour left in her lips.  

As for Katsuki, he’s running on pure hate. When that ebbs, he’ll be worthless. 

“We’re not in any shape to be doin’ a stealth attack on All For One. We need to find a place where we can lay low and come up with a plan,” Katsuki mutters. He looks to Jirou. “Can you think of anywhere?” 

Jirou stares out the window, deep in thought for a moment. Then, her brows shoot up in realization and she looks quickly to Katsuki. “Yes,” she says, “It’s not far from here.” 

Katsuki nods. “We’re gonna need to blend into the crowds to make it there. Let’s check the closets.” 

Thankfully, with the cold weather, they can all easily conceal most of their uniforms and weapons under flowing coats and hooded cloaks, and their faces get wrapped up in scarves. 

As Izuku is getting dressed, he steps over to Katsuki. “You need to cuff me again.” 

“You might need your hands,” Katsuki says. 

“Please,” Izuku begs quietly, “They help hold me together. When I feel myself slipping, I dig my wrists into the cuffs. The pain helps me focus.” 

Katsuki decides not to argue the matter. He removes the cuffs from where they hang off his utility belt and locks them back in place on Izuku’s wrists. 

Whoever’s home they’ve broken into could be back any minute. The seconds are ticking away, but Katsuki stops for just a few moments to stuff their pockets with food and first-aid supplies. Then they march out onto the street. 

Snow flurries have begun to fall. They cross the street, passing a few more apartments. They’ve covered another block when sirens begin, and Katsuki sees an emergency report and pictures of all their faces flashing on screens along the street. They haven’t identified who in their party has died yet. Soon every passerby will be as dangerous as a Peacekeeper. 

“Jirou,” Katsuki hisses. 

“Almost there,” she whispers. 

They all follow Jirou a few more blocks and turn through a gate onto a small back street that connects two main avenues. They stop before a grimy storefront filled with mannequins in furry underwear. The place doesn’t even look open, but Jirou pushes through the front door, and a bell above the door jingles. Inside the dim, narrow shop lined with racks of merchandise, the smell of pelts fills Katsuki’s nose. Jirou heads straight for a small figure sitting in the back of the store. 

Behind the counter is a young woman, probably no more than early-thirties with long, emerald green hair and yellow eyes so huge and round it looks like she doesn’t even possess eyelids. Katsuki recognizes her—she used to be a stylist in the Games, though he hadn’t seen her on television or during his own Games for the last few years. 

“Ragdoll,” Jirou says, pulling back her hood. “We need help.” 

The woman, Ragdoll, lets out a gasp and slips off her stool, rushing around the counter and straight into Jirou’s arms. The two of them hold onto each other for a time before Todoroki quietly clears his throat. 

“Um…Kirishima could really use some first aid,” he mumbles. 

Ragdoll leads them past a rack of fur-lined leggings, and she slides open a panel at the base at the wall at the far back of the store. Behind it is the top of a steep stone stairway. About halfway down the steps, Katsuki’s face runs into a hanging chain and he pulls on it to illuminate the room with a flickering fluorescent bulb. It’s a small, shallow, wide cellar with no doors or windows. Likely just a strip between two real basements. It’s cold and dank, with piles of pelts that look like they haven’t seen the light of day in years. 

By the time Katsuki reaches the concrete floor, his companions are on the steps. Jirou is talking with Ragdoll at the top of the stairs, and Izuku follows behind a slow-moving Kirishima, who looks on the verge of collapse, being helped down the stairs by Todoroki. 

Katsuki and Todoroki make a bed from the pelts and lay Kirishima down on his back. At the end of the cellar, there’s a faucet about twelve or so inches from the floor with a drain under it. Katsuki turns on the tap and, after much sputtering and rust, clear water begins to flow. He cleans Kirishima’s neck wound and quickly realises bandages won’t cut it; it’s going to need stitches. There’s a needle and sterile thread in the first-aid supplies, but what they lack is a proper healer, which Katsuki very much is not, but he’s also about the closest thing they’ve got to one right now. 

Katsuki can’t really give it much thought with his best friend bleeding from the neck in front of him. So Katsuki grits his teeth and puts in a row of jagged sutures, muttering multiple curses under his breath as Kirishima winces and groans in pain. Katsuki doesn’t even have it in him to give Kirishima any grief about not activating his Quirk in time as he smears the ugly sutures with medicine and wraps it up. After he gives Kirishima some painkillers, he’s out like a light. 

Next, Katsuki attends to Izuku’s wrists, gently rinsing away the old blood, putting on antiseptic, and bandaging them. “We gotta keep these clean,” he murmurs as he secures the cuffs back in place, “Otherwise you could get an infection and—”

“I know what blood poisoning is,” Izuku says, “Even if my mother isn’t an apothecary.” 

Katsuki is jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. “You said the same thing to me before in the first Hunger Games,” Katsuki says, “Real or not real?” 

“Real,” Izuku says, “You risked your life getting the medicine that saved me. Real or not real?” 

“Real,” Katsuki says with a shrug. “You were the reason I was alive to do it.” 

“…Was I?” The comment throws him into confusion. Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention, because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs for a moment before all the energy suddenly saps from his body. “I’m so tired…”

“Get some sleep,” Katsuki says. 

“You should chain me up to something first,” Izuku murmurs. 

“That won’t be comfortable for you to sleep,” Katsuki says, frowning. “You’re restrained enough.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “Please. I don’t…trust myself. And I know it sounds crazy but…I think…I might be able to break out of these cuffs,” Izuku says, looking down at his palms. “So we should take every precaution.”

Katsuki doesn’t know how Izuku expects himself to break out of his restraints, even with the brute strength that the spells of tracker jacker insanity awarded him. But it wouldn’t do either of them any good for Katsuki to fight him on it. He rearranges Izuku’s cuffs and shackles him to one of the stair supports. It really can’t be comfortable, lying there with his arms above his head. But in a few minutes, he drifts off. 

“What should we do about watches?” Todoroki asks. He wets a bandage at the faucet, freezes it with his Quirk and places it on Kirishima’s forehead. 

Katsuki looks at the pallor of Kirishima’s skin, the heavy bags under Koda’s eyes from lack of sleep, and Izuku's restraints. Todoroki, Katsuki, and Jirou have only napped for a few hours between the three of them. 

“I don’t see the point,” Katsuki says, “Let’s all just try to get some sleep.”

Everyone burrows down into their pelts. The fire inside of Katsuki has flickered out, and all of his strength has gone with it. He surrenders to the soft, musty fur and oblivion. 

He doesn’t dream, but somehow he wakes up even more drained than he usually did upon waking from his nighttime forays into blood and terror. 

Jirou is the only other person awake, and tells Katsuki it’s late afternoon. Katsuki eats a can of beef stew and washes it down with a lot of water. Then he leans against the cellar wall, retracing the events of the last day, moving death by death. 

Kudo and Bruce on the street block. Tokoyami melted by the light pod. Shinomori protecting Izuku from a stray bullet that he took in the throat. Shoji, Banjo, and En ripped apart by mutts. Seven dead in twenty-four hours. It doesn’t seem real. Surely, Shoji is asleep under a pile of furs next to Koda, and Banjo will come bounding down the steps in a minute, and Kudo will tell them his plan for escape. 

To believe them dead is to accept that Katsuki killed them. Maybe not Kudo and Bruce, who died during an actual assignment, but the others had lost their lives defending Katsuki on a mission he fabricated. His plot to assassinate All For One seems so stupid now. 

It’s time for him to come clean. When everyone else awakens, Katsuki confesses. How he lied about the mission, how he jeopardised everyone in the pursuit of his personal revenge. There’s a long silence from the group after he finishes. 

“We all knew, man,” Kirishima says finally.

“You and Todoroki figured it out, sure. But the soldiers from Thirteen didn’t.” 

“Bakugou, Shinomori’s Danger Sense detected your lie from the beginning,” Jirou tells him, “But he trusted Kudo, and he’d made it clear he wanted you to go on.” 

“I never told Kudo about my plan,” Katsuki says, frowning. 

“Whattaya mean? Ya told everyone in Command!” Kirishima exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, but then he immediately winces when it tugs his stitches. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay.” 

“That was different,” Katsuki argues, “That was me negotiating with Yoichi for the privilege of executing All For One after the war. And this was just…a complete fuckin’ disaster suicide mission.” 

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” Todoroki says, “We infiltrated the enemy camp, showing the Capitol’s defences can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves plastered all over the Capitol’s news. And we’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.” 

“Trust me, Hawks is thrilled,” Jirou adds. 

“That’s ‘cause he’s still thinkin’ like a Gamemaker,” Katsuki grunts, unconvinced. He turns to Izuku, who is still laying on his back, wrists shackled above his head, staring up at the ceiling as he listens to the exchange without offering an opinion. “What d’you think, Izuku?” 

Izuku slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a seated position. “I think…you still have no idea. The effect you have on people,” he murmurs, “None of those people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They all followed you because they truly believed you could kill All For One.” 

For some reason, Izuku’s voice reaches Katsuki when no one else’s can. And if Izuku is right—and Katsuki is pretty certain he is—then he owes the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. 

Don’t go back. Do what you came to do. 

Katsuki pulls out his paper map and spreads it out on the floor with new resolve. “Jirou. Tell me where we’re at.” 

Ragdoll’s shop, called Wild, Wild Pussycats, sits about five blocks from the City Circle and All For One’s mansion. They’re in easy walking distance through a zone in which the pods are deactivated for the resident’s safety. They have disguises that could get them safely there. But then what? The mansion is sure to be heavily guarded, under around-the-clock surveillance, and laced with pods that could come alive at the flick of a switch. 

“If we could just get him out in the open, then one of us could pick him off,” Kirishima says. 

“He doesn’t appear in public anymore,” Jirou mutters, “At least in all the recent speeches I’ve seen, he’s always been inside the mansion. Even before the rebels got here. He’s gotten a lot more vigilant since Todoroki aired his crimes.” 

Todoroki’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no. Sounds like I’ve made our jobs a lot more difficult…” he says, truly dismayed. 

“You kiddin’, man? Your All For One smear campaign was a huge help to the cause!” Kirishima says earnestly, “It was super brave and manly of you to talk about all the horrible things you went through, and now thanks to you, everyone knows how totally despicable he is. And he’d be hiding in his mansion like a coward even if you hadn’t dragged him through the mud. It was always gonna take somethin’ bordering on a miracle to lure him out.”

“I bet he’d come out for me,” Katsuki says, “If I were captured, he’d want that to be as public as possible. He’d want my execution to be on the front steps of the mansion. Kirishima could shoot him from the audience.”

“That’s too risky,” Izuku says, “All For One might decide to keep you alive and torture you. Or just have you executed publicly without being present for it. Or kill you inside the mansion and display your body out front. There’s just too many alternative endings to that plan.” 

“Midoriya is right, and it’s too extreme a solution to jump to right away,” Kirishima says, “Let’s keep thinking.” 

In the quiet that follows, Ragdoll can be heard overhead closing up shop for the day. After a few minutes, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open and she calls them up for dinner. Up in the shop, the counter holds some stale chunks of bread, a wedge of mouldy cheese, and half a bottle of mustard. Katsuki is reminded that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. Ragdoll scrapes the mould off the cheese and divides the food up between them. 

While they eat, they watch the latest Capitol news coverage. They’ve got the rebel survivors narrowed down to the six of them. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to their capture, and it’s emphasised that they are all incredibly dangerous as footage is shown of them exchanging gunfire with Peacekeepers, though they leave out the part when the mutts appeared and began tearing the heads off the Peacekeeper’s bodies. There’s no interruptions from the rebels throughout the broadcast. 

Back downstairs, they all continue to rack their brains for a plan. Nothing good comes up, although they do agree that they can no longer go out as a group of five with the bounties on their heads, and that they should try to infiltrate the president’s mansion before Katsuki turns himself into bait. Katsuki consents to that second point just to avoid further argument, however. If he does decide to give himself up, it won’t require anyone else’s permission or participation. 

Izuku is handcuffed back to his support as everyone settles down for sleep. An hour or so passes, but Katsuki’s mind is racing too much to find any rest, and from across the room, Izuku doesn’t seem to be doing much better. Katsuki gets up and crosses the small space and settles down beside him. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says. 

“Hi,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki presses his lips together for a moment, considering his next words carefully. “Izuku, have you had any…not-shiny visions recently, about the soldiers from Thirteen who were in our squad?” Katsuki asks.

Izuku nods. “I dreamed about them,” Izuku says softly after a moment, “They all…visited me. It felt so real. We were…in this strange place. A sort of half-formed room, in a void. And they were sitting in this half-circle of chairs, watching me. But I couldn’t talk to them, most of my body hadn’t taken shape there, and my mouth was covered. In the first chair, there was…a white, misty silhouette. I think it was Yoichi. He couldn’t speak, either, but the others could. And right next to me, not in any of the chairs, was another sort of presence. A sort of…flickering light. Light orange, like a spark, or an ember. I think…I think that might have been you,” He turns to look at Katsuki. “Did you dream about them last night, too?”

Katsuki shakes his head. “It’s weird, I didn’t see anything last night. Not even nightmares. But I did see them. A vision of all their spirits. When I was…uh,” Katsuki ducks his chin a little. “When I was…kissing you.” 

There’s no hint of embarrassment in Izuku’s voice or on his face at the mention of their first kiss since the clock arena. “What did you see?” Izuku asks curiously. 

“Bright starbursts, each one a different colour,” Katsuki says, “And I heard all their voices in my head, but couldn’t really make any sense of what they were saying. Like they were all speaking at once. And I saw Yoichi, too, only he was only half-formed, exactly like you described. What did the Thirteen soldiers talk to you about?” 

“They told me about One For All,” Izuku whispers. 

Katsuki quickly looks at him. “Those were Kudo’s dying words,” he says, “At first, I thought he was just…saying ‘All For One’ backwards, either like some kind of code, or even just out of confusion since he was so close to death. But…that’s what the power is called, isn’t it? The one you nearly passed to me.” 

“I wasn’t even really aware I was doing it,” Izuku admits, “There was just so much going on, so when En transferred it to me, I had no idea. But they all explained more about it in my dream. They showed me visions. Memories. About Yoichi’s plan to cultivate the power, to enhance it, and…how it was created in the first place.” 

“Created?” Katsuki echoes, “It’s the Quirk that Yoichi was born with, isn’t it? A Quirk can’t be created.” 

“Well, One For All was,” Izuku says, “I was shown some of Yoichi’s memories. Yoichi was born with a dormant Quirk which had no other power other than to transfer it to someone else. As for All For One, his ability allowed him to steal other people’s Quirks and transfer them to others. He transferred a Quirk to Yoichi which allowed him to stockpile power within his body, having no idea Yoichi already had the transfer Quirk. When the dormant transfer Quirk factor merged with the power stockpiling Quirk, One For All was created.”

Katsuki’s eyes go wide. “So All For One created it accidentally,” he murmurs, “Does he have any idea about its existence?”

“No,” says Izuku, “He gave it to Yoichi shortly after he became the president, when they were twenty-years-old, and Yoichi fled the Capitol not long after. He snuck onto the train headed for District Twelve during the second Quarter Quell, and then travelled to Thirteen on foot. Kudo found him on the outskirts of Thirteen, near death. At first they imprisoned him, thinking he was a spy for his brother. But Yoichi was able to convince them he wasn’t on All For One’s side, eventually earning enough of their trust to be elected the new president of Thirteen.”

Katsuki frowns as he considers the math. “So that would make him and All For One…forty-five. And that means they were born around the Thirtieth Hunger Games. But Hawks told me that it was All For One who administered the Quirk-destroying drug to the districts, preventing Quirks from developing. This isn’t adding up.” 

“Quirks had phased out of our biology over the generations,” Izuku explains, “All For One and Yoichi were likely the first ones to be born with meta-abilities in centuries. And here’s something else Yoichi told me: he and All For One aren’t even Capitol-born.” 

Katsuki’s head snaps sharply to look at Izuku wide-eyed. “You mean they were born in one of the districts?” 

“Not just any district,” Izuku says, “They were born to a Covey woman who lived in District Twelve. She died giving birth to them, by a river out in the woods.”

Katsuki can hardly believe what he’s hearing. All For One…born in District 12. In Katsuki’s beloved woods. To the Covey. Katsuki had heard about them from his father. The Covey weren’t exactly native to District 12. They were nomads, not tied to any specific location. They weren’t district, Capitol, rebel, or Peacekeeper. They had been a neutral party during the Dark Days, not siding with the rebels or the Capitol. Most of them got rounded up by Peacekeepers sometime long ago, a few years before the 10th Hunger Games. Those who resisted were killed, and the survivors were forced to disperse and settle amongst the districts. 

“I almost don’t want it to be true,” Katsuki mutters, “Thinkin’ about someone like All For One comin’ from our home…and bein’ Covey, too, at that. My dad was a distant cousin to them.” Thinking about All For One carrying the same lineage as Katsuki…it made his stomach turn. 

“All For One…I didn’t think such a thing would be possible, but to get where he got at such a young age, you would have to be born evil,” Izuku says grimly, “Yoichi told me that they spent five years in Twelve, taken in by the community home. But then All For One snuck them onto a Capitol train, and continued to spend the next fourteen years earning a seat of power in the Capitol, stealing and distributing Quirks among the citizens, eventually deploying the Quirk-destroying drug to the districts, and poisoning any adversaries along the way. And all the while, Yoichi saw his brother’s treachery and was desperate to get away. And all this time he’s been in Thirteen, building an army, waiting for the right moment to retaliate. He passed on his Quirk to Kudo before Squad 1561 was shipped off to the Capitol, and explained that the power would need to continue to be passed down as much as possible in order to build it into a tool to destroy All For One.” 

A mysterious stockpiling Quirk with the potential power to bring down All For One. Here they had all been, struggling to come up with a plan, when it had been under their noses this whole time. 

“Why the hell didn’t you bring this up when we were tryin’ to come up with a plan earlier?” Katsuki asks. 

Izuku gestures to himself, as well as he can manage with his hands restrained, which only further proves the point he’s trying to make. “Look at me. Nobody would believe any of this coming from someone who was hijacked and can’t separate reality from what All For One planted in my head. I’m still not even completely convinced if what I saw was just a dream or not, if everything that Yoichi told me is true, but…hearing what you said about what you saw, and Kudo’s last words to you…it makes me think maybe it is real.”

“You told me earlier that you were worried you would be able to break out of your restraints,” Katsuki says, “Is that because of One For All?”

“Yes,” Izuku murmurs, “I don’t really know how to explain it, but…I can feel it. One For All. I don’t really know how to…channel it exactly, or if I even can. Or if I should. What if I can’t control it? What if it’s too much? What if it makes me go mutt again? I think that’s why I nearly transferred it to you. I was told One For All can’t be taken away by someone else. The user has to transfer it willingly. On a subconscious level, even though I wasn’t even aware I had the power, I guess I figured…it was better in your hands. That you could use it to bring down All For One. I’m sure that’s what Yoichi intended.” 

“I don’t think it was,” Katsuki mutters, “Yoichi wanted to prioritize saving you from the clock arena instead of me, but Kudo told me that nobody backed him up on it. That I was the firestarter of the rebellion, so I was the one they needed to secure. At first, I thought Yoichi wanted you because he’d find you easier to control. And maybe that was part of it, but…I think it’s because he wanted you to be One For All’s successor, not me.” 

Izuku seems to mull that over for a moment, but then he exhales softly and shakes his head. “Maybe he used to think I’d make a good candidate to inherit the power, but I’m certainly not now,” Izuku says, “You should let me transfer it to you again.”

Katsuki feels his ears get very warm, remembering how Izuku had nearly transferred One For All before, through their kiss. “I’ve already got a Quirk,” Katsuki argues quickly, “Besides, I can’t think of a better way to fuck with All For One than to take the person he tried to turn into a weapon to destroy the Mockingjay, give him the power that he accidentally created, and use it to destroy him.” 

Izuku frowns. “But I don’t know the first thing about how to use this power. What it can even do.” 

“Well then, sounds like you’d better get some sleep. Maybe you’ll have another dream inside of One For All and get some advice from the others,” Katsuki tells him. He settles down onto the pelts under them and rolls onto his side, resting his cheek on his bent arm. “We’ll all strategize some more in the morning.” 

Katsuki manages to slip off to another dreamless sleep for a little while, but it’s only a few hours later that he stirs back into consciousness and becomes aware of a quiet conversation happening just behind him. 

“Here,” Kirishima says, “Figured you might be thirsty.”

There’s the sounds of some deep gulps and then a soft exhale from Izuku. Kirishima must have held up a cup of water for him to drink while his hands are cuffed. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

“No problem, man,” Kirishima replies, “I wake up ten times a night, anyway.” 

“To make sure he’s still here?” Izuku asks. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Kirishima admits with a sigh. “I dunno what the hell to do with him.” 

“I mean…have we ever?” Izuku quips.

They both laugh quietly, careful not to rouse the others. Katsuki’s heart jolts and twists at the sound, a confusing and contradictory wave of emotions coming over him. It’s the first time he’s heard Izuku laugh since he came back—it’s not his old laugh, not even close, but it’s not the cold, humourless laugh that Katsuki has heard from him. So initially, Katsuki feels a leap of hope, hearing that soft laugh. But it’s instantly followed up by a dull pang of sorrow. Izuku isn’t like this around him; not anymore. Katsuki supposed it was pretty stupid of him to think that Izuku acted the same way around everyone as he did with Katsuki. Katsuki was, after all, the thing Izuku’s hijacking had turned into a threat. Everyone else in Izuku’s brain was on far more neutral ground. That’s what the logical part of Katsuki’s brain tries to tell him. But the rest of him is consumed with a jealousy so bitter it makes his chest ache. 

It was also so strange to hear Kirishima and Izuku talking like this. They had been friendly to one another back in 12, and had even grown a bit closer when they had all been training for the Quarter Quell together. Even when Katsuki’s heart was split between them, it had never turned Izuku and Kirishima into enemies. This isn’t the first time they’ve commiserated together about Katsuki—they had joked around plenty at his expense during the Quell training, much to Katsuki’s annoyance—but this is the first time he’s listening to them talk about him without them knowing he’s listening. He wonders how many times the two of them might have talked like this before, without Katsuki around. What he would give to have been a fly on the wall for those conversations. Or perhaps this is a first. Katsuki can’t help his own morbid curiosity to eavesdrop.

There’s a long pause between them before Izuku speaks again. “He loves you, you know,” he says quietly, “He as good as told me so after you were whipped.”

“Maybe. But not the way he loves you,” Kirishima mumbles, “He said so himself in the first arena. That you don’t have any competition anywhere. And the way he kissed you…well, he never kissed me like that.” 

“That was all just…part of the show,” Izuku tells him, although there’s a clear edge of doubt in his voice. 

“Nah, man. You won him over,” Kirishima says, “You gave up everything for him. Maybe that’s the only way to convince him. I mean, look how obvious the two of us were. Still had to have it spelled out to him.” 

“How long have you liked him?” Izuku asks. 

Kirishima huffs a laugh. “You got me beat on that front, too. Not nearly as long as you.” 

“When did you know?” 

There’s a pause as Kirishima thinks on it for a bit. “It was sometime after New Years’, before you two went to the first Games. We were in the Hob havin’ lunch. He was sittin’ cross-legged on Lunch Rush’s counter like he always did, eatin’ some rabbit stew. And, uh…you remember Sero?”

They fall quiet again for a moment as Izuku thinks about that. “…Hanta Sero? He was in our class, right?” 

“Yep. Well, Sero came over and leaned on the counter right next to him, and started talkin’ about how he oughta trade him a rabbit sometime for one of Sero’s kisses. And I realized…I minded.” 

Katsuki remembers that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. He and Kirishima had been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven them back to town. Sero had been teasing him, explaining how one of his kisses merited a rabbit, poking at his cheek while Katsuki repeatedly smacked his hand away and threatened him with bodily harm. Sero just grinned the way he always did, and insisted that Katsuki could ask anyone in town and they would vouch for him. That he had kissed tons of people—behind the school, on top of the slag heap, you name it. There were plenty of people who had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. If Katsuki hadn’t been so hungry and cold and the rabbit stew hadn’t been so tasty and hot, he might have considered dumping it over Sero’s head to get him to shut up, but instead he had to deal with the idiot’s yammering until Katsuki and Kirishima finally left the Hob.

Now that he thinks about it, Kirishima had been uncharacteristically quiet on the walk home. At the time, Katsuki simply blamed it on the cold. Jealousy had been the farthest thing from his mind.

Hanta Sero was not part of the less than eight hundred refugees from 12 that made it to District 13. Katsuki hasn’t even really allowed himself to think about how many of his other classmates had survived the firebombings. Kids that he grew up with, and had known his entire life; even if he had never made any effort to get to know them or be their friends. Kids that, according to Tsu, had admired Katsuki despite his standoffishness, for his ability to hunt and trade in the Hob. Had they still felt the same admiration when Katsuki’s actions rained hellfire down upon them? Katsuki is sure Sero hadn’t been thinking about Katsuki’s lips as he burned to death.

“I’m sure Sero was just joking around,” Izuku mumbles, “He was like that with everybody.” 

“Sure. But he’d be the last one to figure out if Sero wasn’t,” Kirishima says, “I even thought Todoroki and him had a thing going on for a while there. I ended up spending a lot of time in training with Todoroki, though, and brought it up to him. Todoroki told me he doesn’t see him—or anyone, really—like that. He was honestly pretty baffled that I had even asked.”

Izuku is quiet for a time. “And…what about Uraraka? Those two didn’t…?” He trails off.

Kirishima snorts. “Maybe you don’t remember it that well now, but, uh…he never really showed much of an interest in any of the girls back home.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” Izuku mumbles thoughtfully.

“Anyway. It won’t be an issue much longer,” Kirishima sighs, “In the unlikely scenario all three of us make it outta this war alive, well…I guess it’ll be up to him. Who to choose.” 

“It feels ridiculous to think about things like that, in times like these,” Izuku mutters.

“You’re not wrong. It is ridiculous,” Kirishima agrees quietly, “But it’s the only sorta thing we should have needed to worry about, under different circumstances. In a normal world, where we coulda just been normal kids, y’know? And if this war goes our way, then…it’ll be the only loose end to tie up, I suppose. I guess it just…helps me feel human, holdin’ onto somethin’ like that. Maybe that’s the only reason I still do.” 

“Yeah,” Izuku says slowly, “Well, I don’t think it’ll be all that hard for him to decide, all things considered…” 

Kirishima yawns. There’s some rustling as he settles back down onto a layer of fur. “Don’t count yourself out just yet, Midoriya,” he says, “He’ll pick whoever he thinks he can’t survive without.” 

A chill runs through Katsuki at that. Is he really that cold and calculating? Kirishima hadn’t said that Katsuki would pick whoever it would break his heart to give up, or even who he can’t live without. Those would have implied that Katsuki was motivated by some kind of passion. But instead, his best friend predicts that Katsuki will choose the person who Katsuki thinks he can’t survive without. There’s not the least indication that love, desire, or even compatibility will sway his decision. That he’ll just conduct an unfeeling assessment of what they can both offer to him. As if in the end, it will be a question of which of them will extend his longevity the most. 

It’s a horrible thing for Kirishima to say, and for Izuku not to refute. Especially when every emotion that Katsuki has had has been taken and exploited, either by the Capitol or the rebels. If Izuku weren’t hijacked, would he have come to Katsuki’s defense and said as much to Kirishima? And which one of them would have truly been right, if he did? Katsuki had grown so accustomed to Izuku seeing him as flawless, that the concept of Izuku not fiercely defending his honour against such a cruel accusation hurts even worse than the words themselves and who they came from.

Who would he choose? Right now, the choice would be simple. He can survive just fucking fine without either of them. 

In the morning, Katsuki has no time or energy to nurse his wounded feelings. Instead, he has to nurse actual wounds. He makes quick and harsher-than-necessary work of checking Kirishima’s stitches, slapping on more medicine and roughly applying new bandages. Kirishima jolts and hisses with pain the whole way through it, and Katsuki doesn’t give a shit. He gets out most of his anger with his brutal bedside manner on Kirishima, so Izuku gets a slightly gentler hand—but only because Katsuki isn’t keen on triggering some tracker jacker-altered memory that will have Izuku trying to strangle him again. 

He really can pick them, huh? Yeah, what a heartbreaker he is. 

During a predawn breakfast of liver pâté and fig cookies, they all gather around Ragdoll’s television for one of Kaminari’s break-in broadcasts. There’s been a new development in the war. Some enterprising rebel commander came up with the idea of send people’s abandoned automobiles unmanned down streets with active pods. The cars don’t trigger every pod, but they certainly get the majority. At around four in the morning, the rebels began carving three separate paths—simply referred to as the A, B, and C lines—towards the heart of the Capitol. As a result, they’ve secured block after block with very few casualties. 

“This ain’t gonna last,” Kirishima mutters, frowning at the screen, “I’m surprised they’ve even kept this going so long. Eventually the Capitol is gonna start to deactivate specific pods and then manually trigger them when targets come in range.” 

With all the time that Kirishima spent down in Special Defense with Kaminari, Katsuki has no doubt he’s right. And sure enough, almost within minutes of his prediction, the very thing happens on-screen. A squad sends a car down a block, setting off four pods. Three scouts follow and make it safely to the end of the street. All seems well, but when a group of twenty rebel soldiers follow after the scouts, they’re blown to bits by a row of potted rose bushes in front of a flower shop. 

Kaminari gives the broadcast back to the Capitol, where a grim-faced reporter announces the blocks that civilians are to evacuate. Between the reporter’s update and Kaminari’s takeover, Katsuki is able to mark the relative positions of the opposing armies on his paper map. 

Hearing scuffling out on the street, Katsuki moves to the windows, peeking out a crack in the shutters. In the early morning light, he can see Capitol refugees now occupy the street and are streaming towards the centre of the Capitol. The most panicked amongst them are wearing nothing but nightgowns and slippers, while the more prepared are heavily bundled in thick layers of clothes. They carry everything from lap dogs to jewellery boxes to potted plants. 

Confused, sleepy children stumble along after their parents, either too stunned or baffled to cry. Bits of them flash by Katsuki’s line of vision. A pair of wide brown eyes. An arm clutching a doll. A pair of bare feet, bluish in the cold, catching on the uneven paving stones of the alley. Katsuki is reminded of the children of 12 who died fleeing the firebombs. He moves away from the window. 

Ragdoll offers to be their spy for the day since she’s the only one among them without a bounty on her head. Down in the cellar, Katsuki paces back and forth, driving the others crazy. 

“We should use that flood of refugees outside to get to the mansion,” Katsuki says as he moves back and forth across the narrow room. “What better chance could we have?”

“Every person out there is another pair of eyes lookin’ for the six of us,” Kirishima tells him. 

“But what do we gain by staying here?” Todoroki asks, “All we’re really doing is depleting our food supply, and waiting for…what? For the rebels to take the Capitol? It could be weeks before that happens.”

“Exactly. And I didn’t come all this way, and lose all those people, just to sit here and wait out the fuckin’ war in a damn cellar,” Katsuki grouses, “Kudo told me to do what I came here to do, and that’s kill All For One,” Katsuki comes to a stop and jabs a finger towards Izuku. “Oi, did you have another dream inside of One For All, or what?”

Izuku balks, and looks apprehensively around at the others, who have definitely not been told about One For All yet. Katsuki really doesn’t see the point in keeping something like this a secret, though. It might very well be the greatest weapon in their arsenal right now. 

“…’Inside One For All’? What does that mean?” Todoroki asks. 

Izuku sighs wearily. “He’s…he’s talking about my Quirk.” 

“But I thought you said nothing manifested after you took the Quirk factor antidote?” Jirou says. 

“That’s because nothing did,” Katsuki tells her, “He was Quirkless, until En transferred One For All to him.”

This obviously leads into Izuku and Katsuki having to explain the origins of One For All that Izuku learned from the vestiges in his dream the previous night. How All For One had unwittingly created the power himself by forcing a power stockpiling Quirk onto Yoichi, and Yoichi’s escape from the Capitol to District 13 on the very train that was coming into District 12 to take Toshinori to the second Quarter Quell arena. Yoichi’s presidential ascension in 13 in the decades that have followed, and his secret plot with Kudo to pass along the power to cultivate it into a weapon to turn against All For One. 

The room is very, very quiet after they finish speaking. 

“So, what’s it feel like?” Todoroki asks finally. 

“I don’t really know,” Izuku admits, “I guess it just feels like it’s…lying in wait.”

“So, if it stockpiles power, does that mean…you were passed down all the Quirks from the previous holders?” Kirishima asks, awed.

Katsuki and Izuku exchange a look. Katsuki had never even considered that, but Izuku’s expression says otherwise. Izuku looks back at Kirishima. “I think so,” he says, “Only…when I’m inside of One For All, none of them speak to me. At least not directly. They all sit in these high-backed chairs…just…watching me. I think it was Yoichi showing me his memories, but…he’s the only one who isn’t fully formed. He’s just this misty outline. I think it’s because he’s still alive. So there’s only a trace of his spirit within One For All, from when he first transferred it.”

“Since he was the first holder, maybe…the power won’t fully manifest unless…Yoichi dies?” Jirou offers sheepishly. This is all clearly well out of her depth, but her suggestion puts the room into a thoughtful lull. 

“That could very well be a possibility,” Todoroki murmurs, “I mean, if the others are fully formed, but unable to speak to you, but Yoichi is just a featureless figure but can show you his memories…then maybe he’s like a dam, holding all that cultivated power at bay. And then, in order for you to wield it…he has to die.” 

“So then, what’s Yoichi’s endgame here? Become the new president of Panem, or sacrifice himself so Midoriya can harness One For All?” Kirishima wonders. 

“I don’t think Yoichi ever had any intention of ruling the country,” Jirou says, “He just had a first-hand look at his brother’s tyranny, and wanted to put a stop to it. Unlike the rest of us, he knew about the existence of Quirks, and Thirteen. But if what Hawks told all of us about forming a republic if we win the war really happens, then there’s no guarantee that Yoichi would be chosen. The people of Thirteen who elected him as their president might follow him, but as for everyone else…well, they might not be so keen to have another President Shigaraki calling the shots.” 

Katsuki hadn’t really given much thought to who would take over ruling the country once the war was over. All he knows is that he’s getting pretty fucking sick and tired of all these adults keeping him in the dark about shit he’s caught right in the middle of. If he’s so crucial to the rebellion, why is he never fucking told anything? At least they had Ragdoll out gathering them some more information. 

By late afternoon, they’re all starting to get uneasy about Ragdoll’s long absence. Talk about One For All and their plan to infiltrate the president’s mansion turns to possibilities that Ragdoll has been apprehended and arrested for harbouring them, or perhaps she turned them in, or has been injured in the wave of scared refugees. But around six o’ clock, they finally hear her return. 

When the panel at the top of the stairs opens, the wonderful smell of fried meat fills the air. Ragdoll has prepared them a hash of chopped ham and potatoes. It’s the first hot food any of them has had in days. As Katsuki waits for Ragdoll to fill his plate, he’s in danger of actually drooling. 

Ragdoll explains, as they eat, that she was able to acquire their meal by trading her furs. It’s a valuable item at the moment, especially for people who left their homes underdressed. Many are still out on the street, trying to find shelter for the night. Those who live in the choice apartments of the inner city have not exactly flung their doors open to house the displaced. Most of them have bolted their doors, drawn their shutters, and pretended not to be home. 

“Meow the City Circle is packed with refugees,” Ragdoll tells them, “Peacekeepers are going door to door, breaking into places if they have to, mandatorily assigning houseguests.”

On the television, they watch a terse Head Peacekeeper lay out the specific rules regarding how many people each resident will be expected to take in, based on the size of their dwelling and the maximum capacity it can hold. He reminds citizens of the Capitol that temperatures will be dropping below freezing tonight and warns them that their president expects them to be not only willing but enthusiastic hosts in this time of crisis. He adds that shopkeepers should also be prepared to lend their floor space if requested. 

“Ragdoll, that could be you,” Izuku says. 

He’s right. Even this narrow hallway of a shop could be appropriated as the numbers of refugees continues to swell. Then they’ll be truly trapped in the cellar, in constant danger of discovery. How many days did they have? One? Maybe two?

The Head Peacekeeper goes on with additional instructions for the population. It seems that this evening there was an unfortunate incident where a crowd beat a young man to death who resembled Izuku. In light of this, all rebel sightings are to be reported immediately to the authorities, who will deal with the identification and arrest of the suspect. They show a photo of the victim. Apart from some clearly dyed green ringlets, he looks about as much like Izuku as Katsuki does. 

“People have gone wild…” Jirou murmurs. 

A brief rebel update interrupts the broadcast, in which they learn that several more blocks have been taken by the rebels. Katsuki makes note of the intersections on his map and studies them. 

The Head Peacekeeper returns to the screen and announces that President Shigaraki himself will have part of his mansion readied to receive displaced Capitol citizens by tomorrow. 

“Line C is only four blocks from here,” Katsuki announces. He folds up his map and decides to become very helpful, gathering up dishes. “I’ll wash up.” 

“I’ll give you a hand,” Kirishima says, helping to collect the rest of the plates. Katsuki feels Izuku’s eyes follow him and Kirishima out of the room.

In the cramped kitchen at the back of Ragdoll’s shop, Katsuki fills the sink with hot water and soap. “You really think All For One will let refugees into the mansion?”

“I figure he doesn’t have much of a choice,” Kirishima says, “The people are restless, hungry. Desperate. And he needs to save face, after the stuff Todoroki revealed about him. So I think he has to, at least for the cameras.” 

“I’m leavin’ in the morning,” Katsuki declares. 

“I’m goin’ with you,” Kirishima says automatically, “What should we do about the others?”

“Jirou and Koda could be useful. They know the city. They’re good guides,” Katsuki says, dunking dishes into the soapy water. “Todoroki’s got a powerful long-range Quirk. He could hold off Peacekeepers, even apprehend citizens without havin’ to kill ‘em. But Izuku…he’s—”

“Unpredictable,” Kirishima supplies, “But he’s also got One For All. Maybe he could pass it to you? But, if the power is locked unless all the previous holders are dead…”

Katsuki scrubs aggressively at the grease on one of the plates. “I don’t think that’s the case,” he mutters, “I think he could use the power, if he really wanted to. He’s bein’ gun shy, though. But maybe we don’t need One For All to pull this off. If All For One is lettin’ refugees into the mansion, then that’s our best shot. Literally. All I need is a clear shot of the bastard, and this will be over.”

“So…do we leave him behind?” Kirishima asks. 

Katsuki half-shrugs. “He was practically beggin’ us to do that before. We can always make the argument that he’ll endanger us.”

“And I would.” 

Katsuki and Kirishima jolt and look over their shoulders to see Izuku leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hands are unbound for meals; maybe this position made him feel ‘held together’, like he’d mentioned before. Kirishima looks awkwardly between Katsuki and Izuku, clearly sheepish about being caught. But Katsuki just stares Izuku down. 

“I would just endanger the rest of you,” Izuku says, “Which is why I’ll go out on my own.” 

“To do what?” Katsuki asks. 

“I’m not sure exactly,” Izuku says, “The one thing that I might still be useful for is causing some kind of diversion. You saw what happened to that man who looked like me.” 

“And what if you lose control?” 

“If I feel myself going mutt, then I’ll try to get back here,” Izuku assures him. 

“But what if you’re captured?” Kirishima asks. 

Izuku shrugs. “I’ll just have to take my chances. Like the rest of you.” 

The two of them exchange a long look, and then Kirishima reaches into his breast pocket. He places his nightlock pill in Izuku’s hand. Izuku lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. 

“What about you?” Izuku asks. 

“Don’t worry. Kaminari showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. I’ve also got my knife. And if all that fails, I’ve got him,” Kirishima jabs his thumb over his shoulder back at Katsuki. “He won’t give ‘em the satisfaction of takin’ me alive.” 

Katsuki thinks of Izuku falling back into All For One's hands, tortured and tormented until no trace of his former self will ever emerge again, and for some reason the final stanza of The Hanging Tree starts to run through Katsuki's head. Where the man wishes his lover was dead rather than face the evil that awaits in the world.

Are you, are you 

Coming to the tree 

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me 

Strange things did happen here 

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree 

Katsuki steps over to Izuku, reaching out and closing Izuku’s fingers around the pill with both his hands. He squeezes Izuku’s fist between his palms, rubbing his thumb along the scar that wraps around his hand. The first of many scars that Izuku earned in Katsuki's name.

They all spend a fitful night with their minds buzzing with the next day's plans. Katsuki is relieved when five o'clock rolls around and they can begin whatever the day holds for them. 

They eat a mishmash of their remaining food, leaving one can of salmon for Ragdoll as meagre thanks for all she’s done for them. The gesture seems to touch her in some way, and she flies into action. She spends the next hour remaking the six of them. She redresses them so regular clothes hide their uniforms before they even don their coats and cloaks, and drapes their outerwear to conceal their weapons. In the end, they look just like the refugees fleeing the rebels. 

“Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist,” Izuku says, which causes Ragdoll to blush. 

The television provides no more helpful updates, but the alley is as thick as ever with refugees as it was the previous morning. 

“Right. We should split up into smaller groups,” Katsuki says, “Jirou and Koda, keep a safe lead on the rest of us as our guides. Kirishima and I will follow after you, and position ourselves among the refugees assigned to the mansion today. Todoroki, you and Izuku will trail behind us. Izuku can create a disturbance if needed, and Todoroki can use his ice to apprehend Peacekeepers, jam weapons, trap people’s feet, whatever.”

“I should be on my own,” Izuku argues with a frown. “Todoroki will be in danger if he’s with me.” 

“I’ll be in danger no matter what,” Todoroki says. 

“Todoroki is the best one to go with you,” Katsuki says, “If you have another fit, he can immobilise you with his ice. This ain’t up for debate, Izuku. You’re not bein’ left by yourself and there’s nothin’ you can say to convince me otherwise. We all need to have each other’s backs out there.” 

Ragdoll, who’s watching through the shutters for the right moment, unbolts the door and nods to Jirou and Koda. Jirou presses her hand to Katsuki’s shoulder as she and Koda brush past. “Take care,” she says. Koda gives them all a firm nod, his eyes alight with nerves, and then they’re gone.

Katsuki watches them go, and then looks back to Izuku. Katsuki and Kirishima will be the next ones to go in a minute. Katsuki gets out the key, and unlocks Izuku’s cuffs, stuffing them in his pocket. Izuku rubs his wrists, and flexes them. 

A kind of desperation starts rising up within Katsuki all of a sudden as the seconds tick away. He feels like he’s back in the Quarter Quell, when Kaminari had just handed him and Uraraka that coil of wire. Toshinori’s gruff baritone voice growls in the back of his head…

I can’t believe you let him out of your sight that night.

But just like back in the clock arena, Katsuki can’t see any alternatives but this. He considers switching the team-ups at the last minute, but quickly shoves that thought aside. No. He had to trust his gut instinct on this. He and Izuku were the worst possible match-up right now, as much as he hated to admit it. Combined, they had the most recognizable faces in all of Panem out of their entire group. And if Izuku lost control, the immediate target of his homicidal rage would be Katsuki. And if the two of them managed to make it inside the mansion, and got eyes on All For One, it would be up to Katsuki alone to take the shot. Izuku had no weapon, only a mysterious Quirk he had never used. If Katsuki got apprehended, it was over. But if he went with Kirishima, they had two chances of striking their target if something should happen to one of them. 

This was the only way. 

“Listen to me,” Katsuki says urgently, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki quickly wraps his arms around Izuku’s shoulders and pulls him close. He feels Izuku stiffen, and hesitate for a moment before he returns the embrace. His arms aren’t as steady as they once were, but they were still strong, and warm. A thousand moments surge through Katsuki, of all the times that Izuku’s arms were Katsuki’s only refuge from this fucked up world. Katsuki had perhaps not fully appreciated them then, but they were so sweet in his memory. And now, they are gone forever. 

“It’s time,” Ragdoll murmurs. 

Katsuki’s heart lurches. Before he can think better of it, he kisses Izuku’s hair, then his temple. Fuck. Fuck. 

Kirishima’s hand is on his back. “Katnip, we gotta go…”

Katsuki presses another kiss to Izuku’s freckled cheek, and finally pulls himself away. “Okay, fuck. Okay.”

Katsuki fastens his red hooded cloak, pulls his scarf over his nose, and then he quickly follows Kirishima out into the frigid air before he does something stupid, like cry. 

Chapter Text

x.

Sharp, icy snowflakes bite at Katsuki’s exposed skin. The rising sun is trying to break through the gloom, though without much success. There’s enough light to see the bundled forms closest to him but little more. It would be the perfect conditions for what they’re trying to do, really, only he can’t locate Jirou and Koda. 

As Katsuki and Kirishima duck their heads and shuffle along with the refugees, Katsuki can hear what he missed peeking through the shutters yesterday. Crying, moaning, laboured breathing. And, not too far away, gunfire.

They turn off the alley and spill out onto one of the main avenues. There’s Peacekeepers interspersed throughout the crowd, directing the flow of human traffic. Scared faces peer through the shop windows, which are already becoming overrun with refugees. At this rate, Ragdoll may have new houseguests by lunch. It was good for everybody that they left when they did. 

The snow is picking up, but the sun is breaking through the cloud cover. Katsuki catches sight of Jirou and Koda about thirty meters ahead of them, moving along with the crowd. As Katsuki cranes his head around to see if he can locate Izuku and Todoroki, gunfire suddenly rips through the crowd, and several people near Katsuki slump to the ground. 

Screams pierce the air as a second round mows down another group behind them. Kirishima and Katsuki drop to the street and then scuttle ten meters towards the shops, taking cover behind a display of spike-heeled boots outside a shoe seller’s. Katsuki looks between alternating pairs of lavender and mint green leather boots to see a street full of bodies. There’s a little girl in a bright, lemon yellow coat, kneeling beside a motionless woman, screeching as she tries to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the girl’s chest, staining the bright yellow a dark red, and knocking the girl onto her back. 

A row of feathery footwear blocks Kirishima’s view. “Who is it? The rebels? Can you see?” 

For a moment, looking at the tiny crumpled form of the little girl, Katsuki loses his ability to speak. Kirishima prods him with his elbow. Katsuki watches a few more rounds of gunfire, and sees white uniforms dropping into the snowy streets. 

“It’s the rebels,” Katsuki forces out, “Shooting from the roof above us. Trying to take out the Peacekeepers. But they ain’t exactly crack shots.” 

His allies have broken through, but Katsuki doesn’t feel any rush of joy. He is transfixed by that lemon yellow coat. 

“We better get moving before the whole block goes up,” Kirishima says. 

Yes. They’ve got to get to All For One. Hugging the wall, they continue along the street. The wall is mostly shop windows. A pattern of sweaty palms and gaping faces pressing against the glass. Katsuki yanks his scarf higher up his cheekbones as they dart between outdoor displays. 

They sprint across the intersection, but by the time they reach the next block, it no longer matters who they are, or who anyone is. Because no one is looking at faces. The rebels are here, pouring into the avenue, taking cover in doorways, behind vehicles, guns blazing. Hoarse voices shout commands as they prepare to meet an army of Peacekeepers marching toward them. Caught in the crossfire are the Capitol refugees, unarmed, disoriented, many of them wounded. 

Ahead of them, a pod activates, releasing a gush of steam that parboils everyone in its path, leaving the victims intestine-pink and very dead. After that, what little sense of order there had been before completely unravels. As steam intertwines with the snow, visibility barely extends past Katsuki’s nose. There’s nothing to do but move forward. 

Screaming, bleeding, dead people everywhere. As they reach the next corner, the entire block ahead lights up in a rich purple glow. Katsuki and Kirishima backpedal, hunker down in a stairwell, and squint into the light. Something happens to those illuminated by the glow. They’re assaulted by some kind of sound wave, or maybe a laser. Weapons fall from their hands, fingers clutch at their faces, and blood starts to spray from all their visible orifices—eyes, noses, mouths, ears. In less than a minute, everyone caught in the light is dead and the purple glow vanishes. 

Katsuki grits his teeth and runs, leaping over bodies, feet slipping in the gore. The wind whips up the snow into blinding swirls. Katsuki hears the sound of another wave of boots headed their way.

“Get down!” Katsuki hisses at Kirishima. They drop where they are. Katsuki’s face lands in a still-warm pool of blood. He plays dead, remaining motionless as the boots march over them. Boots grind into his hand, his back, kicking his head in passing. The boots recede and Katsuki opens his eyes and nods to Kirishima. 

On the next block, they encounter more terrified refugees, but few soldiers. Suddenly, there’s a cracking sound, like an egg hitting the side of a bowl but amplified by a thousand. They stop, looking around for the pod. There’s nothing. Then Katsuki feels the tips of his boots beginning to tilt in ever so slightly.

“Run! Go!” Katsuki cries. 

There’s no time to explain, but in a few seconds the nature of the pod becomes clear as a seam opens down the centre of the block. The two sides of the tiled street fold down like flaps, slowly emptying the people into whatever lies beneath. Katsuki moves at a slight diagonal, and as the flap continues to drop, his feet scramble to find purchase on the paving stones. He pushes off for the intersection in his last seconds of connection with his foothold. His hands latch onto the side as the flaps swing straight down. His feet dangle in the air as a vile stench hits his nose somewhere from deep below. It’s like rotting corpses in the summer heat. Just like how the bodies strewn across the streets of 12 had smelled. Black forms crawl around in the shadows below, silencing whoever survives the fall. 

Katsuki inches his hands along the ledge, trying to block out the terrifying sounds coming from below. When his hands straddle the corner, Katsuki swings his right boot up over the side. He painstakingly drags himself back up to street level. Panting, trembling, Katsuki crawls out and wraps his arm around a lamppost, desperate for an anchor despite the ground being perfectly flat. 

“Kirishima?” Katsuki calls out, heedless of being recognized. “Kirishima!” 

“Over here!” 

Katsuki looks in bewilderment to his left. Three doors down from him, Kirishima clings to the decorative iron grating around an apartment door. The flap held up everything to the very base of the buildings. Kirishima could easily get to safety if the door was open, but despite repeated kicks to the door, nobody comes to his aid. 

“Hardening, now!” Katsuki shouts. 

Katsuki can see Kirishima’s bare hands clinging to the iron grate grow hard and jagged. Katsuki holds out his hand, makes a circle with his other hand and holds it in front of his extended palm. He sends an AP Shot towards the door, drilling the lock until the door flies inward. Kirishima swings into the doorway, landing in a heap on the floor. For a moment, Katsuki experiences the elation of Kirishima’s rescue. Then white-gloved hands clamp down on him. 

Kirishima meets his eyes. He mouths something to Katsuki that he can’t make out. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t leave him, but he can’t reach him either. His lips move again. At any minute, the Peacekeepers will realise who they’ve captured. They’re hauling him inside. 

“Go!” Kirishima yells. 

Katsuki turns and runs. And just like that, he’s alone. Kirishima is a prisoner. Jirou and Koda could be dead ten times over. And he hasn’t laid eyes on Todoroki or Izuku since they left Ragdoll’s. Maybe Izuku went back, like he said we would if he felt an attack coming. There was no need for a diversion from Izuku now, not when the Capitol has provided so many. No need to be bait and have to take the nightlock—

The nightlock! Kirishima didn’t have any. And the first thing the Peacekeepers will do is strip him of his weapons. He won’t get the chance to detonate his arrows, or use his knife. 

Katsuki falls into a doorway as the realization hits him. Shoot me. That’s what Kirishima was mouthing. Katsuki was supposed to shoot him! That was his job, their unspoken promise they all had to one another. And Katsuki didn’t do it, and now the Capitol will kill him, or torture him, or hijack him or—

The cracks begin opening inside of him, threatening to break Katsuki to pieces. 

He has only one hope. The Capitol must fall, lay down its arms, and give up its prisoners before they can hurt Kirishima. There’s no way that can happen while All For One is still alive. 

He has to end this. Now. 

“Move,” Katsuki orders to himself. 

He pulls himself back together. He removes his cloak and turns it inside out, letting the black lining show instead of the red exterior. Pulls the hood back over his face. He peers out to the block. There’s only a few stragglers. He moves out of the doorway and trails behind a pair of old men who take no notice of him. When he reaches the next intersection, he realises he’s reached the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president’s mansion. 

Katsuki begins to weave his way across to the mansion, tripping over abandoned treasures and snow-frosted limbs. The Circle is full of people milling around, wailing, or just sitting and letting the snow pile up around them. About halfway to the mansion, Katsuki reaches a concrete barricade. It’s about a meter high and extends in a large rectangle in front of the mansion. It’s packed with refugees. As Katsuki draws closer, he notices that everyone within the barricade is a child. Toddlers to teenagers, scared and frost-bitten. Huddled in groups or rocking numbly on the ground. They aren’t being let into the mansion. They’re penned in, guarded on all sides by Peacekeepers. 

Katsuki understands immediately that it is not for their protection. This is for All For One’s protection. He’s formed a human shield made up of Capitol children. 

There’s a sudden commotion and the crowd surges to the left. Katsuki gets caught up in the larger bodies, carried off course. The momentum slams him into a flagpole, and he clings to it. Using the rope that hangs from the top, Katsuki pulls himself up and out of the crush of bodies. 

The rebel army is pouring into the Circle, driving the refugees back into the avenues. Katsuki scans the area for the pods that will surely be detonating in the pandemonium. But that doesn’t happen. 

A hovercraft marked with the Capitol’s seal materialises over the mansion, and soars over the barricaded children. Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food, medicine, gifts. They eagerly scoop them up. Their president has not abandoned them after all. Their frozen little fingers struggle with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes. Five seconds pass. 

And then about twenty of the parachutes explode. 

A shrieking wail rises from the crowd. The snow is instantly red and littered with undersized body parts. Many of the children die immediately, but others lie in agony on the ground. Some stagger around mutely, staring at the silver parachutes in their hands, as if they still might have something precious inside. 

Katsuki can tell the Peacekeepers did not know this was coming by the way they are yanking away the barricades, making a path to the children. Another flock of white uniforms sweeps into the opening. But these aren’t Peacekeepers. Katsuki would know the uniforms anywhere. They’re medics. Rebel medics. They swarm in among the children, wielding medical kits. 

First, he sees a shock of ash-blonde hair. Then, sharp red eyes. Both exactly like his own. A mirror image of himself, yanking off her coat to cover a crying child. 

Katsuki pushes through the crowd, calling out, his voice drowned out above the anguished roar of the crowd.

“...Mom?” 

He’s almost there, almost to the barricade. 

“Mom?! Mom!”

Every child is screaming out for their mother right now. But somehow she must pick out his voice among the din. She must hear him, because for just a moment, she looks up, and catches sight of Katsuki. Her lips begin to form his name. 

And then the rest of the parachutes go off. 

Real or not real? 

He is on fire. 

The balls of flame that erupted from the parachutes shot over the barricades, through the snowy air, and landed into the crowd. One of them struck Katsuki before he could turn away, ran its tongue up the right side of his body, and transformed him into something new. A creature as unquenchable as the sun. 

Real or not real? 

There’s no sight, no sound, no feeling except agony, the unrelenting burning. Burning, burning, burning… 

He is a bird, ignited, flying frantically to escape something inescapable. Beating his wings only fans the blaze. He consumes himself, but to no end. 

Real or not real? 

His wings falter, turn to ash, and he falls. He’s pulled down, down into a cold, foamy sea. He floats on his back, and his right arm burns still beneath the water, but the agony quiets to pain. 

Then the dead come. 

The ones he loved fly as birds in the open sky above him. Soaring, weaving, calling him to join them. He wants so badly to join them. But his wings are gone. 

The ones he hated are in the water, horrible scaled things that tear at his salty flesh with needle teeth. Dragging him down beneath the surface. Down, down, down… 

A beautiful hummingbird dives down from the skies and buries its tiny claws into Katsuki’s chest, trying to keep him afloat. 

“No, Katsuki! No! You can’t go!” 

But the ones he hated are winning. If she clings to him, she’ll be dragged down with him. 

“Mom, let go!”

She does. 

Real or not real? 

Deep in the water, he’s deserted by all. There’s only the sound of his breathing. He pushes water in and out of his lungs, in and out, in and out, in and out, against his will. He wants to stop. He wants to hold his breath. 

He begs whatever holds him here, “Let me die. Let me follow the others.” 

There’s no response. 

Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead. Trapped for days, years, centuries. So alone that anyone, anything, no matter how loathsome, would be welcome. 

When he finally has a visitor, it’s sweet. Morphling. It courses through his veins, easing the pain, lightening his body until he rises back towards the surface. 

The sandpaper of his throat. The smell of medicine. His mother’s voice. 

Mom—

Real or not real? 

He’s frightened. He tries to go back to the deep to make sense of things. But there’s no going back. He is forced to accept who he is. A badly burned boy with no wings. With no fire. 

And no mother. 

New sheets of skin are draped over his rawness, coaxing the cells into thinking they are his own. He hears over and over how lucky he is. His eyes—her eyes—were spared. Most of his face—her face—was spared, though a chunk of the cement barricade that had blown apart with the secondary blast had struck his face, shredding apart his right cheek. Katsuki can feel the stitches pull whenever he blinks. His lungs are responding well to treatment. Soon he will be as good as new. 

Morphling opens the door to visitors dead and alive alike. 

One day, he awakens to expectations. He must take food by mouth. He must move his own muscles. He will not be allowed to live in his dreamland. A brief visit from Yoichi clinches it. 

“You won the coin toss,” Yoichi tells him, “I saved him for you.”

All For One. 

The mantra plays again in his mind. 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. 

The doctors’ puzzlement grows over why he is unable to speak. There is some damage to his vocal cords, but it doesn’t account for it. He is a mental Avox, his silence brought on by emotional trauma. He doesn’t ask about anyone or anything, but people bring him a steady stream of information all the same. 

When the Peacekeepers blew up the apartments that Katsuki’s squad was suspected to be inside—when Katsuki had been declared dead on live television—Mitsuki had requested to be sent into the Capitol with the rest of the field medics immediately. That’s why she had been in the City Circle that day. And instead of succumbing to her grief the way she did when Masaru had left, she threw herself into her work. Meaning that for just a few seconds, when their eyes met, Mitsuki had seen that her son was alive, after all. That he had not met the same fate as her husband. And then, she left. She left the same way that his father did, joining him wherever he had gone, leaving Katsuki behind.

The Capitol fell the day the parachutes went off. Whatever frail allegiance the Capitol’s citizens and its Peacekeepers still had left for their president snapped when their own helpless children were bombed. There was no real resistance after that. Yoichi rules Panem now, and troops have been sent out to put down the small remaining pockets of Capitol resistance. All For One is being held prisoner, waiting trial and most certainly execution. Jirou and Koda have been sent out to the districts to cover the wreckage of the war. Kirishima, who took two bullets in an escape attempt, is currently mopping up Peacekeepers in 2. Todoroki and Izuku are both in the burn unit, same as Katsuki. They made it to the City Circle, after all. 

As for Katsuki, grief buries him. All that keeps him going is Yoichi’s promise. That he can kill All For One. When that is done, there will be nothing left. 

Eventually, he is released from the hospital and given a room in the president’s mansion. Toshinori checks on him, makes sure he’s eating, and using his medicines. It’s not an easy job. Katsuki takes to his old habits from District 13, wandering through the mansion. Into bedrooms and offices, ballrooms and baths. Seeking strange little hiding places. A closet of furs. A cabinet in the library. A long-forgotten bathtub in a room full of discarded furniture. Dim and quiet and impossible to find. He curls up, tries to make himself smaller, trying to disappear entirely. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I am nineteen years old. My home was District 12. There is no District 12. I am the Mockingjay. All For One hates me. He killed my mother. Now I will kill him. And then the Hunger Games will be over…

Periodically, he somehow ends up back in his room, unsure whether a need for morphling drove him back, or Toshinori found him in one of his places and carried him there. He eats his food, he takes his medicine, and he is required to bathe. It’s not the water he minds, but the mirror. It shows him the skin grafts that still retain a newborn baby-like pinkness, the damaged but salvageable skin that is red and melted, and the patches of his former self that gleam white and pale. His right arm is a bizarre patchwork quilt of skin. Parts of his hair were singed off, or chopped at odd lengths. He wouldn’t care much about any of that, except the sight of his body brings back the memory of the pain. And why he was in pain. And what happened just before the pain started. But worse than all of that is seeing his face. Because it’s her face. Whenever he accidentally catches a glimpse of himself on a reflective surface, All For One’s voice echoes in his head… 

You really are her spitting image. 

Yes. Other than the jagged stitches on his right cheekbone and the blank look in his eyes which have mangled her inherited beauty, he truly is. Closing his eyes doesn’t help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness. Behind his eyelids, he watches over and over as his mother becomes a human torch. Her face, unlike his own, was marred by flames as much as the rest of her. Nothing left behind to bury. Just like his father. 

When his father died, Katsuki hated looking in the mirror then, too. It was a reminder that the only way he would ever see his father again were in grainy old photos. He had wished there had been some kind of resemblance within his own features for him to cling to. What a foolish thought that was. He had no idea what a torment it would be, to look in the mirror and see a perfect double of one of his parents looking back at him. 

Now he understands. 

A head doctor from the Capitol, a heteromorph who resembles a penguin by the name of Yoshida, shows up to see Katsuki sometimes. He doesn’t say stupid things like how Katsuki is ‘totally safe’, or that he knows Katsuki can’t see it, but he’ll be happy again one day, or even that things will be better in Panem now. Instead, he just asks Katsuki if he feels like talking, and when Katsuki doesn’t answer, he falls asleep in his chair. Katsuki is beginning to think his visits are largely motivated by his need for a nap. The arrangement works for both of them. Katsuki sits there watching the doctor sleep, twisting around his plastic medical bracelet like a tourniquet until it hurts his wrist. Maybe the pain will help him to focus on reality, like it did for Izuku. 

Real or not real. 

When Dr. Yoshida visits, Katsuki finds the only questions that ever begin to form on his tongue are all about Izuku. But none of them pass his lips. 

Time passes, though Katsuki could not determine by hours or minutes. Toshinori tells Katsuki one day that All For One has been tried and found guilty, and is sentenced to execution. Katsuki hears talk of it from the guards as he drifts through the hallways. Then his Mockingjay outfit arrives in his room, with his bow intact, but no sheath of arrows. They were either damaged, or perhaps they didn’t think Katsuki should be around any weapons unsupervised. 

Toshinori brings him a tray of food and a handful of pills, makes his usual feeble attempt to get Katsuki to talk, but, seeing it's as pointless as ever, sends Katsuki off to a bath that’s been drawn for him. The tub is deep, with three steps to the bottom. He eases down into the warm water and sits up to his neck in the suds. After several minutes there’s a tentative knock at the door and it opens to reveal three familiar faces. His prep team. They all try to smile at him, but even Burnin can’t seem to conceal her shock at Katsuki’s ravaged fire-mutt body. They can barely touch his patchwork of skin for fear of hurting him, so Katsuki rinses and dries himself off. Kido winces as he drapes a robe around Katsuki as delicately as possible. 

In the bedroom, Katsuki finds another surprise. Sitting upright in a chair, his scars softer and pinker than when he last saw him in the Remake Room back in District 13, is Hakamada. He stands up from his chair when Katsuki enters and walks over to meet him, automatically pulling Katsuki into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hakamada whispers. 

Even in his deadened, drugged condition, this sends a stab of pain through Katsuki. Katsuki doesn’t return the embrace, and doesn’t say anything in response. Hakamada pulls away, and presses a cool hand to Katsuki’s scarred cheek. The look on Hakamada’s face shows he wants to say more, but what else is there to say? There is nothing. He gently guides Katsuki into a chair, and the prep team gets to work. 

They even out his singed hair. His face presents no more than the usual challenges outside of working around the fresh scar on his right cheek. The stitches had been taken out a while ago, leaving him with a dark, jagged line where they had sewn his shredded-up face back together. Once he’s in the Mockingjay suit, Burnin secures his mockingjay pin over his heart. Katsuki’s fingers trace over the gold feathers like he’s done a thousand times before. His mother’s voice calls out from the far recesses of his brain, where he locked her away for his own sanity. 

Promise me you won’t forget who you are. If I have to watch my son die on screen, then…then I at least want to know you died as yourself.

The words had made no sense to him then. 

I won’t die. Because I’m gonna win. 

Then you’ll be breaking your promise to me. Because in order to win, you won’t be you anymore. 

Who is he? Certainly no longer the boy who volunteered at the Reaping. Not the boy who used to trade in the Hob, or hunt in the woods with Kirishima. He’s no Mockingjay, either. Even as he stands in front of the mirror, seeing that his talented prep team has somehow managed to make him look normal on the outside despite him inwardly being such a wasteland, all he sees is a fire mutt. No, he’s not the boy he used to be. That boy burned to death. And this fire mutt is what remains. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I’m nineteen-years-old. Why am I not dead? It would be better for everyone if I was dead…

There’s a tap at the door, and in walks Kirishima. “Can I have a minute?” 

Katsuki watches in the mirror as Hakamada and the prep team excuse themselves from the room and Kirishima walks up behind him. They examine one another’s reflections in the mirror for a time. Katsuki searches for something to hang on to, some sign of the two boys who stumbled upon each other in the woods and became inseparable. He wonders what would have happened to them, if Katsuki had never volunteered for the Games. If he would have fallen in love with Kirishima, maybe even married him. And sometime in the future, when Kirishima’s brothers and sister were older, they could have escaped into the woods and left District 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild? Or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown even without the Capitol’s help? 

“I brought you this,” Kirishima says, holding up a sheath. It only holds a single arrow. “It’s meant to be symbolic. The last shot of the war.” 

Katsuki turns, and Kirishima adjusts the sheath onto Katsuki’s shoulder. They stand there, face-to-face, but not meeting each other’s eyes. 

“I wanted to come see you in the hospital,” Kirishima admits quietly, “After they dug those bullets outta me, they shipped me right off to Two. I only just got back today,” His eyes suddenly well up with tears. “I’m so sorry.” 

There it is again, the pain. Katsuki yet again sees the flash that ignites her, feels the heat of the flames that took her. He closes his eyes for a moment, before he remembers that just makes the visions worse, and opens them again. But the sight before him is just as painful. 

“Maybe my bein’ there wouldn’t have changed anything, but—” Kirishima swallows thickly and screws his eyes shut before he continues, “But I never should have left your side. You needed me, and I wasn’t there. I let myself get captured, I left you alone, and then—” Kirishima cuts himself off as he takes a deep rattle of a breath, and wipes at his face. “Sorry. I’m not gonna…sorry. It doesn’t…it doesn’t matter now.” 

No, Katsuki thinks. It doesn’t matter now. 

People sweep into the room, surrounding him. He’s given a last touch of powder, instructions from Hawks on where to stand, and his cue for shooting his arrow as he is guided to the front of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, people spilling down the side streets. Guards, officials, and rebel leaders take their places. There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Katsuki steps out into the cold winter sunlight. He walks to his position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd.

All For One is marched out the doors by a pair of guards, his hands in shackles. The audience goes insane when he comes into view. He’s brought to stand right next to Yoichi, and Katsuki is able to see their resemblance in person for the first time. Other than the shape of the eyes and the colour of their hair, it isn’t that obvious that they are twins. 

Yoichi steps forward, stretches out his arms, and addresses the crowd. 

“Welcome to the new Panem,” he says, “Today, all of Panem, a free Panem, shall watch far more than a mere spectacle. We are gathered to witness a historic moment of justice. Today, the greatest friend to this revolution will fire the shot that will end all wars. May his arrow signify the end of tyranny, and the beginning of a new era. Mockingjay, may your aim be as true as—”

It happens in an instant. All For One lunges forward and snatches Yoichi’s outstretched hand. There’s an inexplicable spray of red. Yoichi doesn’t just disintegrate, and he doesn’t just explode. One second, Yoichi is there, and in the next, he vanishes into a misting shower of blood that splatters against the concrete, and all that remains of him is his left hand, still clutched in All For One’s own, which is now unshackled. 

Real or not real. 

The reaction is nearly immediate. After stunned silence comes a rising shriek from the crowd and the guards begin to open fire. But all of their bullets are deflected back towards them. Some guards are taken out by their own bullets, and for those that remain standing, they are impaled by black tendrils with crackling red lines that shoot out from All For One’s fingers, stabbing them through the chest, the neck, the stomach, before snapping back towards All For One’s body and leaving the guards in a crumpled, bleeding heap. 

All For One then levitates into the air, raises his arm, and in a sweeping arc, sends crescent-shaped razor blades flying towards Katsuki. Katsuki just barely ducks and rolls out of the way of the spinning blades as they smash into the ground where he had just been standing. The crowd is in an absolute frenzy, more guards rush forward to try and shoot All For One down, but it’s no use. Their bullets seem to bounce right off the very air that surrounds him. One thing is for certain: even if Katsuki had a full quiver of arrows, it would still not be enough. 

Suddenly, drill-like bone structures shoot out from All For One’s body in all directions, with several coming towards Katsuki. All he can do is leap out of their path, tossing down his bow and sheath with its useless, singular arrow to the ground. What else can he do but run? It’s an involuntary response at this point, as fight versus flight kicks in and has his body moving on its own. Katsuki didn’t know his will to live was strong enough to allow him to desperately evade All For One’s assault, but his feet keep moving, propelled by some sort of deeply imbedded, primal need for survival. Or maybe it’s just his desire to ensure All For One’s demise. He has to kill him. He must. If he dies in the process, so be it. It didn’t matter one way or the other, as long as All For One was dead when he was finished. Katsuki needs All For One to see his eyes when he kills him. 

I’m your final boss, All For One. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. 

What does he have? Bullets were just as useless as any arrows would be. All For One clearly had a multitude of powerful, long-range Quirks at his disposal, as well as some kind of defensive force field that repelled any attacks back at those who tried to bring him down. Katsuki doesn’t know how Explosion can possibly help him now, other than to keep ahead of All For One’s attacks. But it’s the only Quirk he’s got, so he’ll have to make do. As more spearlike bones barely miss him by inches, Katsuki extends his palms underneath him and lets out a large blast to propel himself into the air. Then, he alternates palms, raising himself higher and higher into the air as more coiled spears and black-and-red tendrils chase him down. 

It’s not long before Katsuki realises he is at an even deeper disadvantage than he already was before. His explosions don’t have nearly enough power behind them. In this cold, and without the special gauntlets from his other costume, he’s not sweating nearly enough to produce enough fuel for his blasts. It makes him just as sluggish in the air as he would be on the ground. Even with what little sweat he’s able to force into the glands on his palms, it’s not enough. He needs more. His eyes scrunch shut,  and his veins throb with exertion as he forces eruptions from his palms he doesn’t have nearly enough sweat in reserve to pull off, making his skin twinge with pain, his sweat glands prickling with heat. 

All For One is on him in an instant, snatching him by his right forearm in mid-air, and holding him aloft. His grip tightens, and then, Katsuki watches as his arm is enveloped in ghoulish multiplying fingers that grip into his flesh and squeeze with relentless force until the bones in Katsuki’s arm shatter with a sickening crunch. A spray of blood spurts from between the enlarged fingers, where the frail skin grafts on Katsuki’s forearm have burst apart. When All For One lets him go, Katsuki’s arm is utterly mangled, twisted beyond any recognition of even being considered a limb. 

As Katsuki falls towards the ground, he strangely feels no pain. 

Then, Katsuki’s nerve endings suddenly catch on fire, and pain spreads sharply through his entire body. For a moment, he thinks, this is it. This is how he’ll die. Beaten to death by All For One in front of an audience. The grand finale to the Hunger Games. He’ll die like he was meant to in the very first arena: brutally, and on-screen. At least his mother isn’t here to see that he never kept that promise, because he knows with certainty he won’t be dying as the boy she once knew. But as he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a cluster of bright sparks, and in a completely different spot in the air than he was before.

He’s right back in front of All For One. Past the defences of his force field. He must throw up the defences the moment he senses an attack, and drops it to focus on offensive Quirks when nobody is attacking him. Katsuki had, somehow, moved over to him so quickly that All For One hadn’t anticipated the move. Katsuki can see the whites of All For Ones pale eyes as they widen with shock just as Katsuki puts his left palm straight in All For One’s face, and lets off an explosion that sends All For One rocketing back to the ground. Another flash of sparks appears in front of Katsuki’s eyes, and then, in another blink, his feet are landing softly back on the ground. 

How is he doing this? His whole body hurts. But the pain…it’s electrifying. And then it clicks. That was how the power was able to manifest; because of the pain. Because he was inches from death. When the volatile sweat concentrated on his palms flowed through the rest of his body, it hurt like hell. But where does it hurt the most? What is the interval between the twinges? Mastering that is the key to unleashing secondary explosions throughout his entire body. He needed to keep making use of this side effect, and this explosive speed, for as long as he could. 

As All For One shoots out another burst of jagged black tendrils, Katsuki once again vanishes into a cluster of sparks. Several mini secondary explosions move through the air until Katsuki reappears near All For One again, but he miscalculates just how much of a speed boost this awakened power has given him. He smashes into the pavement, bouncing and rolling at top speed. And it hurts. It kills. But for some reason, Katsuki starts laughing. 

Still pinwheeling, Katsuki holds out both palms—forcing his shattered right arm to move—and sends targeted Auto-Cannon blasts towards All For One. The ricochet of his explosions shoots up his right arm, and Katsuki vaguely becomes aware that a bone in his forearm is visibly jutting out from the ruined flesh before his arm becomes entirely immobilized, flailing uselessly and spurting more blood. When he finally loses enough momentum, he’s able to roll up onto his feet and spin around, just in time for a black tendril to spear him through the shoulder, and another in his lower abdomen, choking off his maniacal laughter as he instantly coughs up blood. 

Suddenly, streaks of colour burst through the cold air, turning the world into a kaleidoscope. Then, there’s a streak of electric teal, almost too fast for the human eye to fathom. 

Izuku appears in a rainbow starburst, with purple smoke and inky black tendrils and shots of bright teal sparks bursting through his body in all directions. His eyes are lost in bursts of teal light that flicker like flames. His teeth clamp down on the jagged black-and-red tendrils that pierce Katsuki’s body and smash them into splinters, while he snaps other tendrils in half with his bare hands. The tendrils all shatter into dust, disappearing into the air. The tendrils in Katsuki’s body had been keeping him from bleeding out, and once they’re gone, the wounds are left open and pouring. He can feel warm blood pooling down his front and back from both puncture wounds. They must have both fully impaled him straight through. 

Katsuki staggers on his feet, his left hand going to press against the wound on his gut. His palm quickly becomes soaked in red. His knees wobble, and through his blurry vision he can only just make out a streak of electric teal moving around All For One, landing blow after blow. Several seconds after the blows hit comes a delayed burst of air that threatens to knock Katsuki off his feet as the sound barrier breaks over and over again until Katsuki’s right ear pops. 

He pitches forward, vision turning to black stars at the edges, but at the last second he throws out his leg and slams his boot into the ground. Because he isn’t done yet. He wants undeniable, absolute victory and nothing less. He has to win. He has to. He swore he would kill All For One…

But when he tries to take another step forward, his knees crumple under his weight and he falls, landing onto his bleeding shoulder before rolling onto his back. Katsuki watches a spectacle of rainbow starbursts and wind and light playing out on one of the giant screens that surround the City Circle. 

Real or not real? 

Izuku, Katsuki thinks, as his eyes grow heavy, Do your best. 

Then all the colours bleed into black. 

When he wakes up, it’s to a peculiar but familiar room. 

He had expected the white, sterile walls of one of the rooms in the Capitol hospital, where he had awoken in the burn ward. Instead, it looks like an ordinary bedroom, and one that Katsuki hardly has to strain his foggy brain to remember. He’s in his old room in the Training Centre. The one where he lived during those last precious days before his first Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. The closet across the room gapes open, showing the emptiness inside, but otherwise he would know this room anywhere. 

He sits bolt upright in bed, and then instantly winces and clings to his aching stomach. Looking down at himself, he’s no longer in his Mockingjay outfit, but a plain blue cotton tunic and pants. His whole chest feels tight, and when he pulls down the edges of his shirt he sees his entire torso is snugly secured with crisp white bandages. His right arm is also wrapped in thick bandages, immobilized ramrod straight at his side. He tries to lift it, and it doesn’t budge. He tries again, shrugging from the shoulder. He has some range of motion there, but when he tries to lift his arm, it’s like the message from his brain doesn’t reach his limb. He stares down at his forearm, willing it to rise, but it remains completely still. Katsuki’s heart begins to pound as a panic rises within him, dulled only by whatever plethora of drugs he’s got running through his system. 

The last few minutes of his life before he had lost consciousness begins to replay in his head, and Katsuki’s good hand instinctively reaches up to rub at the scar on his left temple as his head throbs. He would doubt that any of it had even been real, if he wasn’t sitting here with the obvious wounds to prove it. All For One had obliterated his younger twin brother Yoichi, freed himself of his shackles, killed over a dozen guards, and began to attack Katsuki in the City Circle in front of an audience of thousands, while the rest of the country watched from a screen. Katsuki’s Quirk had some kind of strange awakening of sorts, after All For One had shattered his right arm. His Quirk awakening had allowed him to get in a few hits before All For One’s jagged black tendrils pierced his body. And seconds later, there was a flash of colour, and then—

Katsuki yanks the sheets off his legs and clambers out of bed. He only manages a few steps before a bolt of pain slashes across his body like a hot knife, making him collapse against the dresser. Just then, the door across the room opens, and in walks Toshinori, who halts in place when he sees Katsuki doubled over against the dresser, barely holding up his weight with one working arm. 

“Young Bakugou,” Toshinori says urgently, moving swiftly to Katsuki’s side and taking Katsuki’s weight. He tries to pull Katsuki’s left arm over his shoulder but swears under his breath when Katsuki lets out a yelp of pain. “Shit. Sorry, here, let me…” 

Toshinori moves to Katsuki’s other side and takes his immobile right arm, with the shoulder that isn’t wounded, and half-carries, half-leads Katsuki back to the bed. Toshinori tries to get Katsuki to lay back down, but he refuses, staying seated on the edge of the bed and gripping Toshinori’s arm.

Then Katsuki speaks for the first time since his mother’s death. “Is Deku alive?” 

Toshinori’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and then his shoulders slump in relief. “Nice to hear your voice again, kiddo.” 

Katsuki’s grip on Toshinori’s elbow tightens. “Toshi—”

“Just take it easy, everything is fine,” Toshinori assures him, “He’s alive. And All For One is—he’s…he’s gone. Young Midoriya took him down.” 

Katsuki has a million questions, and opens his mouth to see which one will tumble out first, but Toshinori cuts him off, “I’ll explain everything, young man, I promise. But, let’s get you some food, something for the pain, and change your dressings, alright?”

Toshinori has a tray of food delivered to the room, along with a container of his medications for dessert. Katsuki listens quietly to Toshinori explain as he nibbles on small bites of food, takes his pills, and Toshinori unravels the bandaging from his torso and rubs salve on the two sunburst-shaped scars visible on his left shoulder and the right side of his abdomen, as well as the two matching scars on his back, where the tendrils had pierced him clean through. 

After Katsuki passed out, there was pandemonium. The City Circle was evacuated of civilians while Izuku took on All For One with the awakened power of One For All. It turned out that All For One had some kind of regenerative Quirk that made him younger and younger the more damage he took. Eventually, Izuku was able to land enough blows to reduce All For One into nothing more than a few cells that scattered into dust in the winter wind. The City Circle was ravaged in the battle, torn apart by the destructive power of the two colliding forces. 

After the battle was won, the first big televised event that followed was the inauguration of the newly elected president of Panem: Keigo Takami. Previously known by his Capitol name, Hawks. An emergency election was thrown together and Hawks was voted in as the new president, with Mina appointed as secretary of communications—which means she sets the programming for the airwaves. 

“Where’s Izuku?” Katsuki asks, as Toshinori finishes reapplying his chest bandaging and lays him back down on the bed. 

“He was in a coma for a while after the battle,” Toshinori raises his hands to quickly guide Katsuki down onto his back again before he continues, “He woke up a few days ago, but…he doesn’t remember much about his fight with All For One. He put a lot of damage on his body during the battle, and so he’s still recuperating from that, and I think with the remnants of his hijacking, along with the coma…it’s made him extremely confused. He’s been in therapy with Dr. Yoshida, but it’s been slow going. If he tries to bring up memories of the fight, Young Midoriya goes into a sort of fugue state and his Quirk starts going out of control. Black tendrils and purple smoke everywhere. They keep having to knock him out, so he’s under heavy sedation most of the time.” 

Katsuki feels very, very cold all over. “So he’s…worse than before?” 

Toshinori frowns. “I honestly can’t say. It’s a step backwards, but…they’re working on it. His body and mind went under a great deal of stress. It’s going to take time.”

“I need to see him,” Katsuki demands. 

Toshinori sighs. “It’s not smart right now, kid,” he says, “He’s even more volatile than he was when we first brought him back to Thirteen. Especially with that Quirk of his. It wouldn’t be safe for you or Young Midoriya. You and I are being sent back home until further notice.” 

“Home?” 

“Back to Twelve,” Toshinori says, “Seems they don’t know what to do with us otherwise.” 

And how could they? Without a war to fight and no real home to go back to, what would they know what to do with a pair of victors like them? 

Katsuki spends another day in his room in the Training Centre. His chest dressings are once again removed and more salve is applied. Then, the bandaging around his arm is removed for the first time, allowing Katsuki to limp to the shower and program the gentlest cycle he can remember, free of any soaps or hair products, and stand in the warm spray for a long, long time.

His right arm, Toshinori explained to him when the dressings got removed, underwent a major reconstructive surgery. A great number of bone segments had to be joined and set in order to attempt to reshape the limb, but even with intensive rehabilitation, it wasn’t guaranteed that Katsuki would ever fully get back the use of his arm. On top of that, fresh skin grafts had to be reapplied, since the intense recoil from his Quirk had caused the still-healing laboratory-grown cells—already crumpled from when All For One crushed his arm—to shred apart like paper, leaving Katsuki with an arm even more frail and misshapen than it had been from the burns it sustained from the parachute bombing. After he’s done showering, a sling and a tight compression brace are provided for him to wear. The compression sleeve covers his arm from his wrist to the middle of his bicep. It protects the delicate skin grafts and scar tissue, stimulates blood flow and protects the traumatized bone, muscle, and skin from further re-injury. It also keeps the horrific scars out of Katsuki’s line of sight, which he appreciates. The ugly, lumpy scar on his left forearm from when the tracker got ripped out by Uraraka suddenly doesn’t seem so bad in comparison. 

Another meal is sent up to him of roasted meat and buttered bread, and his morphling tablet has shrunk in size since his dose from yesterday. Seems they were trying to wean him off the stuff. 

Once he’s fed, hydrated, bathed and clothed in warm winter garb—the latter of which Toshinori tries to assist with, but Katsuki refuses his help, determined to dress himself one-handed—Toshinori then leads Katsuki up onto the roof of the Training Centre where a hovercraft is awaiting them. It’s all too familiar to how he was escorted to both of his Games. He finds himself frozen in the doorway unable to breathe for several minutes before Toshinori coaxes him out onto the tiled roof. The distant sound of the windchimes hanging from the potted trees over in the gardens has Katsuki recalling the last time he and Izuku were on this roof together, in the final days leading up to the Quarter Quell. He thinks of the song he played on the guitar, and how Izuku had wished to freeze that moment in time and live in it forever. Katsuki clings to that memory as he steps onto the rungs of the ladder and is carried up inside the hovercraft. 

He’s fastened into a seat with Toshinori and Hawks—President Takami now, Katsuki must remind himself—sitting across from him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen President Takami in such a good mood; he’s practically glowing as he regales Katsuki with the details of the election, which Katsuki didn’t ask for, but he tells him anyway. 

Hawks leans back in his seat with a weary sigh. “I’m’a be honest, I really wasn’t expecting to get elected. Figured nobody would want anyone Capitol-born runnin’ the country. But I threw my hat in the ring anyway, and well…here I am. It’s some big shoes to fill, but I suppose so long as I don’t start shippin’ off children into a deadly battle royale, I won’t be doin’ too bad. Gettin’ everyone’s Quirks reinstated is gonna be a huge pain. Whole lotta paperwork and new laws to be written...” 

Katsuki thinks of All For One’s ability to steal other people’s Quirks and use them for his own. If someone like him could be born with a Quirk like that, then who was to say someone else couldn’t come down the pipeline with a Quirk deadly enough to wipe out humanity? Just because Yoichi had believed that everyone deserved to have Quirks didn’t mean it was the only way for society to move forward. And what about those who were Quirkless? Wasn’t it just yet another way for them to divide? The Capitol and the districts. Town and Seam. Quirk and Quirkless. It sounded like just another way for all of them to decide one was better than the other, another way to pit them all against each other. 

“Isn’t abolishin’ the Games enough?” Katsuki asks him, “Aren’t you worried that lettin’ everyone have a Quirk will just lead us right into another war?” 

President Takami shrugs a little. “I guess. But, it won’t happen now. Right now we’re in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated. But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great penchant for self-destruction. But, who knows? Maybe this will be it.” 

“What?” 

“The time it sticks,” Takami says, “Maybe we’re witnessing the evolution of the human race. And I’m of the opinion that anything old can be made new again—like democracy. We’re all part of a continuum, after all. Quirks might be a new thing for us, but not for our ancestors. Just as we learned from the mistakes of our own history, we’ll learn from them, too. And hopefully not fall into the bad habit of repeating ourselves.”

They land briefly in District 3 to drop off President Takami, who is meeting with Kaminari and Mina to update the technology on the broadcast system. Before he steps onto the ladder, President Takami looks over his shoulder and gives Katsuki the same two-finger salute and parting words from the very first time they met. “Be seein’ you,” he says, “Don’t be a stranger now.” 

When they’re back up in the air, Toshinori makes Katsuki eat a sandwich and take another dose of his medicine. This time, there isn’t any morphling tablet at all. For a while, Toshinori goes over some instructions for Katsuki given to him by Dr. Yoshida about his continued treatment of his wounds. And, now that Katsuki is speaking again, he will be continuing their therapy sessions over the phone. Eventually, he pretends to believe that Katsuki has fallen asleep and busies himself by going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it away in his bag. 

It’s night time when they land on the green of the Victor’s Village. Half of the twelve houses have lights in the windows, including Toshinori’s and Katsuki’s. Izuku’s house is one of the few left in darkness, and it creeps up on Katsuki once again that it’s because he is still in the Capitol. After everything, Katsuki has left Izuku behind yet again to the custody of the Capitol. He tries to reassure himself that this is not nearly as life-threatening as it had been before; that with All For One gone, with the rebels having won the war, the Capitol was no longer a place to fear. That Izuku was there to receive help, not endure more torment. But no matter what he tells himself, he feels no comfort. In fact, he doesn’t feel much of anything at all. 

Someone has built a fire in Katsuki’s kitchen. Katsuki sits down in a chair in front of the fire, staring into the flickering flames. Toshinori rests a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says. Then he leaves, his bag of liquor bottles clinking together, the sound fading away until the front door closes behind him. 

Katsuki is unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark. Katsuki pulls a blanket hanging off the back of the chair to wrap clumsily around his shoulders one-handed as he continues to watch the flames. He supposes he must sleep, because the next thing he knows, it’s morning and a hungover Toshinori is banging around at the stove. He’s never seen Toshinori use his own kitchen once, but he manages to make some eggs and toast that are only a little bit burnt, and sits there until Katsuki has eaten it all, one slow bite at a time. It feels alien to use his left hand to hold his utensil and guide the bites of charred egg to his mouth. The egg keeps slipping off the tines of his fork, forcing Katsuki to start over from the beginning, until eventually he gives up on the fork altogether and grabs the last few pieces of egg up with his fingers, sticks it on his remaining bites of toast and shoves it all into his mouth. 

He and Toshinori don’t talk much. After breakfast, Toshinori washes the dishes and leaves, and shows up again at dinnertime to make Katsuki eat again. It’s a strange sort of role reversal. During their time between the first Games and the Quell, Katsuki had been the one showing up to Toshinori’s place to keep his house clean and make sure he soaked up some of the alcohol in his system with food. Toshinori is from the Seam, too, and knows all about repaying his debts. Katsuki has to assume it must be that—unless he’s somehow on some kind of government payroll as Katsuki’s caretaker—because it’s not like Toshinori to simply be neighbourly. Katsuki supposes he’s doing it purely out of a sense of obligation. Without Mitsuki here, there’s no one to make sure Katsuki is taking care of himself. Although, if his mother were here, Katsuki might not have that issue. But then again, her absence isn’t the only one that is carving a cavernous hole in Katsuki’s chest. 

After several days, he begins to experience withdrawal from being taken off the morphling practically cold turkey instead of being gradually weaned off of it bit by bit like he had in District 13. He must have been on a fairly large dose this time around, because when the craving for it hits, it’s accompanied by tremors, shooting pains, and unbearable cold, and Katsuki turns into a feral beast. And the target of all of his wrath is Toshinori. Despite Katsuki hurling every cruel, colourful word in the book at him, his old mentor still shows up twice a day to make sure he’s fed and taking the medications he is allowed to have. Katsuki rips off his sling and attempts to use his right hand to eat, but he can’t even close his hand into a fist, much less hold a fork. Several untensils, cups, and plates of food are thrown to the ground when Katsuki’s withdrawal-fuelled frustration spikes. Some days, Toshinori cleans up his messes without a word or so much as a grimace. Other days he walks out without a word and doesn’t return until hours later to pick up what Katsuki had whipped across the room or shattered to pieces on the kitchen floor.

Sometimes the phone rings and rings and rings, but Katsuki never picks it up. Katsuki continues not to leave the house. He doesn’t even leave the kitchen, except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. He’s still in the same clothes he left the Capitol in. All he does is stare into the fire that he’s kept going ever since his return, or at the pile of letters accumulating on the mantel. He had unplugged his phone in a fit of rage one day, ripping the cord out of the wall and plotting to toss the whole lot into his fire or out the window until Toshinori stopped him. For a while, the house was silent. Once the worst of Katsuki’s symptoms from the withdrawal of the morphling had finally subsided, the ringing started again. Toshinori must have reconnected the phone line. But Katsuki continues to ignore it. 

The snow slowly stops accumulating on the ledge of the windowsill, until one day it melts altogether and doesn’t return. Katsuki’s only visitor continues to be Toshinori. But after weeks of solitary confinement, even he feels like a crowd.

“Spring is in the air,” Toshinori tells him over breakfast one morning, “You ought to get out.”

That’s rich, coming from Toshinori of all people, who outside from his two visits a day to Katsuki’s house to make breakfast and dinner, stays cooped up inside his own house drinking all day. The mail on Katsuki’s mantle has gotten out of hand, the pile growing so tall it had started to topple, so today Toshinori has all of the mail beside him on the table, and has taken it upon himself to open each of them up with his knife in between bites of eggs (which he’s gotten better about not burning, at least not as often—it depends on how hungover he is). He offers updates here and there that he feels Katsuki would take interest in; it’s the first information about the outside world either of them have taken in for months. Other than the news about Kirishima landing some government job in District 2, there isn’t much else Katsuki cares to hear about. There’s no updates about Izuku. 

“You ought to go hunting,” Toshinori suggests as he gathers up their plates. It’s the first time he’s ever bothered to try and get Katsuki to leave the house, much less do anything besides sit in the kitchen looking at his fire. 

“I don’t have a bow,” Katsuki says. And he’s pretty sure he couldn’t shoot, even if he did have one. He’s managed to curl his fingers into a fist and lift his arm from the table, so long as he starts from the shoulder, but there hasn’t been much more progress than that. Not that he’s really tried much. 

“Check down the hall,” Toshinori tells him. 

After Toshinori leaves, Katsuki considers a trip down the hall. He rules it out for several hours, and then decides to go, walking on silent feet so as not to awaken the ghosts. In the study, he finds a box containing his effects from District 13. His father’s hunting jacket, his game bag, the plant book, the spile from the clock arena, two bows and a sheath of arrows, and his parent’s wedding photo, lying face down in the bottom of the box. Katsuki leaves it where it is, unable to bring himself to look. 

Katsuki leaves all the other items in the box equally as untouched, safe for his father’s hunting jacket, which he pulls on awkwardly as he leaves the room, draping it over his shoulders without putting either of his arms in the sleeves, but just the weight of it brings him a small trace of its usual comfort. As he curls up on the sofa in the living room, he suddenly remembers that his pearl was not amongst the personal items. He strains his brain, trying to recall what he had done with it, when he would have had it last. And then he remembers. It was in the utility belt of the costume Hakamada had made for the invasion of the Capitol. The right sleeve of that outfit was no doubt cooked to his flesh when the parachute bombs went off in front of the president’s mansion, where—

Pain lances through Katsuki’s chest. Yes, he doesn’t need the wedding photo to see his mother’s face. He sees it all the time, wreathed in flames. Every waking moment, every time he blinks, and in his sleep. And now he has the realization that he lost his pearl in the same moment he lost her. His last piece of the old Izuku, of Deku, was taken by an explosion. Just like his father. Then his mother. And now Deku, too. 

Everything he loves explodes. 

It’s his last dreadful thought before sleep pulls him under. 

Chapter Text

xi.

The nightmare that visits him is not about explosions like he expects it to be—they’ve taken over his dreams again of late, the same way they did his whole life, from the time Katsuki lost his father up until he went into the first arena. Instead, he dreams about lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person he knows by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on top of him. It’s quite a long dream, considering the list of people, and the deeper he’s buried, the harder it is to breathe. The ashes fill his mouth and nose and ears, until he can’t make out any sound, and still the shovel scrapes on and on and on…

Katsuki wakes with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. Half in the nightmare, Katsuki finds he can’t breathe, like his lungs are still full of ashes. Chest heaving for air, Katsuki springs up from the sofa, his father’s jacket slipping off his shoulders. He snatches it up and struggles his arms into the sleeves as he runs down the hall. Back in the study, he snatches one of the bows and a quiver of arrows from the box. At the front door, he tracks down a pair of laceless boots that he can shove his feet into, and then he heads outside for the first time in months. The early spring air pummels his nose with its familiar scent, clearing dusty cobwebs from his brain.

He heads towards town, planning to exit 12 through the meadow. Near the old town square, there are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts, all sifting through what lay under the snow that winter and gathering remains. Katsuki keeps moving, keeping a wide berth as he passes. He can’t tell who the people are behind their hats and face masks, but he assumes they must all be previous inhabitants of 12. The families of the dead, here to collect the ashes of their loved ones who couldn’t escape the firebombs. 

All through the town and the Seam, it’s the same. The reaping of the dead. As he nears the ruins of his old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The meadow is gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug and is being lined with bones for a mass grave. Katsuki skirts around the hole and enters the woods at his usual place. Not that it matters. The fence isn’t charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. 

Katsuki considers going to the lake, but he’s so weak that he barely makes it to his old meeting place with Kirishima. He sits on the rock where Jirou had filmed them, but it’s too wide without Kirishima’s body sitting beside him. Katsuki tries closing his eyes and counting to ten, thinking that when he opens them, Kirishima will have materialized next to him. He has to remind himself that Kirishima is in District 2 with a fancy job now.

It is the old Katsuki’s favourite kind of day to hunt, with the woods awakening after a long winter. But the spurt of restless energy that his nightmare had caused is quickly fading away. He doesn’t end up catching a thing, of course. He had brought his bow and arrows out of instinct, but his right arm is useless. He can’t even lift it into the air, much less pull back a bowstring. He’s so weak and dizzy by the time he makes it back to the fence that he has to hitch a ride back home in one of the dead people’s carts. He collapses down onto his chair in the kitchen, and watches dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light.

There’s a sudden, sharp hiss, and Katsuki’s head snaps up at the sound. 

Real or not real? 

It takes a while to convince himself of what he’s seeing. Katsuki takes in the sight of the creature standing on the kitchen counter, the claw marks of some wild animal scoring his side, his back paw held slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his ugly face. Katsuki doesn’t know how it could even be possible, but Tiger must have come on foot all the way from District 13. Maybe they kicked him out, or maybe he just couldn’t stand it there anymore—not without her—and came looking.  

“It was a waste of a trip,” Katsuki mutters, “She’s not here.” 

Tiger hisses at him again. 

“You can hiss all you want,” Katsuki tells him, “She’s not here. You won’t find the hag.” 

Katsuki’s chest twinges with a strange guilt at the same time that Tiger’s flattened ears perk up at the familiar word, and he begins to meow hopefully. 

Katsuki shoots up from the chair, hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides. “Get out,” he growls. 

He storms across the kitchen towards Tiger, snatching a mug from the counter and hurling it towards him. Thrown with his non-dominant hand, it misses Tiger completely and shatters against the wall. Tiger doesn’t budge. Katsuki’s whole body quakes with fury. 

“Get out! Go away!” 

He finds another cup and hurls it towards Tiger, but he misses again. Tiger continues to stare at him with his big yellow eyes. After everything this cat has been through in such a short time, Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t even scared of thunder anymore. The howling boy and loud crash of shattering glass doesn’t send him scampering away like it would any other feline. For some reason the thought just infuriates Katsuki even more. He snatches up whatever is in reach—cutlery, empty bottles, a plate—and throws it across the room.

“Get OUT!” Katsuki screams. He moves over to the counter, raising his good arm into the air, poised to strike. Tiger doesn’t flinch, or even flatten his ears. “Get the FUCK OUT! She’s GONE! She’s gone and she’s never coming back! There’s nothing left for you here! GET OUT!” 

Out of nowhere, tears begin to pour down his cheeks. He crumples down to his knees, hand clinging to the edge of the counter as his shoulders tremble with sobs. 

“She’s dead,” Katsuki croaks, “She’s dead, you stupid fucking cat. She’s dead. Sh-she’s dead…”

Tiger circles him, just out of Katsuki’s reach, as wave after wave of sobs rack his body. Eventually Katsuki curls up into a ball on the floor.

Hours later, Katsuki comes to. He’s in his bed, with no memory of how he got there. Toshinori must have come upon him and carried him upstairs. Tiger is there, crouched beside him, guarding him from the night. His alert yellow eyes glow in the moonlight. 

Suddenly, Katsuki becomes aware of a faint yet cloying scent lingering in the air. And that’s when Katsuki realises. He hasn’t been back in his room since he first visited 12 after the bombing. Hasn’t dared to set foot back inside, because—

Tiger gives him an affronted scowl and confused trill as Katsuki shoots sharply upright and looks across the dimly-lit room. It’s still there. The white rose among the dead flowers in the vase on his dresser. Shrivelled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection. Katsuki drags himself out of bed and grabs the vase, stumbling downstairs to the kitchen, and throws the entire contents of the vase into the embers of the fire. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Katsuki smashes the vase on the floor for good measure. 

Back upstairs, where Tiger is now perched on his pillow, Katsuki throws open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of All For One’s stench. But it still lingers, on his clothes and in his pores. He strips down, and flakes of skin cling to the garments. Pieces of dead skin the size of playing cards come off in sheets from his right forearm as he peels away the compression sleeve, revealing the baby pink skin grafts underneath, shiny and raw. Avoiding the mirror, he steps into the shower and meticulously, frantically scrubs the stench of roses from his hair, his body, and his mouth. He attempts to use his right arm, trying to grab at bottles of shampoo and body wash, but losing his grip and dropping them to the floor of the shower stall. Bright pink and tingling, he finds something clean to wear, struggling to pull on his shirt with his limp arm, and then he spends half an hour brushing the mats from his hair. 

Tiger follows Katsuki downstairs, where Katsuki feeds the clothes and the compression sleeve he shed into the fire. Then Tiger sits stoically as Katsuki cleans out his cuts. Digging the thorn out of his paw brings on a round of kitten mewls, which somehow gets Katsuki crying himself again. Tiger wails along with him, and the two of them comfort each other. 

Then he washes Tiger in the sink, which makes the cat look even uglier once he’s sopping wet. It takes ages for the water to come away clean, partly because Tiger is just that filthy, and also because Katsuki has to mostly wash him with one hand, though his right arm gains a tiny bit of mobility the more he attempts to use it. Tiger’s ribs are even more visible with his fur stuck against him. Katsuki dries him off the best he can with a towel, keeping it wrapped around him with just his flattened face poking out as he sits in the rocking chair by the fire, with a blanket and a bundled-up, semi-damp Tiger across his lap.

He scratches the cat between the ears, just like his mother used to do. Even though he’s sure it isn’t the same as her touch, Tiger eventually starts up his crackly purr that had only ever been reserved for Mitsuki. He must understand, must know that the unthinkable has happened, and so in order to survive it will require previously unthinkable acts such as this. It soothes Katsuki to sleep all the same. 

In the morning, Toshinori shows up and makes eggs and toast again, along with some bacon shipped in from District 10. Katsuki feeds all of his bacon to Tiger. 

“I’m goin’ hunting today,” Katsuki announces. 

“Good,” Toshinori says, “I wouldn’t mind some fresh game.” 

Katsuki arms himself with his bow, arrows, a hunting knife, and his father’s jacket, and steps outside into the fragrant spring air. Inhaling deep, the scent ignites him. He still doesn’t make it far past his and Kirishima’s old rendezvous, and he’s in the woods for several hours longer than usual, as most of the time is used trying to rig up snares, which keep falling apart without any of the usual dexterity in the fingers of his right hand—what he wouldn’t give for Kirishima to be here to whip up his trusty snares right about now. He also tries learning how to shoot with his left hand. His left hand can pull the bow string back decently taut, but he can’t keep the bow held aloft for very long with his shaky right arm. He tries to hold the bow in his left hand, as he usually would, and yank the bowstring back with his teeth, which is cumbersome and awkward, and he loses an arrow deep into the brush for his effort. Even still, he is determined not to leave empty-handed this time. He refuses to let All For One take any more from him than he already has.

By early evening, he’s got a single squirrel hung from his belt, shot through the body instead of cleanly through the eye, but he’s just relieved he managed to hit his mark at all. It would have been a rather pitiful haul if not for the turkey stuffed in his game bag—it must’ve had something wrong with it’s foot, because it had been hobbling lamely through the trees and made for easy-pickings. Katsuki brought it down, rather unceremoniously, by tackling it to the forest floor, crushing its body down with his knees while he hacked off its head with his hunting knife. Along with the rather mangled turkey, his game bag is also chock full of some wild butterbur he found in abundance by a riverbank.

He’s in good spirits as he makes his way back to the Victor’s Village. Toshinori can hardly fry an egg most days, and Katsuki would hate for the turkey to go to waste. Perhaps he’ll attempt to cook dinner himself tonight. Succeeding in his hunt despite the handicap of his right arm has instilled a determined confidence within him to regain even more of his independence. 

He pulls up short when he sees smoke billowing out from a chimney that has been dormant for months. Katsuki hurries across the green and freezes when he sees him, nailing some kind of wooden structure together on the green in front of his house. 

Real or not real? 

He walks slowly, not daring himself to even blink, afraid it might just be a trick of the light. A mirage. A hallucination. Katsuki comes to a stop, hovering just at the edge of the green as their eyes meet. Green eyes staring into red. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says. 

”Hi,” Izuku says.

”You’re back,” Katsuki murmurs, “You came home.” 

Izuku nods. “Dr. Yoshida wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. I just got in late last night,” he says.

He looks good, Katsuki thinks. Both of his bare arms are covered in burn scars, the same as Katsuki’s right arm. They’re both fire mutts now. His hair is styled a bit differently, with the right side a few inches shorter than the rest of his curls, and parted on the side, revealing a patch of his forehead and a thin scar by his hairline. There’s another, larger scar on his right cheek that stretches from his jaw to just below his eye. His eyes no longer have that clouded, tortured look in them. 

“By the way, he said to tell you that he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever,” Izuku tells him, “You have to pick up the phone, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki’s heart leaps at the nickname. The last time Izuku had called him that, they were in the Capitol sewers, and during one of Izuku’s brief moments of lucidity he had called out Katsuki’s name. There had been so much going on at the time, Katsuki hadn’t been able to award it much thought, but looking back he realises that Izuku must have been actively avoiding saying Katsuki’s name. It must have been strange for Izuku’s hijacked brain to fathom that a dangerous mutt was called Kacchan, after all. 

“What are you doing?” Katsuki asks. 

Izuku looks back at the project laying on the grass. “I’m building a trellis. I got some seed starters from the Capitol, so I was going to plant some flowers.” 

“Your freckles are gone,” Katsuki remarks suddenly, and internally winces. Has he really gotten this much worse at holding a conversation with all those months in isolation? 

Izuku doesn’t seem bothered by it. “I know. But they’ll come back,” he assures him, “I’ve had freckles reappear over scars before. Thankfully lots of fresh air and sun is part of Dr. Yoshida’s homecare instructions for me, so I’m sure they’ll be back in no time.” 

Katsuki supposes that thought makes him feel a little better. He takes in the sight of Izuku, and suddenly finds himself grateful that he had finally managed to bathe last night. It would have been awfully embarrassing to have run into Izuku again after all this time covered in a layer of dead skin and grime with matted, dirty hair. He’s a little sweaty from his hours spent hunting in the woods, but his fresh sweat has taken on a sort of smoky-sweetness ever since his Quirk had its strange awakening during his fight with All For One.

Emboldened by this fact and the lack of lost fogginess in Izuku’s forest-green eyes, Katsuki closes the gap between them and wraps his good arm around Izuku’s shoulders, pulling him close. This time, Izuku’s arms don’t delay to return the hold. They’re still a little thin, but wrap around Katsuki with a firmness that feels like the wisps of Izuku’s old strength. Much like his freckles, perhaps the feeling of Izuku’s strong arms was not lost forever, either. It would just take some time. 

Dinner that night is a feast. For the first time in ages, and much to Toshinori’s relief, Katsuki mans the kitchen. With Izuku’s help, he plucks and cooks the turkey he caught, makes a rich gravy from its giblets and drippings, and boils and mashes potatoes shipped in from District 11. Izuku supplies a can of puréed cranberries that he brought home from the Capitol, a loaf of bread he baked that morning full of nuts and seeds, and makes a stuffing for the turkey. Katsuki prepares the butterbur he foraged by rubbing it with salt and boiling it. They set the table in the formal dining room; it’s the very first time Katsuki’s ever bothered to use it—he’s taken all his meals at the smaller table in the kitchen up until now. Tiger gets a feast of his own with a shallow saucer of warmed-up cow’s milk from 10, and a bowl with the turkey’s neck, liver and heart, all drizzled with a little bit of gravy.

“I don’t even think we ate this good during last year’s Harvest Festival at Mayor Aizawa’s,” Izuku sighs. His mouth is full, but he has the decency to at least cover his mouth with his hand as he speaks. “The meat sent in from Ten is good, but nothing beats fresh game…” 

“I want to swim in this gravy,” Toshinori says, soaking up a puddle of the giblet gravy with the nutty bread and then licking it off his fingers. 

Katsuki makes no comment on the meal, but steals glances to his companions at the table; he’s at the head of the table with Toshinori on his left and Izuku on his right. Izuku regales them about his time in the Capitol and his treatment with Dr. Yoshida, and his plans to plant trees around town and start a garden so he can have some flavourful herbs readily available for his baking; things like dill and thyme and savoury.

There’s a couple of empty chairs, missing those that are too far away, and others that are beyond their reach in other, permanent ways. But even with that bittersweet feeling clutching at his chest, Katsuki takes in the scene around him, and commits it to memory.

Katsuki sets out again early in the morning with an empty game bag over his shoulder. The townsfolk are hard at work, up before dawn like Katsuki. Now that the remains of their dead have been buried and the earth of the meadow is packed back down, the rebuilding efforts in town have begun in earnest. 

There’s a dry stretch in the alien skin of his right arm that he began to notice around mid-afternoon yesterday, and it’s only gotten worse in the time since. He doesn’t know much about skin transplants, but he’s surprised it somehow feels worse since he finally bathed. Maybe the new skin was just strained after finally being moved after months of neglect. 

He left extra early in the morning to give himself plenty of time to go far afield. He heads deep into the woods, past the lake, to brand new hunting grounds. The wild creatures this far out here may be less timid and larger, but Katsuki has certainly killed more terrifying things than bears. Besides, it feels good to be in uncharted territory, untainted by the melancholy that familiarity brings, like the dandelions that had begun to sprout in the meadow. The meadow that’s now a graveyard for his people. 

The dark exhaustion he was lost in for all of those months—when the fight finally left him and only grief remained in its wake—is finally beginning to seep out of his bones. And it makes him glad to have been brought back to 12, instead of being confined somewhere else without any memories. First of all, where would a place like that even be? He’s been to every district in this country, and most of them are associated with the faces of the dead. No, it has to be here. He has to learn to love this place again, or he’ll never love any place again. 

By late afternoon, his game bag is full of wild onions and dill to give to Izuku, a duck and a nest of its eggs he found, and five squirrels, two of which are shot cleanly through the eye. If his arm was working properly, he would have easily brought down at least a dozen squirrels and probably bagged another duck, or some other waterfowl. But there’s definitely a small amount of improvement with his mobility. He was able to bring down the duck with an arrow instead of messily beheading it like the turkey. He shot it through the body, forcing him to break its neck to end its suffering, but it was improvement nonetheless. Although his skin is still tingling sharply. 

On his way back through town, he gives a squirrel to whoever happens to cross his path on the way back to the Victor’s Village. People’s gratitude is genuine, as is their delight to see Katsuki out and about. They try to offer things to Katsuki in return for the squirrels, so used to the system of a fair trade are the good people of 12, but Katsuki turns them all down. 

He’s feeling overheated by the time he makes it back to the Victor’s Village. Nine of the twelve houses there are full of multiple families, two or three in each building. Seam folks who are used to limited space. But Katsuki, Izuku, and Toshinori’s homes still only hold one person each. Their special status feels ridiculous and undeserved, but after all those months on his own Katsuki can’t imagine opening his doors to anyone. It was invigorating being back outdoors, but that was in the privacy and peaceful solitude of his forest. He could still only take so much human interaction; perhaps even less so than he could handle before. Maybe that’s why he was feeling so hot under the collar; all of that socialising just now had been more exerting than the hours he had spent hunting in the woods. 

He rids the duck of its feathers and innards, then takes his bundle of wild onions and dill and heads to Izuku’s. He lingers for a moment at the front door, realising for the first time that he’s never come to Izuku’s house. In the months after their first Games and before the Victory Tour when they had first moved into the Victor’s Village, Izuku and Katsuki had given each other a wide berth. And even after they had patched up the cracks in their friendship and returned home from the tour, Katsuki had never set foot inside Izuku’s house even once. With a suddenly unsteady hand, Katsuki knocks on the door. 

It takes a moment, but eventually Izuku arrives at the door, blinking curiously at the sight of Katsuki standing there clutching a bundle of dill and onions like it’s the world’s shittiest bouquet. Katsuki quickly pushes them towards Izuku. 

“I found these. You said you wanted things for bread,” Katsuki mumbles. 

“Oh, thank you very much,” Izuku says graciously, wiping his palms off on the front of his pants before accepting the bundle of greens with an awed expression on his face. It suddenly drops into a concerned frown as their hands brush when the onions and dill pass between them. 

Katsuki hastily pulls away. “I was, uh…gonna make a casserole or something with the leftovers from the turkey dinner last night. Come by if you want to.” 

Katsuki turns to leave, but Izuku calls out quickly, “Kacchan, wait.” 

His heart leaps pathetically at the sound of Izuku saying his name again, and he turns around on the porch to lift an eyebrow questioningly. Izuku steps through the threshold and closer to Katsuki, bringing up his free hand to rest the backs of his fingers against Katsuki’s cheek. Katsuki’s heart does another even more pathetic lurch at the unexpected contact.

Izuku frowns again. “You’re burning up,” he says. 

“What? I’m fine,” Katsuki says, “I just went past my old hunting grounds today, and I’m still pretty rusty, so…took a lot outta me, I guess.” 

Izuku presses his hand to his own forehead, and then rests his palm on Katsuki’s, brushing his bangs aside for access. Katsuki’s pulse is jackrabbiting in his throat and he feels lightheaded. Well, more lightheaded than he had already been feeling, anyway. 

“This isn’t just some overheating. You’re definitely running a fever,” Izuku says. “Here, come inside.” 

Before Katsuki can protest, Izuku is taking him by the wrist and leading him into his house. It smells like bread and dust inside, and something else Katsuki can’t place, but it’s medicinal and somewhat piney. Izuku leads them into the kitchen and guides Katsuki into a chair. He fetches him a glass of water and a fever pill, which Katsuki takes obediently even though he’s still pretty sure his feverishness is simply from a bit of overexertion and not an actual fever. 

His right arm is starting to get horrendously itchy, so Katsuki shimmies off his hunting jacket and drapes it over the arm of his chair to let his skin breathe. Izuku lets out a gasp and Katsuki looks up at him in confusion. He’s halfway back to the table with a plate of sliced bread, his eyes wide with shock. 

“Kacchan, your arm.” 

Katsuki looks down at his arm with a frown, suddenly feeling defensive. “What? Your arms have got burns and shit, too.”

“Not like this. Yours are too red and shiny. Have you been taking your medicine?” 

Katsuki shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“And what do you do for physical therapy?” 

“Just tryin’ to use it how I always would. I gotta shoot left-handed now, though. Tried to use my teeth but that didn’t really work out.”

Izuku frowns a little at this response, but doesn’t press him on the matter. “And what about the salve?” 

“…What salve?” 

Izuku blinks rapidly. “You should have been sent some. An aftercare kit from the hospital to treat the skin grafts. There would have been an antiviral pill to take until all your new skin grows in, and a salve to keep the skin hydrated.” 

“Maybe it got lost in the mail,” Katsuki says dismissively, “Toshi never gave me anythin’ like that.” 

Izuku looks absolutely beside himself. “How on earth have you left it for this long?” 

Katsuki looks sullenly down at his bright red arm. He thinks of those large patches of old skin that had peeled away from his right arm when he finally removed the clothes and the compression sleeve that he had been wearing for months. All that dead skin must have acted as a protective—albeit disgusting—coating for the skin grafts. And the compression sleeve had locked everything in, too. Once he had exposed the skin underneath, the raw flesh was highly susceptible to infection. His romps through the forest getting his nitroglycerin-like sweat into his pores had likely expedited the process. He doesn’t exactly feel like saying any of this to Izuku, who has been using his time away to try and get better, and diligently using the medications he was given, meanwhile Katsuki locked himself inside questioning his existence and letting his skin rot. 

Izuku sighs gratingly at Katsuki’s stubborn lack of response. “You might need antibiotics. We can order them. Might be a few days until it gets here, though.”

Izuku gets Katsuki to have a few slices of bread and a few more glasses of water. The fever pill helps with Katsuki’s temperature a little, but he’s still flushed. Izuku walks Katsuki back to his house and Izuku roots around by the mantle where Katsuki says all his mail had been kept the last few months. He finds a thick envelope wedged down in the corner, hidden from view. It must have slipped off the pile at some point, so Toshinori never opened it. Sure enough, it contains a letter from Dr. Yoshida with care instructions, rehab exercises with illustrations, a tub of salve, and a bottle of antiviral pills. Katsuki is starting to feel bone-deep aches throughout his body and chills as he takes the antiviral. Izuku sends Katsuki upstairs to his room, where Katsuki changes into thin, soft clothes before bundling under his covers. Izuku returns a few minutes later with a cup of tea and the tub of salve. 

As soon as Izuku opens the tub, Katsuki recognizes the scent as the sweet, medicinal and piney smell he’d noticed when he entered Izuku’s house. He remembers how Izuku had wiped his palms on his shirtfront before accepting the herbs from Katsuki, and upon closer inspection now, Katsuki can see Izuku’s forearms have a slight sheen to them. The same faint, lingering scent, Katsuki realises, came from Izuku himself. Katsuki holds out his arm and allows Izuku to apply the cooling balm to his forearm, which makes Katsuki’s eyelashes flutter with relief. Then he cups his mug in both hands as his fever-chills continue to rack his body. 

“I gotta make dinner,” Katsuki grumbles. He can’t think of anything he’d rather do less right now, but it was frustrating to finally be getting back into something he used to enjoy only to have his stupid body betraying him like this. 

“Don’t worry about it. We can just reheat the leftovers,” Izuku tells him. “You should give your arm a break, anyway. You’ve definitely been overworking it. Archery isn’t physical therapy, Kacchan. I don’t even know how you managed to lift the bow, but you’re going to put too much strain on your arm attempting things like that so soon.” 

Katsuki says nothing, glaring down at his arm, skin shiny from the salve and already a lot less angry-red. 

There’s a crackly trill from the foot of the bed as Tiger leaps up onto the mattress and plods over to lay across Katsuki’s legs. Izuku smiles softly at the cat, and strokes down his back. Tiger only allows this for a few milliseconds before he tries to take a chomp out of Izuku’s wrist. Izuku yelps and draws his hand away quickly. 

“Don’t let his kiss-up act fool you,” Katsuki mutters, “He’s still a miserable bastard. Try feeding him some entrails and he might warm up, though.” 

“That feels like cheating,” Izuku mumbles, “Like I’m buying his love or something.” 

“Food is literally the only language he understands.”

Izuku hums thoughtfully. “I guess that old saying might hold some truth,” he says, “The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” 

Katsuki grimaces. “He’s a cat.”

“You said that food is the only language he understands,” Izuku says, “And food is a love language. So I’m sure the saying still applies.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes and slurps on his tea. Izuku rises up from the edge of the bed, and Katsuki quite literally feels the shift in the atmosphere from his absence as his weight leaves the mattress. 

“I’ll just be downstairs. Try and get some sleep.”

“Izuku—“ 

Izuku stops in the doorway, and looks over his shoulder. “Yes?” 

Katsuki takes a deep breath, but finds the words are trapped in his throat. 

Stay with me.  

He can’t bring himself to utter them. He’s too much of a coward to hear the answer. 

Always.

Because what if it’s different? What if it isn’t ‘always’ anymore? What if there’s just too much between them? Or nothing left between them at all? As much as Katsuki has felt himself coming back to life since Izuku came home, he still feels that insistent tugging. The same peculiar tether that kept him from leaving this world since the war ended, since he succumbed to his grief. He never knew how to describe it until just now, and even still it’s only a vague description. But it feels like he’s been waiting for something. And now that Izuku is back, Katsuki has a feeling Izuku is waiting, too. But for what? 

Everything that once comprised whatever their relationship used to be has been replaced by Katsuki’s despondency and the aftereffects of Izuku’s torture. They are back at the beginning. But which one? They have a multitude of beginnings. And all of them with nothing but questions. Katsuki supposes they need answering. Especially that one, overriding question. It’s just that the answer matters so much more to Katsuki than he had bargained for. 

So instead, Katsuki just says, “Welcome home.” 

Izuku smiles at him, and it’s almost like he used to. It’s not quite the same, but it’s not distorted, either. It’s not that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, or is disingenuous. It’s just different. 

But of course, Katsuki is different, too. The old Katsuki burned to death, along with his home, his mother, and his father, and Deku’s pearl. But perhaps just like freckles that would reappear overtop of scar tissue with enough sunlight, and the first dandelions growing over the mound of graveyard soil that was once the meadow, and the structures rising up from the ashes of 12, what’s old can be made new. And maybe it would be different, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe it could even be something kind of good. 

“Good to be back,” Izuku says. 

When Katsuki wakes up again, it’s already morning. He slept straight through the night without even a fever-induced nightmare, and better yet, he feels much better. 

When he heads downstairs, he’s surprised to find that Izuku is there, standing in his kitchen cooking eggs with chopped onions. It smells about a hundred times better than every attempt at frying eggs that Toshinori has made in the last few months. And he has to admit the sight of Izuku standing there at the stove, backlit by the morning sun, also looks a hundred times better…

Izuku perks up when Katsuki enters the room. “Oh! Morning, Kacchan. You’re looking better. I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to those duck eggs. It’s almost ready. Take a seat.” 

Katsuki crosses the room to the kitchen table, and within moments is served a plate of eggs and onions, a glass of water, a cup of tea, and his assortment of pills, including the new antiviral tablet. Katsuki downs the water with all the pills first while Izuku serves himself and takes a seat across from him. When he takes his first bite, Katsuki can’t fight the groan of pleasure that leaves his throat. 

“Fuck, that’s more like it,” he says, eagerly stabbing around for another forkful. “I’m tellin’ Toshi he’s fired. Man can’t cook for shit.” 

Izuku grins, and Katsuki finds himself arrested by the sudden flash of his teeth. It steals the breath straight out of Katsuki’s lungs when Katsuki realises, there it is. Izuku’s smile. His old, true smile. The one Katsuki hasn’t seen since the Quarter Quell. Katsuki ducks his chin and returns to scarfing down his piping hot eggs.

When they finish eating, Izuku collects their dishes and then steps over to press his palm to Katsuki’s forehead again. Katsuki is rooted into place in his chair. “Looks like your fever has broken. Maybe you won’t need that antibiotic, after all.” 

“Good thing, too. We ain’t gettin’ victor winnings anymore, and that kinda medicine woulda cost a small fortune,” Katsuki remarks. 

Izuku looks a little exasperated. “If you had taken care of yourself, it wouldn’t have gotten to this point,” he chides him, “Just—you need to take your medication. All of them.”

“I will.”

“And keep your skin conditioned with the salve.” 

“Okay.” 

“And don’t rush the rehab with your arm.” 

Katsuki sighs. “Yeah.” 

“And talk to Dr. Yoshida when he calls you.” 

Katsuki scowls, but grumbles out a low, petulant, “Fine.”

Coincidentally enough, Dr. Yoshida rings Katsuki later that morning, shortly after Izuku has gone home. He sounds mildly taken aback when Katsuki answers the phone on the second ring, but otherwise doesn’t berate him for ignoring his calls for months. Katsuki evades the questions about his medications, however, as well as the queries about the rehabilitation of his arm, or any other questions about himself. All he can seem to do is ask about Izuku. How his treatment went, if he’s really better now, if he’s going to stay better. Dr. Yoshida patiently assures and reassures him. 

Katsuki paces around, unable to be idle as he speaks on the phone with the doctor. As Dr. Yoshida continues to regale Katsuki of Izuku’s treatment during his months in the Capitol, Katsuki roots through the box with his personal effects that he had left in the study, and pulls out the book of plants. He flips through the pages until he starts to come along the entries full of colourfully detailed depictions of plants painted with Izuku’s brushes. 

A sudden thought occurs to Katsuki, and he cuts the doctor off to ask, “Hey, what d’you think about makin’ a memory book?” 

“I think that documenting your experiences about the things that happened to you will—”

“Nah, not like that,” Katsuki says, derailing the doctor again. “I mean, like…a picture or a drawing of a person, and then a page written about them. About the people…that are gone.” 

Dr. Yoshida is quiet for a moment. “I’ll have a delivery of parchment sent to you on the next train.” 

Guess that means he thinks it’s a good idea. 

Katsuki goes over to Izuku’s house afterwards, with the book of plants under his arm, to tell him about the idea for the memory book. He raps his knuckles on the door with a little bit more surety than he did the first time. After a few moments, Izuku answers the door and brightens when their eyes meet. It reminds Katsuki of the way Izuku would light up every time Katsuki came back into their little cave in the first arena; just like how his mother would perk up when she heard his father’s boots at the door…

“Kacchan, hi,” Izuku says. His scarred hands are covered in a fine layer of flour. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he adjusts the thick book under his arm. “Can I, uh, come in?” 

“Oh! Yes. Y-Yes, of course,” Izuku stammers, standing aside to allow Katsuki to pass him. It smells even more strongly of bread than it did the last time Katsuki was here. 

Izuku hurries past Katsuki and into the kitchen, and Katsuki follows along. “I’m making some bread with the dill and onions you brought me—thanks again, by the way. I really ought to make my way out to the woods myself and forage some things so I can start my own herb and vegetable garden here. Speaking of, I noticed you brought along the plant book with you. Did you have other entries for it?” 

Katsuki straightens up at that. He had brought the book over in case he needed to jog Izuku’s memory by showing him the entries he had helped contribute to. “So, you remember…?” 

Izuku pauses while rolling out his dough, and looks up at Katsuki. “Oh. Yes. I do,” he says, “We worked hard on it.” 

Katsuki nods. “We did. But I came by to talk about startin’ a different book. A memory book. I…talked about it with the doc this morning,” Izuku’s eyes soften with relief at the mention of Katsuki finally reaching out to the doctor. “I was thinkin’ we could find photos of the people that died—everyone we can remember. Or sketches of their faces done by you if we can’t find photographs. And then write entries of them in the book. Yoshida says he’s gonna send me a bunch of paper to make it, too.” 

Izuku’s eyes look misty, but with his hands covered in flour and dough, he takes a deep, steadying breath and swallows thickly to hold back the tears he can’t wipe away if they fall. “That’s a great idea, Kacchan,” he murmurs, “Let’s do it.” 

“Great. Oh, and you can borrow the plant book if ya want. So you can plan your garden.” 

“Thank you! That’ll be very helpful.” 

“But you ain’t goin’ into the woods alone.” 

Izuku looks truly taken aback. “What? Why not?” 

“You don’t have any weapons, for starters. It’s not safe if you can’t defend yourself. Second of all, the woods are my domain.”

Izuku frowns. “So, what, nobody else is allowed in there but you? Kirishima was allowed to go…”

“Kirishima wasn’t stupid enough to do somethin’ as foolish as wander around the woods with no protection,” Katsuki replies, more sharply than intended. He can’t help but raise his hackles when Izuku brings up Kirishima. He takes a breath through his nose and tries again. “What I mean is, it’s my area of expertise. It’d be like me tryna—I don’t fuckin’ know—put the right amount of flour in dough, or some shit.” 

Izuku snorts, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “That’s not really comparable, but sure,” Then his expression sobers. “Seriously, though, Kacchan. I’m just as much a veteran of the Games and the war as you. You don’t have to protect me anymore, so…you don’t have to do this. Besides, I need to do something useful. Contribute something. I can’t just be here, shut up in the Victor’s Village. It’s…important to me.” 

“I get that,” Katsuki says. He doesn’t mention the fact that he’s been shut up in the Victor’s Village up until just a few days ago. “Look, I’ve got a hunting knife you can use. I have an extra bow, too, so I can teach you how to shoot. I’ll show you places where you can forage and I’ll hunt nearby.”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.” 

“Wanna go tomorrow?” 

“You should really rest your arm.” 

Katsuki almost mentions that he had given his arm plenty of rest already. He’s surprised his muscles haven’t completely atrophied after all those months of barely so much as curling his fingers. He decides against it, however. “I’ll rest it today,” he promises. 

Once Izuku has his bread in the oven and his hands cleaned, he makes them both a cup of tea and joins Katsuki at the table. Katsuki pushes over the plant book so Izuku can flip through it. 

“I haven’t had a chance to paint since I got home,” Izuku admits, his fingers tracing a page of chickweed. “I miss it.” 

“It helped you before, right? Painting the Games,” Katsuki says, “You told me it helped with your nightmares.” 

Izuku shrugs a little. “It did. It helped me pull the images out of my head. But it’s different now. It’s not about what I saw, exactly but…about what I can’t remember. Or memories that I still can’t quite trust. I don’t even know where to begin painting something for that.”

Katsuki doesn’t know, either. And he doesn’t know what to say to make it better. Especially when it’s because of Katsuki that Izuku can’t trust in his own memories. He doesn’t deserve to be a source of comfort or reassurance when he was the catalyst for his suffering in the first place. 

In the morning, when Katsuki steps outside with his bow and quiver, game bag, hunting knife, and two thermoses of water, he’s surprised to see Izuku already waiting for him out on the porch. He’s got a canvas bag and a water flask strapped over his shoulder. 

“Morning, Kacchan,” Izuku greets him brightly, “Did you sleep okay?” 

He dreamt about warped memories and canvases dripping with blood, which was pretty tame for him, all things considered. He pulls the hunting knife from his belt and hands it over to Izuku. “Fine, how about you?”

Izuku accepts the knife very gingerly, as though he’s never used one before, even though he was very handy with them in both arenas. Maybe it’s because it reminds him too much of the Games, or maybe he doesn’t remember having a proclivity for them—or maybe he’s nervous about the concept of being armed around Katsuki. But Katsuki wouldn’t be arming him to begin with if he didn’t trust he could handle it. 

“No nightmares for me,” Izuku says, “But that’s because I didn’t sleep.” 

Katsuki’s eyes bulge. “You’re gonna be dead on your feet.” 

Izuku waves his knife-free hand around dismissively. “It’s fine, really! I’m, um…just trying to wean off the sleeping pills they gave me. They were the only way I could sleep, but they also made the nightmares worse, and made me extra foggy in the morning. So I’m trying to get by without them.”

Didn’t this guy just lecture Katsuki about not taking his medication? And here he was, not even practising what he preached. Classic Izuku. Katsuki decides not to call him out on it like he normally would, however. They had fallen back into some of their old banter, and it was nice, but things like this weren’t Katsuki’s place to comment on. Besides, Izuku was such a goody-two-shoes, he might have already discussed the matter of his sleeping pills with Dr. Yoshida. And even if he hadn’t, Izuku was a grown-ass man and could make his own decisions about his sleep schedule. 

The sun is just starting to rise when they reach the fence and enter into the meadow at Katsuki’s usual spot. As they walk, Katsuki explains the landmarks he uses to keep his bearings in the forest, the footpath he’s carved through the brush after years of coming through the woods the same way each time, and where the nearest pond is. They arrive at a large patch of dill, and Izuku is already down on his knees examining the plant, excited and fascinated. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Katsuki says stiffly, feeling a sudden anxiety welling up within him. He doesn’t want to be overbearing, but he really doesn’t want to leave Izuku alone, either. It hasn’t exactly worked out well for either of them the last two times he did. 

“Okay, be careful, Kacchan. Don’t strain your arm. And don’t challenge any more bears,” Izuku jokes. The flicker in his eyes tells Katsuki he sees right through his indifferent front. His nerves must be coming off of him in waves, and Izuku is trying to lighten the mood. 

Katsuki huffs, his anxiousness being shoved aside for indignance. “Those dumb fuckin’ bears don’t know I still own these woods, bum arm or no,” he grunts, “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Katsuki can’t bring himself to go very far, but still manages to get a few squirrels, and a rabbit before he’s decided his mind simply isn’t on the hunt, and he can bear it no longer. He heads back to check in on Izuku. He returns to the clearing where he left him, and finds a small pile of a number of plants—lambsquarters, bracken, butterbur, chervil—which haven’t just been picked, but dug out by their roots and placed into small plastic bags filled with water. But he doesn’t see Izuku anywhere in sight. Katsuki’s heart automatically jumps into his throat.

“Izuku?” Katsuki calls out, trying to force the panic out of his voice.

He looks frantically around the clearing, and then he spots him, laying down on the forest floor. Katsuki hurries over to see Izuku curled up into a ball, the hunting knife’s blade wedged into the ground, too far away from him to defend himself. Katsuki crouches down in front of Izuku to see that his hands are over his ears and his eyes are wide open, but unseeing. Katsuki’s heart thuds thick and hard against his ribs. 

“Izuku.” 

Izuku doesn’t look at him. “They took her…” 

Katsuki reaches out a hand, tentatively, and then withdraws it, unsure of what to do. “Took who?” 

Izuku continues to speak, but Katsuki is pretty sure he doesn’t hear him. “Took away bits of her, piece by piece…fingers, toes…eyes…tongue…” 

Suddenly, Katsuki understands. The last time Izuku was in these woods, maybe the first and last time he ever tried to go beyond the fence on his own, was when he had seen the blonde Avox girl, Melissa, and a man presumed to be her father. When Izuku had first told him the story of their capture, they had wondered where on earth the two of them could be trying to get to. And now Katsuki thinks he knows. They had been trying to make it to District 13. But then Melissa’s father was killed, and she was captured and made into an Avox slave, before being tortured to death before Izuku’s eyes. 

Being back in the woods foraging again must have triggered a flashback of some kind, either to that fateful day he watched Melissa being taken by the hovercraft, or perhaps he’s not here in the forest at all, but back with her in his cell in the Capitol, watching parts of her being cut away. 

What does he do? How does he snap Izuku out of it? He thinks back to his time helping Uraraka through her phobia to water after her torture in the Capitol. Whenever she closed in on herself like this, Katsuki found no way to reach her. Sometimes if he tried to touch her, she would lash out and attack him. Other times, she just trembled and whimpered, or she just stared blankly off into the distance with her eyes clouded in mist, looking at something far, far away, and lost the ability to speak for hours. 

Unthinking, going on a deep-rooted instinct he doesn’t know how to explain, Katsuki does something very strange. He starts humming. It’s the melody of the song he sang to Izuku that day on the roof. He hums the first few verses, over and over. Some of the haze seems to clear from Izuku’s eyes. Katsuki slowly reaches forward and rests a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. He jumps a little, and his eyes flicker over to meet Katsuki’s. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki says, keeping his voice steady. “What are you doing?” 

Izuku blinks slowly, uncomprehendingly. “I…came out to find wild onions…for bread,” he mumbles, “Did I…fall asleep? Is my mother looking for me? She’ll be mad if I’m out too long…” 

Katsuki swallows thickly. How does he respond to this? Does he allow Izuku to exist in the past and let him find his way back to the present on his own? Or should he try to pull him back? Would that be too jarring, too upsetting? 

Real or not real. 

“Your mom isn’t here, Izuku,” Katsuki tells him, “Neither is the bakery. It was destroyed. You must have forgotten.” 

“Oh,” Izuku frowns a little. “...Yes. I guess I did. Sorry.” 

Katsuki shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I should have…” He trails off. “You forgot, but that’s not your fault. Let’s get back.” 

“Kacchan…you said…my mother isn’t here,” Izuku says, “Where is she?” 

“She’s in the meadow, with the others,” Katsuki says, “We can visit her on the way home, if you want.” 

“Okay.” 

Katsuki helps Izuku to his feet. They pack up the wild plants Izuku had dug up and put them in the canvas bag. Izuku seems a bit puzzled by the plants at first, until Katsuki reminds him he wanted to plant a garden. Izuku nods blankly; the idea sounds vaguely familiar. 

What Katsuki would really like to do is hurry up and get Izuku back home and into bed. No doubt his sleep deprivation had exacerbated his delirium and further triggered the flashback. But if Izuku needs to see the meadow for himself, then that’s where they’ll go. They make their way out of the forest and back to the meadow, with its large mound of freshly packed-down dirt and small sprigs of spring greens beginning to sprout overtop. 

Izuku stares at it for a long time. 

“There’s no one left to hear you,” Izuku murmurs, “That’s what you told me. When I was…still in the Capitol. Real?” 

Katsuki nods. “Real,” he says, “Come on. You need to go to bed.” 

“...Okay.” 

They stand there for a while longer and then move back towards the fence when there’s stirrings of life from the Seam. It’s been turned into a campground of military tents supplied by District 13. It’s honestly not much worse than the shacks that stood there before. As Katsuki and Izuku walk by, Izuku watches the people walking around with pickaxes and shovels with a curious expression. 

“We live in those big houses by ourselves, and they’re in tents,” Izuku says quietly, “It’s not fair.” 

“It’s not,” Katsuki says, “But neither would subjecting any of them to any of us.”

Between Katsuki’s nightmares that leave him screaming himself awake, and Izuku’s lapses in memory that send him into vivid, debilitating flashbacks, they’re just as much the same mysterious recluses that the first victor of District 12 became. 

Izuku nods numbly. “Yeah…you’re right,” he says, “But still…I want to help. Somehow.” 

“You will,” Katsuki tells him, “We both will. But right now you need some sleep.” 

The rest of the walk back to the Victor’s Village is spent in silence. They head straight for Izuku’s house, where Katsuki follows him right inside without being invited in. Izuku doesn’t protest it, going into the kitchen and bringing out a small box where he sets out several bottles. They look just like the bottles Katsuki has in his own kitchen cabinet—pills for depression, anxiety, a painkiller, the antiviral—but there’s a few others that Katsuki doesn’t recognise. 

“Don’t take the sleeping pill,” Katsuki tells him. 

Izuku blinks. “But, I can’t—”

“I’ll bring you some sleep syrup, and you can have a little bit of that in some tea,” Katsuki says, “And…I can stay. In case you have a nightmare.” 

Katsuki had been given sleeping pills by Midnight while on the Victory Tour. He knows how awful they make the nightmares. He thinks about what had helped him sleep far better than any pill or syrup could, and wonders if it would still work. He has no right to share a bed with Izuku after everything he went through because of him, though. But, he could at least stay nearby, like Izuku did for him when he had that fever. 

Izuku puts one of the bottles—the sleeping pills, Katsuki figures—back into the box, and takes the rest. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” 

Katsuki has certainly seen Izuku looking far worse, but he doesn’t say so out loud. Instead he shrugs and says, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Shoulda seen me once I was let outta the burn ward. I just wandered around the president’s mansion, sleepin’ in bathtubs and shit. Same thing when they pulled me outta the arena and took me to Thirteen. Only thing they gave me then was morphling, which I ain’t allowed to have anymore.”

Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t seem to make Izuku feel all that better, but when Katsuki orders him off to bed, he doesn’t object. Katsuki goes back to his own house to get the bottle of sleep syrup from his mother’s medicine cabinet. He brings it back to Izuku’s and makes him a cup of mint tea with just a few small drops of the syrup, and brings it up to him. Izuku is already propped up in his bed when Katsuki arrives, and looks like he can barely keep his head up. Katsuki hands him the mug of tea, which Izuku accepts with both hands. 

“You snuck sleep syrup into a berry mush so you could go to the feast in the first Games,” Izuku remarks, “Real or not real?” 

“That’s real,” Katsuki tells him, “You were pretty pissed with me. But that medicine I got from the feast saved your life. At least I don’t have to trick you this time.” 

“Or save my life,” Izuku adds, taking a small sip. 

Maybe not quite with the same stakes, but no. Katsuki would always be trying to save Izuku’s life. “I’ll just be downstairs. Get some sleep.” 

Izuku takes a few more sips of tea and then sets it on his bedside table. Katsuki heads back to the door. “Kacchan?” 

Katsuki stops, and looks over his shoulder. His heart has started fluttering like a bird in his chest. “...Yeah?” 

But exhaustion and sleep syrup win out, because Izuku is already asleep.

Katsuki gets his kills skinned, gutted, and chopped. A dish with some entrails is left out for Tiger. They left first thing in the morning to hunt and gather, and now that the sun is well up, Katsuki is starving. There’s still some turkey leftover from their feast the other night. Looks like Izuku and Toshinori had finished off the rest of the boiled butterbur, potatoes, cranberries, stuffing, and white meat. There was just some dark meat, a few dregs of gravy, and a few slices of Izuku’s nutty bread left. 

He reheats the turkey and gravy together and drenches the last few pieces of bread with it, scarfing it down. There would be a shipment arriving from the Capitol that afternoon with some food rations and the paper that Dr. Yoshida sent for the memory book, but he’s loath to leave Izuku after his flashback in the woods. Perhaps once he slept off the sleep syrup, they could go to the train station together. 

Katsuki goes back over to Izuku’s and heads upstairs to peek into his bedroom. He’s still fast asleep. Back downstairs, Katsuki sets himself up out on the porch getting the wild plants that Izuku uprooted into some clay pots, then gives them each a drink of water. That done, Katsuki has officially run out of things to busy himself with other than getting something made for dinner. He decides to raid Izuku’s kitchen to see what he can drum up. 

Izuku hasn’t come back from the Capitol empty-handed. A hefty shipment from District 11 must have come into the city before he left, because he’s got carrots, potatoes, plump yellow onions, celery, garlic, and mushrooms. Everything Katsuki needs to make a rabbit stew that’ll be so damn delicious it would annihilate the unease from the morning. The ultimate comfort food. 

He’s got a pot stewing about an hour later. Izuku had been given a very light dose of sleep syrup and might be rousing soon, so Katsuki heads back upstairs to check on him again. He finds Izuku in nearly the same spot as before, although his face has lost the softness of peaceful sleep. A few muscles on his face twitch as he dreams. Izuku had told him before that when he has nightmares, he never wakes up screaming the way Katsuki does. Instead he wakes up ‘paralyzed with terror’. Then again, that had been before the Quell, before the hijacking, when Izuku’s nightmares consisted of losing Katsuki, and finding comfort upon waking when he saw Katsuki was there. Katsuki imagines that Izuku’s nightmares are much more complicated now, and that there’s no comfort to be found in the waking world, because it’s just as confusing as the realm of dreams. 

Izuku’s jaw clenches, and he writhes around beneath the blankets. Katsuki steps closer to see that Izuku’s skin looks clammy and pale. Izuku’s brows knit together and his lips part as he mumbles something incoherent. Katsuki leans down, straining to hear, to see if he can make anything out, but it just seems to be wordless babble. He’s clearly distressed, though. 

The first instinct he has—which is to crawl in next to him and pull Izuku into his arms, and hold onto him the way he did all those nights on the train during the Victory Tour—needs to be pushed down, because he’s already resolved to not allow himself that. That part of them is gone now. So instead Katsuki just reaches over and rubs Izuku’s shoulder, hoping to provide what little bit of comfort he can. That he allows himself to give. 

Izuku’s hand suddenly surges out from under the blankets and grasps Katsuki’s wrist in an iron grip before his eyes fly open. For a moment, his irises are bright, electric teal before they fade back to forest-green when he blinks. 

“…Kacchan?” 

Katsuki squeezes the ball of Izuku’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “You okay?” 

Izuku lets go of Katsuki’s wrist quickly. “S-Sorry, I didn’t—“ Izuku starts to sit up. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“Of course not. You just looked like you might’ve been having a bad dream,” Katsuki says, “I can make you another tea with a little more sleep syrup if you’re still tired.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No—no, I…I’m not tired anymore. And I have to get those plants I found into—“ 

“Already done,” Katsuki tells him, “If you don’t want to get more sleep, how about you come with me to the train station? I think that paper the doc sent for the memory book is comin’ today, along with our food rations.” 

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet ya downstairs then.” 

Katsuki leaves Izuku to freshen up, heading back downstairs to check on the stew, which is lightly bubbling and getting nice and fragrant. He turns to see Izuku lingering in the entryway to the kitchen, blinking curiously at him. 

“That smells so good,” Izuku says, “What is it?” 

“Rabbit stew. I dipped into your ingredients to make it. Hope that’s okay.” 

“You kidding? It’s more than okay. I feel so spoiled…I get to enjoy Kacchan’s cooking again.” 

Katsuki snorts, but he’s secretly pleased to get an honest compliment from Izuku again. “Sure as hell beats that awful minced groosling slop I made you when we were in the cave.” 

Izuku’s eyes flutter with recognition. “Oh, yeah. That groosling stew wasn’t that bad, though.” 

“You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause we were literally starving.” 

“Well, I might not put it in the top ten of best meals I’ve ever had, but—“

Katsuki snorts again, but this time it turns into a snickering laugh as he sets the lid back onto the pot of burbling stew and heads towards the entryway, but he trails to a stop when he sees the expression on Izuku’s face. “What?” 

“You have dimples,” Izuku murmurs, “Real or not real?” 

Katsuki is taken aback by the question. “Uh. Real?” It probably wasn’t good to answer that with so much uncertainty, but he’s honestly never given such a thing that much thought. He clears his throat a little and tries again. “Real. I don’t…smile or laugh much so…guess you wouldn’t really see them.” 

“You should,” Izuku says simply. 

Well, that would require having something to smile or laugh about, and there isn’t much of that going around these days. But Katsuki keeps that thought to himself. 

Izuku still looks like he’s puzzling something out, so Katsuki stays where he is. “You really don’t laugh or smile often, do you?” Izuku mutters thoughtfully, “I’m trying to remember a time I would have seen your dimples before, but…I’m not sure. It feels like I should know, though…” 

Katsuki nearly asks something along the lines of why in the world it should matter when Izuku saw Katsuki’s dimples or not, but for a guy who belaboured over the most mundane things about his old life, right down to the price of milk, if Izuku finds the need to psychoanalyze such a minute detail, then it must be important somehow. 

Izuku’s brows shoot up suddenly, just for a moment, and then he frowns and pinches his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, much like he always did when he was working through a tricky math problem in class. It’s such a telltale visual of the old Izuku—of Deku—that Katsuki finds his stomach doing backflips. 

“For some reason, the only time I can think of seeing them before…you were…crying,” Izuku says, confused, “Crying, but smiling…?” 

Katsuki tries to think of when in the hell Izuku could have seen such a thing. “Is it one of the memories that seems ‘shiny’?” 

“I…I think so,” Izuku says. He closes his eyes, as though trying to conjure the memory behind the backs of his eyelids. “It’s…just at the edges, though. And you look…hmm. I don’t think it’s the usual shimmer, but…I guess you look…sweaty?” 

Sweaty? When would Katsuki have been crying while smiling, and so sweaty it could be confused for the ‘shine’ that filtered Izuku’s most impacted memories? And then it hits him. 

“The Quell,” Katsuki says, “When you struck the force field with your knife, and your heart stopped. Once you woke up, the first thing outta your mouth was this stupid joke that somehow made me laugh, but I was also in the middle of crying because—well, I thought I’d…lost you,” Katsuki swallows. “So, yeah. I think that must be what you’re remembering.” 

Izuku’s eyebrows flicker and he slowly opens his eyes. “Yes…yes, I-I think you’re right,” he murmurs, “That’s strange…” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s just…I can’t believe I can remember that,” Izuku says, “My memories of the Quarter Quell were some of the most impacted by the hijacking. I guess because they were so recent, it was easiest for the hijacking to target? They kind of…started with my most recent memories of you, and worked their way back. My long-term memory would have had a larger capacity, too vast for the hijacking to stick. So first they dug into my short-term memory, warped that information, and then picked through my older memories to tweak them. So while stuff from childhood just has this sort of…refraction around bits and pieces…pretty much all of the Quell is completely warped in my head. Back in Thirteen, when they showed me footage of you, of our Games, they had to show me the Quell over and over again because none of it felt real. And even with all that, I still hardly remember most of it now. I can’t really conjure the memories on my own. If I’m told about them or shown them, then I can vaguely recall it, but I haven’t been able to recall anything from the Quell of my own volition, until now…”

“Well, then…that’s a step in the right direction,” Katsuki says, in an attempt to be reassuring. That’s never exactly been his strong suit. He crosses his arms and sighs. “Of all the things to remember from the Quell, that’s what your brain latched onto. You couldn’t have remembered somethin’ good, like the seafood feast we had with the red spicy sauce, or the k—“ 

Katsuki cuts himself off, nearly biting his tongue off to keep the words from spilling senselessly out of his mouth. 

Izuku tilts his head. “Or the what?” 

“Nothin’, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Katsuki says, “One memory at a time.” 

One trip to the train station later, and Izuku and Katsuki are lugging four hefty boxes back to the Victor’s Village. Well, it’s actually just Izuku carrying the lion’s share of the load. The small carts provided at the train station can only manage one large crate, which Katsuki pulls along behind him while Izuku carries the other three crates, stacked on top of each other. Other than his visibility being impacted having the three crates blocking his view, forcing him to peek around the stacked crates to see where they’re going, he doesn’t seem remotely burdened by the boxes. They get some incredulous looks from the townsfolk as they make their way back to the Victor’s Village. 

Izuku’s voice isn’t even strained when he explains to Katsuki, “It’s part of One For All, I guess. It’s given me some pretty crazy super-strength. That’s why I want to help out with the rebuilding efforts. I could carry around big loads of rubble and rocks, break them down into smaller bits that are more manageable…you could probably use your Quirk for that, too.” 

Katsuki hasn’t used Explosion since that cold winter day in the City Circle all those months ago when he fought All For One. And even everyday, mundane tasks caused a strain to his arm. The ricochet of Explosion could cause truly irreparable damage. Just another reason to avoid it. Speaking of Quirks, it’s the first time that Izuku has mentioned One For All since he got home.

“I figured they’d have you steering clear of your Quirk so you wouldn’t, I dunno, trigger anything…” It wouldn’t be too dissimilar to Katsuki’s own reasons for avoiding his own Quirk. He’s lost too many things to explosions. 

“Technically, yes. They want me to avoid too much usage of it in case it does cause some kind of attack. But the strength isn’t really something I have to activate,” Izuku says, “It’s kind of like…a percentage. I can’t use one-hundred percent of the power, because…I don’t think my body could contain it. How do I explain it…? I guess it’s sort of like I’m a…cracked glass, filled right to the very brim with water, trembling at the very edge, threatening to spill over if I’m not careful. If I tried to release all that power at once, the glass would shatter. But I can let out little bits at a time, maybe ten or twenty percent, and the glass will…shudder, but stay intact. Does that make sense?” 

It’s a weird analogy, but nothing Katsuki isn’t used to from Izuku by now. Katsuki nods, understanding the visual well enough. He drops off the crate in his cart at Toshinori’s place, and then insists on taking one of the three boxes from Izuku, even though he tries to assure him he can handle them. 

Another crate of food rations gets left on Katsuki’s porch (he’ll put them away properly later) and then the final two boxes are brought to Izuku’s. Most of Izuku’s food order consists of ingredients for making bread. They work together unloading flats of eggs, butter, milk, and flour, along with a smaller assortment of dried herbs, vegetables, and canned goods. It’s not lost on Katsuki that this might very well be the most mundane thing the two of them have ever done together. And also, kind of…domestic. 

Then comes the other box, smaller than the crates of food, which came from Dr. Yoshida. Inside is a huge stack of paper, a leather bound book sleeve, and even twine, glue, needles, brushes…everything they would need to bind the book together when it was complete. Katsuki hadn’t been expecting all of this; he thought the doctor was just going to send them a few stacks of paper. 

“This feels like favouritism,” Katsuki mutters. There’s no way Dr. Yoshida is giving his other patients stuff like this when they make an off-hand comment about starting a project. 

Izuku shrugs. “Well, you did save the country.” 

“Fuck that. You’re the one who took down All For One. All I did was get my arm crunched into smithereens and get stabbed.” 

Izuku’s hands grip the back of his chair so suddenly and fiercely that Katsuki can hear the wood creak from the pressure. Oh, shit. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be so…flippant about that, I guess.” 

“It’s okay,” Izuku says quietly, even though it’s clearly not. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me.” 

Katsuki stares him down. “I might be the only one who absolutely has to do that, actually.” 

“Well…you shouldn’t have to.” 

The two of them fall quiet for a while as Izuku tidies up the stack of papers and organises the book binding tools. Then he looks back up at Katsuki. “I think this book will be good for both of us. A way to remember who we lost, honour them, but…also allow ourselves to talk about it, too. To mourn them,” he says, “Should we try to work on the first entry? I’m not even sure who to begin with.” 

“Me neither,” Katsuki admits. 

“How about…we don’t go into who we lost in the war just yet? Maybe we start with…” Izuku trails off, pursing his lips together for a moment. “What about my dad?” 

Katsuki frowns. “Okay, you said I shouldn’t have to censor my thoughts, so I’ll just come right out and say it: what in the fuck for? That asshole beat up you and your mom.” 

“I know,” Izuku mumbles, “It’s just…it happened so long ago, so…it’s the one death that I kind of already had come to a bit of an acceptance with. It was before the Games, before the war…so it ought to be the easiest for me to talk about.”

Katsuki leans back in his chair. “Well, that’s all you, then. I certainly don’t have anythin’ to say about him. And I don’t have a picture of him, either. Do you?” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I didn’t take much with me when I moved out of the bakery. So, anything like that would have been lost in the bombing,” he says, “But, I remember what he looks like. I can draw him. Maybe you can work on an entry of your own in the meantime, until we get to one we can both contribute to?” 

“I guess,” Katsuki says, though he still has no clue who to begin with. Whenever he tries to think of someone that he would be detached enough from but still knew enough about that he could write a decent entry about, he can’t think of anyone that fits the bill. Even the classmates he hadn’t spoken to in years who had died were all lost in the bombing, and that had been his fault…

“Why don’t you start with your dad, too?” Izuku suggests. He’s already gotten out a pencil and is starting on a light sketch. “You never talk about your dad. And he…he was the first person you lost. I think…maybe you need to start there, in order to do the others.” 

Izuku probably has a point, because Izuku was seldom wrong about these sorts of things. But that didn’t mean Katsuki had to like it. He squirms around in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. If he starts talking about his dad, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. Dr. Yoshida might have to send them more paper. And he also doesn’t even know where to begin. And just because he could talk on and on about his father, it didn’t mean it would be anything worth writing down. It didn’t mean it would be anywhere near good enough, anything remotely eloquent, or deserving of the man he was. 

Suddenly this project is beginning to depress rather than uplift him. How did he think it would ever be possible for him to talk about the dead in this way? What good would it even do? Instead of reaching for one of the boxes of pens and pulling up a piece of paper, Katsuki watches Izuku sketching instead. Taking in the concentrated furrow of his brow, his dark eyelashes, the way his scarred hands move swiftly over the page with deft movements and slowly bring the page to life with lines and shadow. 

After a while, Izuku sets down his pencil and uses his fingertips to twist the page around for Katsuki to see. “Verdict?” 

Katsuki looks down at the paper. Izuku has drawn his father Hisashi standing in a sunbeam by the window of the bakery. His eyes are downcast, his expression calm and focused as he carefully kneads a ball of dough on the table. You’d never think that those hands had ever been used for anything but gentleness. Leave it to Izuku to always find the good in people, no matter how personally they have wronged him. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki murmurs, “Yeah, that's him alright.”

Izuku doesn’t reply. He stares down at the drawing, his jaw tight. Katsuki waits for a bit to see if he’ll say anything, but when he doesn’t, Katsuki gets up from his seat and goes back over to check on the stew. He gets a small spoon out and has a taste. Seems passable enough to him. He takes another spoonful and walks across the kitchen.

Izuku has turned the page back around and seems to be deepening the shadows and adding some other smaller details to the sketch. When Katsuki approaches his side, Izuku pauses his work and looks up. Katsuki maintains eye contact as he blows a little on the soup, then holds out the spoon for Izuku. 

Izuku looks between Katsuki and the spoon for a moment, and then he leans in and wraps his mouth around it. It’s a little bit cumbersome—Katsuki would be able to hold the spoon a bit steadier if he could use his right arm, but his left hand isn’t quite as firm, and it doesn’t help that Izuku is still a little bit groggy from the sleep syrup, so his own movements aren’t much better. When he pulls away, the spoon is wiped clean, and Katsuki watches Izuku’s tongue dart out to lick his lips as he lets out an appreciative hum. 

Katsuki realizes he hasn’t taken in a breath for several seconds, and lets out a staggered exhale.

“Does it need anything?” Katsuki asks, having to force the words out. 

Izuku shakes his head. “Not at all,” he says, “It’s delicious.” 

Katsuki doesn’t respond, too busy staring at Izuku’s mouth as it forms around the word delicious. Katsuki’s tongue feels heavy and numb, and he swallows thickly. His stiff fingers set the spoon down on the table. 

And then, before his brain can catch up, Katsuki’s body moves on its own, his hand reaching up towards Izuku’s face. “You’ve got—uh, hang on…”

His thumb brushes just under Izuku’s bottom lip, and a smear of stew, barely visible, disappears beneath his touch. He means to pull back right away, but Izuku looks up at him at the exact same moment, his forest-green eyes wide, and Katsuki hears a soft sound of his breath catching in his throat. 

Katsuki’s hand still hovers between them. Katsuki should move away. Step back. Say something that breaks the moment. But he doesn’t. He watches Izuku’s gaze flicker—down to his mouth, just for a moment, then back up to his eyes—and in that split second something seems to crackle in the air between them, just enough for them to both feel the current. 

“Thanks,” Izuku says softly, and even that feels too loud in the silence. His breath flutters across Katsuki’s knuckles, where his hand lingers inches from his mouth. 

Katsuki nods, a stiff jerk of movement. He moves his hand away and licks his own thumb clean. Then he clears his throat. “You…gonna keep drawing?” 

Izuku blinks, and then looks down at the page like he had forgotten it was even there. “Oh. No. I think I’m done for today.” 

“Right. Think the soup’s done, anyway.” 

Katsuki turns back to the stove, his shoulders tight, trying to shake the feeling of Izuku’s breath on his skin, but he can’t. The heat sticks with him, his knuckles still prickling with the sensation of it.

Behind him, the chair scrapes quietly as Izuku rises. There’s a pause, and then footsteps, soft and careful, crossing the floor. 

Izuku wordlessly moves into the space beside Katsuki, close enough that their arms almost brush as Katsuki stirs the stew around the pot. 

The silence stretches out between them as Katsuki works to fix them both up two heaping bowls of the stew, and Izuku slices them a few pieces of bread. It’s not heavy, or strained. It’s quiet, though Katsuki wouldn’t go so far as to call it peaceful. It’s not entirely calm, not with the constant thrum of the thing between them that Katsuki isn’t able to name. And he isn’t quite sure if that means it’s because he’s not ready to give it one, or if he’s still trying to figure out just what it is. Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s neither.

And even though he can’t quite manage a full breath into his lungs, and even though his skin is tingling, it’s still the best Katsuki has felt in months. So for now, he just lets that nameless thing simmer. Like the stew. Like him. 

Katsuki can’t bring both bowls to the table with his bum arm, so he brings one of the bowls of stew to Izuku’s spot, and then turns to make his way back to the counter for the other bowl. But then Izuku is there, with a plate of sliced bread in one hand, and holding up the other.

”You sit, Kacchan, I’ll bring yours to you,” Izuku tells him. “The least I can do is wait on you a little, after you’ve looked after me all day.” 

Katsuki doesn’t argue about it, and sinks down into his own chair, watching as Izuku sets the plate of bread in the middle of the table, then goes back to collect the other bowl of stew and set it down in front of Katsuki. Then Izuku takes his seat across from him, still so close, still making something inside of Katsuki ache with how familiar this all feels, and also how new. 

Picking up a slice of bread, Katsuki dunks it into the stew and takes a bite. The stew is herbaceous and rich and the bread is soft and fresh, and is as every bit as comforting as Katsuki hoped it would be. He doesn’t dare look up when he hears Izuku’s contented groan as he takes his own first bite of their meal, but the sound still makes Katsuki draw in a breath that feels like it’s scraping against bone.

His fingers clench into the plush bread, as though it will steady him, like it will stop the part of him that’s already tipping forward—towards something he’s not sure he deserves, or can survive.  

Because wanting has always been a bad habit for him. And for Katsuki, Izuku has always been a lot like morphling—in fact, he might even be worse. Morphling hadn’t been easy to quit, but he had done it.

But Izuku has been in his veins for much, much longer.

Chapter Text

PART THREE 

THE CODA 

𓆙 𓅪

xii.

Over the next few days, Izuku settles into a steady routine. He starts assisting with the rebuilding efforts in town. For Katsuki, he can’t bring himself to sift through the wreckage of their home, but helps in the only way he’s ever known how to. So as Izuku works his shifts in town, Katsuki hunts, and brings most of his hauls to the workers in the Seam. Katsuki, wary of Izuku overexerting himself, checks in often, yet finds he’s no worse for wear. In fact, he’s cheerful, pleased to be around the other workers and labouring in the sun. And instead of offering Katsuki relief, it grates on him. Which only makes him feel worse. 

On one of his hunting days, Katsuki walks past the lake and finds new patches of berries and plants, which he carefully digs up from the root to bring back to Izuku’s to pot and water them, adding to his growing collection for his future garden.

Izuku comes by for dinner and talks eagerly at length about Mayor Aizawa’s plans to form a committee of district members to make decisions for planning the layout of the town. He asks Katsuki and Toshinori how they feel about joining the council—they’re hoping to get a lot of members—but neither Katsuki nor Toshinori are keen on getting caught up in anything remotely political. 

Katsuki starts sleeping downstairs again, moving his blankets to the sofa in the living room. Dr. Yoshida calls, but Katsuki ignores the phone. Sometimes he sits at the kitchen table with a pen and a sheet of paper and tries to come up with something to write about his father, but no matter how long he sits in place staring at the blank paper, no words come forth. Mostly he just sits there and tries to see how long he can hold a pen in his right hand before his fingers spasm and it drops to the table. If he does manage to come up with anything decent to write, he would probably have to use his left hand to do so.

Izuku is so busy, with the construction and the new committee meetings and his baking, that most days he spends all of his mealtimes down in the Seam with the other workers, instead of at Katsuki’s house like he did when he first arrived home. Katsuki starts to visit the work sites less frequently, only stopping by to drop off fresh game but not lingering for too long; it feels intrusive somehow, like he’s invading upon something that Izuku is trying to cultivate on his own, and he doesn’t want to get in the way of it. Izuku makes appearances, here and there, to drop off a few extra bread rolls or pasties he had baked for the work crew, but they have no time to properly sit down together to work on the memory book. 

On a Saturday evening, Katsuki and Toshinori are having dinner alone. Izuku is usually home by now, but sometimes the discussion at the planning meetings could drag on. Dinner is always quiet when it’s just Katsuki and Toshinori, without Izuku there to fill the air with his prattling, but not uncomfortably so. Neither he nor Toshinori are very big talkers, anyway. But as Katsuki is cutting off another piece of the wild goose he caught that morning, a thought suddenly occurs to him. 

“Toshi,” he says, “What d’you think about raisin’ geese?” 

Across the table, Toshinori suddenly stills. His knife hovers for just a second before he finishes cutting his next bite. He doesn’t lift his fork right away, staring down at his plate. Then he takes a slow bite of his food, his expression unreadable. 

Katsuki frowns. “Well?” 

Toshinori chews, swallows, and then finally meets Katsuki’s gaze. There’s something incredibly distant in his eyes, something Katsuki has never seen there before. 

“I hear they’re rowdy little menaces. Stubborn, loud, and mean,” Toshinori says, “Sounds like the perfect pet for you.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “They’re not pets. They’re useful. They lay eggs, and they’re good for meat. And I wasn’t talkin’ about raisin’ ‘em myself. Figured it would be somethin’ you could do, besides drinkin’ yourself to death.” 

Toshinori doesn’t respond to this. And while silence between them was common, this one stretches out just a little too long. 

Katsuki lets out a scoff of irritation. “What?” 

Toshinori just shakes his head, and looks back down at his meal, slicing himself another piece of meat. “Nothing, Young Bakugou,” he says. 

Toshinori is acting weird. His shoulders seem a little more stiff than usual, and his focus on his plate is just a little too sharp. Something about it makes Katsuki hesitate. He could push, demand an answer for this strange behaviour, force Toshinori to fess up. But instead, he just returns to his own meal. 

“Izuku told me we can get livestock shipped here from Ten,” Katsuki goes on, dragging a piece of goose meat through a puddle of gravy. “I’ll place an order, get some goslings.”

”Sure, kiddo.” 

Later, after Toshinori goes home for the night, Katsuki is sitting alone in his kitchen, once again glaring down at a blank sheet of paper, glowing pale orange in the lamplight. There’s a knock at the door, and Katsuki shoves himself out of his chair, tugging at the edge of his cardigan as he heads for the door so it sits more securely on his right shoulder. Izuku is standing out on the porch, his face dusty with soot and ash. 

“Surprise!” Izuku says, lifting up a basket. “Sorry I missed dinner, the meeting ran pretty late. There were a few scones left, so I figured I’d bring them over.” 

Katsuki stands aside and lets Izuku in. He wordlessly heads back to the kitchen, and Izuku follows while regaling him with the talking points of the evening—there’s hardly much of a point for Katsuki to join the committee, with Izuku always giving him the rundown of each meeting. Seems there were now talks of holding another election, but how a majority of the committee members were fine to leave things under Mayor Aizawa. 

“I mean, we all still call him Mayor Aizawa anyway, but he did kind of have the role just thrust upon him instead of assuming it himself. He was a good mayor to us, but maybe he would rather pass that responsibility onto someone else. I think Togata wouldn’t be too bad of a choice, he’s young but he’s been really integral to the—Kacchan, are you sleeping downstairs?” 

They passed by the living room on the way back to the kitchen. Izuku must have seen the crumpled mound of blankets on the sofa. “Yeah,” he says, lowering himself back down into his seat at the kitchen table. 

Izuku sets the basket of scones down, and Katsuki helps himself to one. “Have you been sleeping okay?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki shrugs, and takes a bite out of the scone. It’s got onions and cheese inside. He devours the scone in three bites and reaches for another. 

“Have you had any more talks with Dr. Yoshida?” 

A muscle in Katsuki’s eye twitches. “No, not since that first time, when I told him about the book.” 

At the mention of the memory book, Izuku looks down at the blank piece of paper in front of Katsuki on the table, and then his face turns ashen. “Oh, Kacchan, I’m so sorry. I should have made time for this.” 

Katsuki shrugs again. “You’ve been busy.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No, I promised I would do this with you. It’s important,” Izuku sits down in the seat adjacent to Katsuki. “Were you able to get something written about your dad?” 

Katsuki gestures to the paper in front of him. “You’re lookin’ at it,” he grumbles unhappily. 

Izuku looks crestfallen, and Katsuki can’t bear to look at it. He tugs his cardigan back around himself and sinks deeper into his chair. “What do you think about the most, when you think of your father?” Izuku asks quietly. 

“Him blowin’ to bits in the mines.” 

Izuku frowns. “Kacchan, c’mon. When you see him, what is he doing?” 

Katsuki sighs. “I dunno. Nothin’ special. Takin’ off his boots at the door at the end of the day, smilin’ at—“ Katsuki cuts himself off and swallows roughly. This was the problem with thinking about his father. Eventually it led to thinking about her, too, and the whole wretched thing became even more unbearable. He tries to think of something else, something that was just Masaru’s own. “I guess I see him in the woods, singing.” 

Izuku nods, and a small, encouraging smile graces his face. “I always think of music when I remember your father, too,” he says, “One of the first clear memories I can recall when I was in Thirteen was of him singing, in fact. That old tune that got banned, about—“ 

“The Hanging Tree,” Katsuki mutters, “Toshi told me about that. How you remembered him singin’ it in the bakery one day when you were really little. How you—remembered listenin’ for the birds outside, to see if they were silent.” 

“Yes,” Izuku says, “And they were. So, there’s something. Just start from there and the rest will come. I’ll get started on a drawing of him soon. Do you have any pictures of him I could work from?” 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, “There’s one in the box in the study. A wedding photo.” 

“Would it be alright if I borrow it? I can try to work on something tomorrow, once I’ve gotten some baking prep done.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

Izuku leaves him the basket of scones and goes into the study to collect his parent’s wedding photo. It’s already getting late, and Izuku plans to be up early tomorrow getting preparations done for his baking orders. He’s decided to take it upon himself to be a one-man bakery for the district, working Monday through Wednesday, with his Sunday mornings used to get ingredients prepared and balls of dough rolled out and yeast set to rise. So after he gets the photo from the box in the study, he wishes Katsuki good night and heads home. 

Katsuki spends a sleepless night trying to write about his father, finally getting his pencil to move across the page. He first practices letters on a separate piece of paper until his left hand can make things decently legible, so long as he writes slowly. As expected, once he starts to write about his father, there’s so much for him to say that it’s hard to know where to start or when to stop. At some point, once the sun is starting to come through the windows, he suddenly becomes paralyzed as all his thoughts turn to Masaru’s wife, who Katsuki failed to protect. He’s really starting to think this whole project is doing him more harm than good. 

Izuku continues to regulate his life well, being far more productive than Katsuki. He bakes dozens of loaves of white bread, doughnuts, scones, and biscuits. The people in town donate some of their food rations to him to help out—bags of flour, flats of eggs, butter, and sugar. He plants and tends to his herbs once they’ve taken root, and works his shifts in town hauling around remains of old stone buildings into great piles—gray gravel and dust that will be used to make concrete, medium-sized chunks that will be turned into cobblestone roads, and larger chunks that can be used as foundations for new buildings. On Saturdays, he attends the district planning meetings, drawing map after map of alternative versions of District 12. He makes so many that Katsuki doesn’t see how anyone will be able to make a decision on which one to choose, and while Izuku asks for Katsuki’s input, he doesn’t feel like there is any reason for him to have any say on the rebirth of a district when it’s ashes are still fresh on Katsuki’s hands. 

Izuku has strong opinions about the housing situation. There’s no separation of neighbourhoods in any of his layouts. He wants to build houses like the ones in the Victor’s Village—maybe not as large, but better and sturdier than the quick, wooden shacks that the other members of the council want to start building. He knows it will take longer, but it will mean that no shanty towns can grow up within the district. No more Seam. It’s a battle Katsuki thinks Izuku has no chance in hell of winning, until word comes that the council gets President Takami to agree to send them temporary houses from the Capitol. 

These temp houses arrive on giant flat cars from the train station and are hauled in on enormous trucks. They are long, narrow houses with bedrooms, a living area and a small kitchen. Once connected to plumbing and septic systems, they’ll have running water, and functional bathrooms. They have dark solar panel roofs that will convert sunlight into electricity. And the true beauty of them, Izuku explains to Katsuki one day, is that as they gradually transition people into permanent housing, the temp houses can be re-purposed as community buildings such as classrooms and government offices before eventually being sent back to the Capitol. 

The night after the first of the temp houses are installed and its occupants have moved in, they hold a festival to celebrate. Katsuki contributes three turkeys he managed to sloppily shoot down, which all get roasted in a large fire pit dug into what used to be the town square. Izuku makes several sheet cakes with simple sugar frosting and cuts them into tiny cubes which, at a stretch, feed everyone. And everyone else brings food from their rations. A representative from President Takami’s administration attends the impromptu festival to present a proposal to Mayor Aizawa about building a factory that will produce medicines, an industry to replace the coal mines that they’ve decided not to reopen. Coal had been the primary energy source for the districts, but now everywhere would be on the hydroelectric grid, the same as the Capitol. They’ll also be provided allotments of firewood from District 7, wood stoves, and eventually, even have electric heat and air conditioning. 

The celebrations go well into the evening, with dancing around a bonfire set to acoustic guitars and fiddles and flutes, the kind of music well-known to the people of 12 even though it’s been so long since they’ve gotten to hear or play it. It’s nothing like the floaty, dreamlike music they played in the Capitol. Katsuki doesn’t participate in the dancing, though Izuku does. Katsuki has never seen him dance like this before, so uninhibited and free and so unlike the stiff, slow-motion waltzes they performed together in the Capitol. Katsuki wishes he could say the sight of it fills him with joy, but it doesn’t. He’s backsliding yet again today, and he hates it, and it has something to do with him and something to do with Izuku, and everything to do with both of them. 

It’s a firm reminder to Katsuki that there is no point in starting something new with Izuku, something that could be different and possibly even good, when every happiness for him eventually turns to poison. There is an urge within Katsuki to try and move on from his grief, but every step he takes to do it feels like being burned to death all over again. He doesn’t think he’s progressed that much further in whatever healing process he’s supposed to be on since the day that Tiger returned and he finally spoke of his mother’s death aloud. 

Katsuki still isn’t sure if Izuku needs to be added to Katsuki’s list of people to grieve. It’s absurd that after all this time he still hasn’t figured that out, but Izuku is both here with Katsuki and lost to him, and Katsuki still doesn’t know how to quantify the things he feels for Izuku in his mind. His head is too confused to deal with it—and he was never good at it in the first place. And besides, All For One has stripped away Izuku’s love for Katsuki, and now it was lost in whatever chasm that so many of Izuku’s memories fell down into; like the kiss they shared on the beach during the Quarter Quell—burned into Katsuki’s mind forever, while Izuku has forgotten about it entirely. 

More to the point, Katsuki is too broken, burned up, and scarred. What possible allure would he hold now, even to the old Izuku? And with all this backsliding he’s been doing, Katsuki has to remind himself that it’s not something he should even be reaching for. If his will to survive fades, he wants to take no one down that road with him, especially not Izuku. He won’t stand in the way of his progress. He refuses to hold him back, even if that means Izuku surpasses him. In fact, it seems he already has. And Katsuki isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to catch up. 

Which is why Katsuki has to let him be. This new Izuku isn’t the same boy from the beach who told him that Katsuki was his entire world. Izuku has more than Katsuki keeping him going now. Izuku is hungry to find himself, and Katsuki might not be a part of who that ends up being. And that has to be okay. 

And yet, Katsuki watches on as Izuku reels around the bonfire, twirling Eri through the air, spinning arm-in-arm with Tsu, his face bright and beaming as he laughs and claps along to the beat of the music, and it is awful. It is death by a thousand cuts. It is like having his heart slowly devoured by botflies. And he can’t tell what makes him feel worse; the bitter envy that Izuku is able to make healing look as easy as breathing, when for Katsuki it feels like he’s drowning, or the furious jealousy that Izuku is able to do it all without any of Katsuki’s help, that he’s getting by just fine without him, while Katsuki is missing him even more now than when Izuku was in the Capitol. 

Afterward, Katsuki and Izuku walk home to the Victor’s Village together. Izuku has a light skip in his step, and is humming to himself as they walk. He smells—they both do, really—like campfire smoke and cooked meat. Izuku’s wild green curls are even more unkempt than usual after hours of dancing, and there’s a flush to his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cool air of the spring evening. 

As they approach Katsuki’s house, Izuku asks, “Are you tired, Kacchan?”

“Not really.” 

“Me neither,” Izuku says, “I want to work on the book. Can I come in?” 

“Sure.” 

They go inside and light oil lamps, bringing out all the papers of Izuku’s sketches, and Katsuki’s scratched-out essay about his father. Izuku hums a tune to himself as he sets to work—it isn’t anything Katsuki recognizes, so perhaps it wasn’t even a song that existed, just a mindless, carefree melody he came up as he went—his hand flying over a blank piece of paper. After hardly any time at all, he turns the paper to Katsuki. “What do you think?” 

It’s a rough sketch of Katsuki’s father, captured in the middle of a laugh. His eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he stands with his arms crossed, leaning against a doorway. He looks like he could walk right off the page and fill the room with his laughter, which Katsuki can hear so clearly in his head he half-expects to look up and see his dad walk in like he had never left, like he’s just been off in the other room all this time. Before Katsuki can help himself, he clasps Izuku’s arm tightly, trying to catch his breath. 

“That’s it,” Katsuki forces out, “That’s exactly him.” 

“I’m glad,” Izuku says, “I’ve been working off that wedding photo, but just couldn’t seem to capture him. It’s interesting that I had to be in a happy mood to draw him properly.” 

Katsuki blinks at the words. It’s as if Izuku is observing himself clinically, from a distance, fascinated by his own inner workings. It’s humbling in a way to witness this process of his, but also discouraging. Izuku has clearly far surpassed him. He was the one who was tortured and brainwashed, and yet Katsuki is the one who can’t seem to move on. 

“Your penmanship looks great, by the way,” Izuku comments, gesturing to the stack of papers next to Katsuki. “Even better than what I can do with my dominant hand. Leave it to Kacchan to be ambidextrous. Do you want to read me what you have so far?” 

“No, not yet,” Katsuki says. He picks up the piece of paper to look closer at the sketch. “But I think I’ve got a better idea of how it should go.” 

Izuku leans back in his chair, looking at Katsuki gently. “I want to go out into the woods with you again. Want to go tomorrow?”

Katsuki looks up from the drawing. Izuku hasn’t joined Katsuki for any more hunting and gathering since the day he had his flashback. And he’s been far too preoccupied with all the other things on his plate, besides. “…But tomorrow is Sunday,” Katsuki says, “You always do baking prep then.” 

Izuku waves his hand dismissively. “I can always do it Sunday night, or even early Monday morning.” 

Katsuki sets the drawing aside with his half-finished essay. “You haven’t been back in the woods since—“ 

“I know,” Izuku says, cutting him off, “Which is exactly why I want to go. I don’t want such a peaceful place to be…tainted like that, for me.” 

Katsuki thinks it over. “If we get up early, we can go a bit deeper into the woods. Find someplace that’s unfamiliar that you would never have been before. Maybe that’ll help…not trigger anything. And we don’t even have to hunt or forage. I just do that shit to pass the time and try and strengthen my arm, so we can afford to just…take the day off.” 

Izuku smiles warmly. “That sounds nice,” he says, “I’ve been trying so hard to keep myself busy lately, that I forgot the thing I want most is just… peace. I guess I figured it was something I would have to carve out for myself in this new world that we’re all trying to make, but…I don’t think I’ll have it for real, until I can learn to sit still.” 

Katsuki knows what Izuku means. He hasn’t been nearly as productive as Izuku as of late, but he has not been nearly as idle as he was when he first arrived back home. When Izuku had long, busy days, Katsuki kept himself occupied, too, in order to fend off his wallowing. But the moment he stilled, he could feel himself starting to sink. Katsuki isn’t so sure if peace will ever be an option for someone as damaged as him, but maybe he can scrape by with something akin to it. 

The following morning, Izuku arrives at Katsuki’s bright and early, finding Katsuki on the couch in the same clothes as the night before. Katsuki barely has time to change into fresh clothes before Izuku drags him out of the house. The smell of the previous evening’s campfire smoke and cooked meat still clings to Katsuki’s hair and skin, which makes him a little self-conscious since Izuku seems to be freshly-showered. 

As they make their way by the meadow and into the forest, Izuku asks, “How did you sleep last night?” This question has become something of a ritual for them now. 

Katsuki decides it’s for the best that he doesn’t bring up the dream he had of Izuku dancing around a fire while Katsuki stood in its flames, tied to a post and cooking alive. “So-so,” he replies, “You?” 

“Horrible!” Izuku cries, “I’m still not taking the sleeping pills, and getting by without sleep syrup when I can—I don’t want to get addicted to the stuff—but it seems I’ve started sleepwalking. I woke up several times through the night in different parts of my house. First at my kitchen sink, with the water running. Then a few hours later, I came to in front of my upstairs bathroom sink, again with the water running. I don’t even really remember what I was dreaming about, but I guess maybe it had something to do with water? I’m not really sure what it means, but it was pretty unsettling. Both times I woke up gasping for air, like I’d just been underwater.” 

Katsuki swallows. Izuku is being so honest about his own experiences, that he feels guilty for withholding. He still doesn’t want to mention the dream from last night, but decides to embellish on another, older one instead. “I dreamt about the Capitol sewers. At first I was wandering around the corridors in District 13, like how I used to when I got discharged from the hospital. But then I started to hear dripping water and rats running around and…and—and other things.” Mutts growling, Avoxes screaming, skin tearing…

Izuku shudders. “Don’t you wish you could just…turn your brain off?” 

“At this point I wanna open up my skull and start scooping out the gray matter with a spoon,” Katsuki grouses, “I’d give anything for just one nice dream for a change.”

“Some day,” Izuku says, “So, about the book. Have you given any thought to who you want to do an entry on next?” 

“Not really,” Katsuki admits. It’s been hard enough just focusing on the entry for his dad. “I filled two pages front-to-back about my dad, and it—it still doesn’t feel like enough. But I think I need to…step away from it, for a while.” 

Izuku nods in understanding and the two of them fall into an easy quiet for a while as they continue to hike through the woods. They got up so early that Katsuki figures they could go past the lake today and still make good time coming back, so that’s where he leads them. But as they walk, he veers a little off his usual path; still heading in the direction he knows the lake to be in, but taking a bit more of a circuitous route to get there. Ever since Katsuki made the suggestion of finding unfamiliar woods, he finds that he craves that as much for his own benefit as for Izuku.

They’ve made it past the lake by the time they decide to stop to have some food. They find a thick, mossy log to sit on and Izuku digs through his canvas bag and seems to be buzzing with eagerness as he pulls out fresh fruit—a bunch of grapes, two oranges, a handful of cherries—and a paper bag full of cheese buns. 

Katsuki gapes at the fruit. “How did you—?” 

Izuku smiles. “I had to put in a special order. It’s pricey, but…I was just getting so sick of canned fruit. I thought it’d be a nice treat.” 

Katsuki eagerly pops a grape into his mouth. It was so good to eat fruit that didn’t taste like tin. A lot of the stuff they were sent in their food ration orders, not just the fruit, was canned. At least it kept Katsuki driven to continue hunting—he’s not sure what the hell he would do without it—even if it’s not something he has to do to survive, anymore. Dr. Yoshida might have a thing or two to say about how archery did not constitute as proper physical therapy for his arm, but that’s why Katsuki hasn’t told the doctor about his rehabilitation methods. 

“Kacchan, can I tell you something?” Izuku asks slowly, “About—about Auntie?”

Katsuki’s thumb digs with too much force into the orange he’s started to peel. Juice runs down his hand as he stares at the ground. Izuku hasn’t said a word about her since he arrived back. Unlike Hakamada and Kirishima, Izuku had not offered Katsuki words of condolences about her passing when he first saw Katsuki again. Which was something that might have offended someone normal, but Katsuki had secretly appreciated his silence up until now. But it would seem he couldn’t avoid the topic forever. “I…guess.” 

“When I was trying to sketch that picture of your dad, using their wedding photo…well, it just got me thinking about her, too,” Izuku says quietly, “And…I just thought you should know that…Auntie was—well, when we were in District 13…she really helped me.”

Katsuki’s breath catches and he looks up at Izuku in shock. He knew that Mitsuki had worked closely with the head doctors and Shinso to try and reverse the effects of Izuku’s hijacking by using Shinso’s Brainwashing Quirk, an idea that Mitsuki herself had come up with. But Katsuki didn’t know the details of the process, and how far Mitsuki’s involvement went when it came to Izuku directly. “I figured…since…I look just like her, she’d be the last person who woulda been good for you to be around.” 

Izuku pulls apart a cheese bun. “She didn’t see me for quite a while. I was pretty isolated at first. Just spoke with Thirteen locals, orderlies, head doctors…Toshinori, eventually, when I could tolerate him. But after a few sessions with Shinso, they decided to have me try and talk with Auntie. At first it was…really confusing. But…she made me feel really understood. She advocated for me like nobody else did. She, uh…” Izuku trails off, and lets out a suddenly wet laugh. He wipes at his face. “She didn’t exactly let me say anything bad about you, but she also didn’t seem angry with me when I did. At first, her looking so much like you was…upsetting. It felt like I was being tricked. But, after a while…I kind of came to depend on it. I think…even with all the treatments that they tried…that I wouldn’t have gotten better, if you didn’t look just like her.”

Katsuki has spent all this time despising his own reflection. He’s even covered up the mirror in his bathroom with a sheet. He hasn’t looked at his parent’s wedding photo, leaving it in the same box it arrived in from District 13. Seeing her was just too painful when he already had to endure it unwittingly over and over in his nightmares. He thought that seeing her within himself would only bring any feeble attempts at progress he made to a grinding halt. But for Izuku, it had been completely the opposite. It was because of their resemblance that he had been able to heal the way he has. 

Katsuki doesn’t say anything in response, and he also doesn’t cry. Instead, all he can seem to manage are strange, shallow breaths. His hand has become sticky with the juice from the orange he’s gripped so tightly in his hand he’s crushed it into a bruised, misshapen lump. Izuku doesn’t say anything else, or move to touch him. 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says eventually, his voice soft, “You’re not ready.” 

Katsuki shakes his head. “No, but…I needed to hear it,” Katsuki says, “I don’t think it’ll…make it any better, though. I think I’m just—stuck like this forever.” Up and down. Up and down. Sometimes sliding back, and never moving forward. 

“I hope not, but even if you are…that’s okay, too,” Izuku tells him, “It’s not bothering me. I mean, it worries me, but it doesn’t bother me. Maybe once some…other people come back to Twelve, it’ll help you.” 

After months of self-inflicted solitary confinement, District 12 already felt crowded enough as it is, with the two-hundred or so people who returned from District 13. Katsuki doesn’t know who these ‘others’ Izuku could be referring to would be. It wasn’t like he had been all that close with many people from 12; not enough for it to impact his mood that drastically. The only person still alive, still able to return if they wanted to, who would get any kind of reaction from Katsuki was…

Oh. He gets it now. Izuku was talking about Kirishima. Why wouldn’t he just say something like that outright? The thought annoys him. “I don’t think that has anything to do with it.” 

“Well, the only thing I can tell you for sure is that you need more time to rest and to grieve,” Izuku says gently, “This isn’t a linear process. Don’t ask too much of yourself. Everyone else—all of Panem—asked too much of you as it is.” 

Katsuki tries to pull off the orange peel, but it only comes away in small, battered chunks. He lets the flakes of skin flutter down to the forest floor between his feet. “I guess.” 

“When I found out my mother had died, I wasn’t myself,” Izuku says, “And later on, when the realization of it finally hit me, I was so drugged up I could barely feel it. And I want to feel it, but I also don’t want to, you know? I’m…I’m scared of that grief finally coming out. And yet I’m ashamed of myself for not feeling it. I don’t think I’ll be able to really move forward unless I can face it. I think that’s what my dreams were about. When I kept waking up in front of the sink with the water running? I think my brain was telling me that I’m kind of…still drowning. I’ve been trying to keep busy, but it’s just kind of holding it all back. Like I just keep pushing dirty clothes into the closet and shutting the door. I know eventually I’ll have to air that dirty laundry out, I’ll have to face my grief and everything else properly, but I’m still not quite sure how to. And other times…I just don’t care.”

And here Katsuki had been, thinking he was the one who was drowning, who has been backsliding for days while Izuku looked like he was thriving. But Izuku was just trying desperately to stay afloat, just like Katsuki. “I thought you were doing better,” Katsuki finds himself saying, “At least…better than me, that is.” 

“I’m not so sure my ‘better’ is any better than your bad. If that makes any sense,” Izuku says, “But all things considered, I’m glad to be alive. Most of the time, anyway.” 

Katsuki looks up at Izuku sadly. Most of the time. There’s a hollowness in Izuku, too, the same as there is in Katsuki. A place so empty it’s sometimes unbearable, and the thought of carrying it forward for all the years that might be left of his life seems so exhausting sometimes. But it’s even worse to know that Izuku feels the same. 

Izuku rests his scarred hand on Katsuki’s knee. Warmth radiates out from where Izuku’s palm rests and through Katsuki’s whole body. 

“You know what, for the rest of the day, let’s not talk about the book, or the war, or…or anything about the past,” Izuku says, “Let’s just try and live in the present.”

Katsuki nods, even though he’s not too certain how successful they’ll be. They finish off their breakfast and then go back to walking through the woods. Katsuki is leading them back around towards the lake when Izuku suddenly comes to a stop. When Katsuki turns to look at him, Izuku is staring off at something in the distance through the trees on their right. For an unnerving moment, Katsuki thinks that Izuku has been inexplicably pushed into a flashback—maybe being in unfamiliar woods was actually a bad idea, perhaps it was too familiar to the first arena—but then Izuku points at something. 

“Is that…smoke?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki steps closer to Izuku and follows his finger to look into the trees to try and see what he sees. It doesn’t take long to spot it. In the cold, still morning air of late March, the thin tendrils were easy to make out as they billowed upwards. It wasn’t mist, or fog—there was too much movement—but it also wasn’t smoke. It reminded Katsuki of the large soaker tub in his bathroom…

And then it hits him.

“It’s steam,” Katsuki says. 

He heads into the thicket of trees, trampling down the untrodden brush as he makes his way towards the steam. Izuku is right on his heels. It doesn’t take long before they break out into a small, rocky clearing, and in the middle is a deep pool of murky water that billows with curling wisps of steam in the cool spring air. 

“Is…is that a hot spring?” Izuku says, awed, “I remember learning about them a little bit in school, but I figured they might have all dried up, or would just be too far from Twelve to get to…” 

Katsuki thought so, too. They weren’t given much information about what this region used to be like, in the days before Panem was born—back when the country used to be called Japan, and the region where District 12 now resided was a place called Hokkaido. In the forests immediately surrounding their district, Katsuki has never come across one, though he and Kirishima had gone searching for them before, moving as far from 12 and towards the nearest volcano they could spot in the distance as they dared. The volcano was easiest to spot from the lake, actually. Katsuki had never gone this far off his father’s frequented path to get to the lake, and perhaps Masaru hadn’t ventured this far out from the lake himself. He certainly would have brought Katsuki to a place like this, if he had come across it. 

Izuku brushes past Katsuki, moving closer to the rocky edge of the spring and bending down into a crouch. He dips his fingers into the water, and jumps sharply, which makes Katsuki’s heart leap into his throat. 

“What is it?” Katsuki says, wincing at the wavering panic in his tone. 

“It’s hot!” Izuku yelps, shaking out his hand. “It’s practically boiling.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Of course it’s fucking hot,” he snaps. He comes up to the pool’s edge and bends into a squat. His nose wrinkles. “It…kind of smells…bad?”

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, “It’s not what I was expecting. I sort of always imagined it would be like…I dunno, like…petrichor, or something. Wet and earthy.” 

“It smells like rotten eggs,” Katsuki mutters, “And people really used to bathe in these?”

“I dunno, but I’m getting used to it already, to be honest,” Izuku says, “It was pretty pungent at first but now it’s not so bad.” 

Katsuki grunts. Izuku did have a point. The longer he sat with his face over the steam, the more it opened up his pores and sinuses, until it no longer screwed his features up to whiff at the humid air. He had been a little self-conscious about the fact he still reeked of campfire smoke and venison, but he’s not so sure he’d want to replace that with rotten eggs. 

“Should we try it?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki dips his hand into the water. He can see why it made Izuku jump. It is incredibly hot. Instinctively, Katsuki wants to pull his hand out of the water, but he forces himself to stay still even though his fingertips are tingling with scalding heat. Just when the sensation is starting to feel a little too close to how it felt being cooked alive when his right arm caught on fire in the City Circle, but much like the smell in the air, the unpleasantness fades away as the heat seeps into Katsuki’s skin. He pulls his hand out of the water and gives his hand a whiff. Thankfully, the stench doesn’t seem to carry over onto his skin. 

“I guess so,” Katsuki says. The lake wasn’t too far from here. They could always take a dip in the lake if the need was dire enough, or just wait until they got back to town and take a long shower to scrub themselves clean if any egg smell did linger. 

Izuku pulls his canvas bag off his shoulder and sets it down on the rocks. As he begins to pull off his jacket, it suddenly dawns on Katsuki what Izuku’s suggestion to try out the hot spring entails. Katsuki’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry. 

Before Katsuki can tell Izuku that he’s changed his mind, before he can run off into the woods screaming to go drown himself in the lake, Izuku has already gotten his jacket and shirt off and is working at the buckle of his belt. Katsuki is still crouched by the edge of the spring when Izuku pauses halfway into pulling off his pants. And that’s when Katsuki realises he has stopped looking at the milky water and has been staring at Izuku instead. 

“Are you gonna get in?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki swallows. “Yeah,” he says. 

He stands upright and sets aside his bow, quiver, and game bag. Katsuki keeps his back turned to Izuku, much like he always did when he had to change clothes when he shared a compartment with Uraraka back in District 13. Of course, it wasn’t like Izuku didn’t have anything Katsuki hadn’t seen before, but that didn’t mean Katsuki had to actually see it. He sends a fervent, thankful prayer to the gods of nature for making this hot spring so murky. 

When he’s down to his underclothes, he starts to procrastinate, taking his clothes and hanging them over a low-hanging branch nearby. From behind him, he hears the water sloshing around, and glances over his shoulder to see Izuku sitting on the edge of the spring, gingerly dipping one leg into the water. He lets out a hiss, but doesn’t retract his leg, sucking air between his teeth as he braces himself and submerges his other leg. He lets out a rough exhale, grips the rocks with both hands, and pushes off, dropping his entire lower half into the steaming spring. From the glimpse Katsuki had seen before he flicked his gaze back towards the trees, he can see that Izuku has chosen to forgo wearing his underclothes into the water. He peeks again when Izuku makes another pained sound. 

“Shit-shit-shit, that’s hot!” Izuku curses—curses! That’s new. Katsuki has never heard him swear before. Izuku sinks deeper into the water, until he’s up to his shoulders. After a moment, he lets out a groan. “Ohhh. Oh. Oh, Kacchan. Kacchan, you have got to try this…” 

Shit. Shit, shit. Fuck. 

Izuku’s eyes slip closed as he sighs softly and submerges himself right up to his chin, and Katsuki seizes the opportunity to shuck off his underwear, stick them on the branch with the rest of his clothes, and move back to spring. He considers, for a moment, just jumping right in, getting the damn thing over and done with. Like ripping off a band-aid. But it probably wasn’t too smart to do with how ripping hot the water was. So he lowers himself down onto the rocks, and sticks his feet into the water. It burns like fucking hell. He jerks up his knees and brings his poor, scalded feet and calves out of the spring with a noisy slosh. 

Izuku peeks open one eye. Katsuki starts spluttering and sends his hand through the water to send a wave crashing towards Izuku that splashes him in the face. 

“Don’t fuckin’ look!” Katsuki barks at him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Izuku says. He wipes some water from his face, and keeps his eyes closed. “But you just kinda need to grit your teeth and do it. I promise it’s worth it.” 

Katsuki sucks on his teeth, and sticks his feet back in the water again. It’s tingly this time around, but not nearly as bad. He grips the rocks, scoots forward, and drops himself down into the heated pool. 

“Fuck!” Katsuki yelps, “Fuckin’ shit, that burns—!” 

“I know,” Izuku says calmly. His eyes are still closed. He leans the back of his head on a rock along the edge of the spring. “Give it a moment.” 

Katsuki seethes through his teeth as he slips his torso down into the hot water. His hands search around in the murkiness, skimming along the slick rocks for someplace he can perch. He finds a large stone jutting out from the bottom of the spring that he can sit upon, and leans back against the rocks. Already, his skin is acclimating to the heat, and his muscles relish. His right arm is tingling pleasantly, the sore muscles and tendons soaking up the heat. Katsuki’s eyes flutter. 

“Okay,” he says, “I get it now.” 

Izuku opens his eyes and smiles, soft and content. “I always thought it must just feel like a hot bath, but it’s…it’s way better than that.” His eyes slip shut again. “I never want to leave.” 

“You’ll shrivel up like a prune,” Katsuki tells him. 

“Oh, well. I’ve looked worse.” 

Katsuki snorts. He sinks down to his chin, looking through the billowing steam to Izuku. His curls seem to be going limp and frizzy from the heat. 

“How long d’you suppose it’s safe for us to soak in here?” Izuku asks quietly. 

“Dunno,” Katsuki says, “I probably wouldn’t do any longer than twenty minutes or so, though.” Katsuki could stay here all day. 

“This probably feels even better in the wintertime,” Izuku says, “You can probably get away with soaking for longer, too.” 

Katsuki lifts his good arm out of the water, propping it up on the rocks behind him when he starts to get a bit too warm. At this rate he might have to get out in only five or ten minutes. His hair is already sticking to his forehead, and he can’t tell if it’s from steam or sweat. He closes his eyes and leans his head back with a sigh. He can’t think of the last time he felt this relaxed. Being out in the woods, although invigorating, had always used to come with a slight trepidation. And that feeling grew the farther away from the district line he ventured. Katsuki’s never dared to go beyond the lake, or take new paths to get there, before today. But with the war over, with no threat of Peacekeepers punishing him for poaching, there’s nothing to be worried about, being out here. Sure, there were some predator animals, but that’s what Katsuki had his bow and arrows for. 

For the very first time, his woods truly are a place of refuge, one that is no longer a crime to escape to. It used to be a place just for him and his father, and then him and Kirishima. It still felt a bit strange to have Izuku here, but much like the hot spring, it was something he was getting accustomed to. 

The water around him ripples and sloshes about, and he senses movement. Katsuki pries open one eye, and watches Izuku hoist his upper half out of the water. Faced away from Katsuki as he is, Katsuki is able to watch the muscles shift in Izuku’s back, can see rivulets of water rolling between his shoulder blades as he reaches over for his canvas pack and pulls it closer. He rummages around inside of it for a moment, and then turns back around, with two glass bottles of milk in his hands. 

Izuku moves through the water, stepping carefully along the rocky bottom of the pool while holding the milk bottles aloft. He holds one out to Katsuki, who accepts it. He pops the tabs on the stopper and knocks back the bottle. As the cool, creamy beverage slides down his throat, Izuku settles back down into the water right beside him. So close that Katsuki can feel Izuku’s knee bump against his underwater. Katsuki lowers his milk bottle and wipes at his mouth, watching as Izuku takes a long swig of his own drink, his glistening throat bobbing with each swallow. Droplets of water dot the ball of his shoulder, interspersed with his smattering of freckles. One droplet connects into another, grows bottom-heavy and is pulled down the curve of Izuku’s shoulder and down his bicep. Katsuki looks away quickly and takes a few more deep gulps of milk. He wonders if their ancestors ever paired a hot bath with cold milk; it was a winning combination. 

Izuku sighs as he pulls his mouth away from the bottle. “I know I’m the one who suggested it, but I swear I’ve already stopped myself from asking you some kind of question about the past a good thirty times since I did.” 

Katsuki shrugs. “You can if you want to,” Katsuki says, “It’s important. You’ve forgotten so much.” 

“But we said we would take a day off from all of that today,” Izuku says. 

“It’s fine, really. We’re mixing it with a relaxing activity, so maybe that’ll help…I dunno, cancel it out a bit.” 

“It’s just…it’s my first time seeing them,” Izuku murmurs, “All of the scars you got from…from All For One.” 

Katsuki blinks, and looks down at the starburst, pale pink scar on the front of his shoulder. It was the only one of the two wounds he could see at the moment, with the other one on his waist being submerged underwater. Izuku must have seen them both when Katsuki was sitting at the lip of the hot spring about to get in. He’s seen Katsuki’s bare right arm a few times, but he’s never seen all of the accumulated damage at once before now.

“Can I look at them?” Izuku asks tentatively.

Katsuki bristles a little. “Is that a good idea? I mean, I’m all for helping you try and piece together your memories, but…Toshi said whenever they tried to tell you about your fight against All For One, that it made One For All go berserk. Maybe those memories can wait.” 

“I thought so, too,” Izuku mumbles, “But, now I think it’s the opposite. It’s like when they did the hijacking. They worked on my most recent short-term memories before they touched the long-term. I can’t remember a thing about my fight with All For One. I’ve been shown footage, but…it feels so—disconnected. Like that person on the screen isn’t even me. And I think it’s causing…a clog. Holding the other memories back along with it. And if I can pry it out, then the rest will follow, too.” 

That seems as good of a working theory as any, Katsuki supposes. “Well, if you think it’ll help, uh…jog your memory, then…sure.” 

He turns his torso a little away from Izuku and sticks out his shoulder, so Izuku can get a better look at the scar there. “It was right after I got stabbed that you suddenly appeared, with a bunch of the previous users’ Quirks all activated at once.” 

Izuku leans in closer to examine the starburst of mottled, pale-pink skin. He looks around to see the matching mark on the back of Katsuki’s shoulder. He brings a hand up out of the murky water, holding it aloft as he looks at Katsuki curiously. “Is it okay if I touch it?” 

Katsuki swallows. “Go ahead.” 

Izuku's wet fingertips brush along the jagged edge of the scar. Katsuki takes in a subtle but deep breath and holds it while Izuku’s thumb runs along his skin. 

“You smashed apart the tendrils that stabbed me with your teeth,” Katsuki goes on. And then he huffs a little, a breath of a laugh. “Y’know, thinkin’ back, you looked pretty freaky, but…it was also kinda badass.” 

Izuku’s fingers brush across and find the matching scar that bookends Katsuki’s shoulder on the back. “They should never have made you be the one to carry out his execution,” Izuku mutters, his brow furrowing with annoyance. “Every time they sent you out to be their mouthpiece, you got hurt. If they’d just hung him or set him up in front of a firing squad, instead of trying to be symbolic…” He shakes his head and scoffs. “Can I see the other one?” 

Katsuki presses his lips together. The other one was on his waist, and would require him to get his upper half out of the water. He moves off of the rock he’s seated on and stands on it instead. Izuku backs away a little to give Katsuki room to maneuver as he lifts his torso out of the water. He braces his left hand on the rocks behind him, so he can hold up his weight while keeping his knees somewhat bent. If he were to stand up to his full height, he’d be entirely exposed, but at least like this the murky water is still lapping at the top of his hip bones. When Izuku moves in close again, Katsuki stares down at the top of his head for a moment before he jerks his gaze away, looking off into the trees. He’s starting to feel lightheaded…they should probably get out of here soon. 

He feels a muscle in his stomach twitch when the pads of Izuku’s fingers find the scar on his waist. It’s a much more sensitive area than his shoulder, so when Izuku’s hands move over his pale skin, mapping out the edges of the scar, exploring the bumps in the healed flesh, a shudder crawls up Katsuki’s spine. His breath catches in his throat when Izuku leans even closer, resting his forehead on Katsuki’s stomach. Katsuki’s fingernails scrape across the stones as Izuku’s hand rests against his waist. The other wraps around his right wrist.  

“My body just…moved on its own,” Izuku says, “I remember thinking…that I couldn’t just stand there and watch you die. That…I couldn’t let you keep doing this all on your own. In that moment, all I wanted…was to save you. I didn’t care about the rebellion, or even killing All For One. I just…couldn’t let him hurt you again.” 

Katsuki lowers himself back down into the water, feeling far too exposed, like an open nerve in a gum, frayed and overly sensitive to the slightest touch. He sinks back down into the milky heat of the spring. Izuku moves back a little to allow him to sit back down on the stones beneath the water, but Izuku himself remains standing, his eyes trained on Katsuki. Izuku lifts his arms out of the water, holding his hands out in front of him. 

This is Katsuki’s first time seeing the full extent of the burns on Izuku’s arms. Flickers of mottled flesh in swirling patterns up from the tips of his fingers all the way to his shoulders. Then there were the scars, the ones Katsuki already knew, like the ones that wrapped around his palm and wrist from his surgery on his broken hand in the first arena. And higher up on the same arm, was now a huge rectangular patch of distorted flesh that extended down the back of his bicep, from his shoulder to his elbow. And then there was his facial scar splashed across his right cheek, and the little scar by his hairline, which was actually a long scar across his scalp, which most of his outgrown curls hid. None of these had been there the day Katsuki had parted ways with Izuku before he left their safe house in the Capitol and went with Kirishima to the City Circle. What had happened? 

“The burns are from the day we all tried to infiltrate the mansion,” Izuku starts to explain, as if he can hear the questions rattling around in Katsuki’s mind. “When the parachute bombs went off.” 

Katsuki’s breath leaves him, like he’s just been struck in the diaphragm. He knew that Izuku and Todoroki had both ended up in the burn ward of the Capitol hospital, the same as Katsuki, after that fateful day when the war ended with the release of those parachute bombs. He had not known of the extent of their injuries, however. 

“I got there just as the parachutes were falling,” Izuku goes on, “I didn’t reach the barricade before the secondary blast…and I remember finding you…lying unconscious in the snow, on fire. And I tried to swat out the flames, and got most of them out. Most had just singed your clothes, but your arm had taken most of it. Then…Todoroki found both of us and used his ice before the flames could spread.” 

Katsuki’s eyes pull wide. So all those burns on Izuku’s hands and up his arms, those had been from him trying to put out the flames on Katsuki’s body. He had no idea that Izuku had actually found Katsuki there. The reason Katsuki hadn’t gotten as badly burned as he could have, was because of Izuku. 

“As for the other scars, this big one on my arm, and the ones on my face, I guess I must have gotten during my fight with All For One,” Izuku continues, “That’s all still hazy, though. But, according to All Mi—to Toshinori, I was tearing my body apart with One For All. Using it at its full power while being unable to withstand it. Apparently the damage got so bad, that I started to use Blackwhip to basically hold myself together, to puppeteer my own body around. I shattered all the bones in my right arm with the punches I landed on All For One. The doctors even told me that if I used my power like that again, I might…lose the ability to use my arms altogether. It’s part of the reason why I had to stay behind in the Capitol for so long. The rehabilitation—not just from the battle but from my hijacking—was one thing, but I also needed to make sure I wasn’t going to lose control of One For All again.” 

“You still haven’t used it since then, right?” Katsuki asks, brows etching together in concern. “You better not be fuckin’ around with the percentage while you’re in town carryin’ around rocks. Be a stupid thing to lose the use of your arms over.” Katsuki really isn’t one to talk on such matters, and he knows they both know it. But they’re both hypocrites. 

Izuku waves his hands around. “N-no, I promise I’m being careful,” he assures him, “Like I said before, the super-strength that One For All provides me is something I can use without damaging my body. It’s when I have to store up the power for attacks where things get tricky. But it’s not like I’m throwing punches around, I’m just carrying heavy things and swinging a hammer,” Izuku suddenly looks a bit sheepish, and cups the side of his neck. “Although, there was one day when we were clearing the rubble away from this one house…”

Katsuki does not like where this is going. “What the hell did you do, Izuku?” 

Izuku waves his free hand around even more wildly and scrubs his hair with the other. “It really wasn’t a big deal! A bit of the roof was still intact, but came crashing down while me and Amajiki were inside, carrying out some rocks and—and it would’ve come down on him if I didn’t do something, so I didn’t have a choice but to use One For All. I managed to use about twenty percent, which is kind of as high as I can manage it, and it was totally fine! See, I started thinking of it like an egg in a microwave, where you can only cook it for a few seconds to keep it from—“ 

“I told you not to overdo it!” Katsuki snaps, standing to his feet on the slippery underwater rocks and violently sloshing around the hot water in his haste. 

Izuku blinks owlishly. “I didn’t, I controlled it. Instead of putting all the power in one body part, I channel it all over. I just visualize the egg in the microwave and—“ 

“I don’t give a shit what you imagine! You shouldn’t—what if—dammit, Izuku, you can’t just…” But the anger is leaving Katsuki as quick as it came. He has not yelled in Izuku’s face like this since—he’s not even sure when. Maybe not since the first arena, when Izuku picked those nightlock berries. While this outburst is born of the same fear and concern, Katsuki can’t expect this version of Izuku to continue to allow Katsuki to verbally attack him like this. What if it triggered a hijacked memory and made Izuku think Katsuki was about to actually attack him? He needed to stay calm around Izuku at all costs. 

Katsuki drops back down into the water and looks away from Izuku. 

“Never mind,” he mutters, “I didn’t…sorry I yelled.” 

 “…It’s so weird to hear you say that word.” 

Katsuki blinks, and looks up at Izuku, who is giving Katsuki a rather rueful smile. 

“You said that in our first Games,” Katsuki murmurs, “Real?”

Izuku nods. “Real,” he says, “Although back then it was for when you said the word please. But…I think hearing you say sorry is even more weird.” 

Katsuki pouts, and looks away again. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, “Really. You’re right, I should be more careful. But…I also couldn’t let Amajiki get hurt. I know you were just worried about me, so…sorry I worried you. And…” Izuku trails off, and lets out a heavy sigh. “Kacchan…you don’t have to be scared around me. I’m not—I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Katsuki is feeling very exposed now, and being buck naked in a hot spring with an equally-naked Izuku for this conversation isn’t helping much. “I’m not scared,” he grumbles. 

“I told you before, you shouldn’t have to censor yourself around me,” Izuku says sadly, “So if you want to bite my head off for being reckless, then…you should be able to, without worrying that it’s going to make me…go mutt on you. I won’t—I won’t ever do that to you again, Kacchan. I’ll die before I let that happen. And—and while I’m at it, I want to tell you that I’m sorry for…for what I did. For… attacking you.” 

Katsuki shrinks in on himself even further. Maybe if he makes himself small enough, he’ll disappear entirely. “You…weren’t yourself. You were brainwashed, made into a—“ 

“That’s no excuse!” Izuku cries, “I was supposed to protect you, and instead I…I nearly killed you with my own hands! And…and I’ll never forgive myself for that, and I’m not asking you to forgive me, either, b-but…I still just needed to say it. I’m so sorry.” 

Katsuki presses his lips together, and chances a look at Izuku, regretting it instantly when he sees those wide, forest-green eyes welling up with thick tears. It was nearly as bad as the image of Izuku’s pupils shrunken down to pinpricks with his face contorted into a mask of furious hatred as he gripped at Katsuki’s throat. A shudder runs through Katsuki despite the heat of the water, and after a moment, he takes a slow breath. 

“I forgive you,” Katsuki murmurs, “Maybe you won’t accept that, but…I do. I think I already did a long time ago. And…I’m sorry, too.” 

Izuku looks deeply confused. “What—what for?” 

“For avoiding you,” Katsuki says, “Maybe you could’ve gotten better sooner if I had…had tried to help you. It was memories of me that got hijacked, after all, so…I should’ve done more. I should have fought harder to get you back.” 

“But of course you’d want to stay away from me,” Izuku says sternly, “I nearly killed you. And—and I said terrible things to you, and—“ 

“Izuku,” Katsuki says, cutting him off, “Touch me.” 

Izuku’s eyes go wide. “Wh-what?” 

Katsuki huffs. “You’ve barely put your hands on me since you got home, and now I know why. You’re clearly hung up on all this shit from the past, and—well, I don’t see a way forward unless you get the fuck over it. You can apologize all you want and I can tell you that you’re forgiven, but you’re never gonna believe it unless—until we both see that you’re not gonna hurt me.” 

Izuku blinks so rapidly it reminds Katsuki of hummingbird wings. “B-but what, I mean—like, right now?” 

Realising the implications of what Katsuki is suggesting, Katsuki feels blood rush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I-I don’t fuckin’ know. Just—I mean…I only meant that you shouldn’t hold back from now on. It isn’t—isn’t gonna bother me. I’m not fuckin’ scared of you, so do what you want.” 

Izuku looks contemplative. “Then…how about…a shoulder rub?” 

“Sure, I guess,” Katsuki mutters, feigning nonchalance even though the thought of that has his stomach doing somersaults. “Although I’m not the one who’s been hefting around boulders and shit.” 

“I was trying to think of something that would make this soak relaxing again, since I kinda spoiled the atmosphere,” Izuku explains, “So maybe a massage would help, and then we’d be stoning two birds, because then I’d also be working on the whole touching you thing…” 

Katsuki did not think Izuku was going to make good on the whole ‘touching him’ thing right now. When they are both very fucking naked. But if he backs down now, then Izuku might think he’s making an excuse to keep Izuku from touching him, after all. He might think that Katsuki had been lying about not being scared of him. 

So even though he’s internally screaming and running around in circles, Katsuki shrugs his shoulders and says, “Fine, sure. Why the hell not.” 

Izuku nods, and then moves around in the water for a moment, squinting down into the murkiness. “I think if I sit over here, there’s some rocks that you could sit on just in front of it that should put us in a good position to do it.” 

Izuku’s word choice is absolutely abysmal. Katsuki is in hell. He watches as Izuku gets himself situated on the rocks. It brings most of his torso up out of the water. He gestures to Katsuki to come over. “Here, sit between my knees on these rocks in front of me.” 

Fuck. Alright. Guess they’re doing this. 

Katsuki moves slowly through the steamy water and positions himself on the rocks in-between Izuku’s bent legs. With his back turned, at least Katsuki is able to make all the faces he wants without Izuku seeing it. 

“Okay, I’m gonna start now,” Izuku announces, “Just figured I’d give you a heads up, so you don’t, um, jump out of your skin once I—“ 

“Will you just fuckin’ do it already?” Katsuki barks out.

Izuku rests his hands on his shoulders, and Katsuki jolts. Fuck. Damn it. 

“…You jumped,” Izuku remarks. 

“No,” Katsuki snaps, “I just—twitched. Keep going.” 

Izuku’s fingers move over his left shoulder, fingers tracing along the scar there for a moment before both of his hands move to grasp at the ball of Katsuki’s shoulders and begin to knead into his skin. Izuku is featherlight and gentle at first, but then slowly builds up the pressure until his fingertips, thumbs, and the heels of his palms all work in tandem to squeeze into his muscles. Katsuki closes his eyes. 

“Is this okay?” Izuku asks, his voice low. 

Okay? Katsuki is in danger of melting into the spring, becoming one with the liquid. He nods his head a little. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” Izuku says. His thumbs start to work in slow, deep circles between Katsuki’s shoulder blades. Izuku hums, thoughtful and concerned. “I think you’ve got a lot of knots. Probably all that sleeping on the couch.” 

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches at the comment. “Could be,” he says. 

“You’d sleep better in your bed, Kacchan,” Izuku tells him. 

“You’re one to talk, sleepwalker,” Katsuki grumbles. 

Izuku lets out a little laugh. “Fair enough,” he says, “But I at least try to go to bed.” 

Katsuki grunts, noncommittal, and says nothing more as Izuku continues to rub his shoulders. He’s never gotten a massage before. The closest thing he has to liken it to is when Mitsuki had rubbed warmth into his cold hands when he was in the hospital in District 13. But he doesn’t let his mind linger on that memory for long, because not only does it sting to think of Mitsuki, but that had also been when he’d been hospitalized after Izuku attacked him, which naturally gets him thinking of the attack itself again. The dark, bitter look in Izuku’s eyes as he tried to choke the life from him…

Maybe he’s not quite as over it as he thought. 

Izuku’s hands go still. “You’re tensing up,” he says quietly, “Should I stop?” 

Katsuki shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I’m fine. Don’t stop.” 

Izuku is quiet for a time, and his hands stay still on Katsuki’s shoulders. Then he slowly starts to move them again. He digs his thumbs into the tops of Katsuki’s shoulders, into the thick cords of muscle and flesh that connect his shoulder to his neck, and then against the nape of his neck. 

Having Izuku’s fingers on his neck stirs something in Katsuki’s chest—a faint ripple of unease, like a shadow brushing the edges of his mind. But he keeps his shoulders slack and loose as he forces himself to trust in what he already knows: if he were really suspicious of Izuku, then he wouldn’t have come all the way out here alone with him. And if Izuku really wanted to hurt Katsuki again, then he wouldn’t be doing this. 

His thoughts drift instead not to the attack, but to Izuku’s hands themselves. So like and yet so unalike Kirishima’s hands. Katsuki had always assumed Izuku’s hands would be strong yet soft; deft from their years of kneading dough and sketching and painting, but supple from a life without the physical hardships that came with being a hunter like Katsuki or Kirishima. But after their Games, and the war, and even just all the efforts he’s taken to rebuild their district, Izuku’s hands are warm, rough, and calloused. And big. Bigger than his own, Katsuki thinks. Izuku might be the shorter of the two of them by a few centimetres, but he’s always had bigger hands. He’s not sure why the thought of that has his heartbeat picking up speed. He hopes Izuku doesn’t notice his quickening pulse and confuse it for fear. 

Izuku’s hands don’t go entirely still, but they start to slacken, not going as deep into the cords of muscle in Katsuki’s neck and shoulders. Gentle, almost hesitant, like he’s wary of crossing some invisible line. 

Katsuki huffs through his nose. “You’re thinking too much.” 

Izuku’s hands stop altogether. “What?” 

“I’m not made of glass,” Katsuki says, “I’m not gonna break.” 

Izuku is quiet for so long that Katsuki looks over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t slipped into another flashback or something. When he looks around, he sees that Izuku’s eyes are clear, and that their faces are incredibly close. 

Izuku’s lips part, then close, then his tongue darts out to lick them. Katsuki’s probably staring at his mouth too much. He flicks his gaze back up to Izuku’s eyes, but that’s not much better. They are boring into Katsuki with such an intensity that Katsuki thinks he ought to rescind his earlier statement—he is always a pane of glass when it comes to Izuku. He stares right down into the very depths of Katsuki’s being, into the deepest, darkest bellows that Katsuki doesn’t dare to tread. 

“Nobody knows that better than I do, Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs. 

It’s becoming incredibly hard to breathe. Katsuki can’t seem to manage a full breath into his lungs. He feels like he’s balancing on the precarious edge of a knife, and the air around them feels hot and cloying and has nothing to do with the steam. Katsuki’s gaze moves back to Izuku’s lips again, and he finds himself wondering what they would feel like now, after everything. Most of their kisses had felt like nothing much, really—just put on for the cameras and the crowds. But then there were those couple of other ones…

And then the thin cord of tension thrumming between them snaps as they both look away quickly. Katsuki moves away, not too abruptly, not wanting to appear like he’s running away, that he fears Izuku’s touch. That’s not it at all. 

Izuku’s hands are dangerous, yes. But not in the way Izuku probably thinks. 

Chapter Text

xiii.

Katsuki falls back on old advice. He reminds himself of everything he knows to be true, starting with the most simple of thoughts. He is wounded, damaged, but alive, and for some reason determined to live despite all of his pain. The trick, Katsuki thinks, is to make the pain work in reverse; to make the painful memories lead into happy ones. The memory book is just the beginning of that process. He has to follow through on that. So as the weeks continue to pass, Katsuki works on more pages for the book, and instead of feeling worse—which is what he had been dreading—he begins to feel a little bit lighter. 

After several smaller entries are completed about some townsfolk and old classmates from 12 who died in the firebombing, including an entry about Izuku’s mother, Katsuki thinks it’s time they begin to include some entries about the tributes, and decides to rip off the proverbial band-aid by starting with Mahoro. For Mahoro’s picture in the book, Izuku does something a little different, pulling out oil paints and working with small brushes and careful, deliberate strokes. It’s the first time Katsuki has seen him painting ever since he got home. Katsuki observes him for a while, watching the sketch of Mahoro come to life with every dot of colour, but then the memory of Mahoro becomes too much to bear, and Katsuki’s hands begin to shake too much to hold his pen even with his good hand.

“I’m gonna go lie down for a bit,” Katsuki says thinly. Izuku is so absorbed in his work he barely nods in acknowledgement. 

Katsuki goes over to the sofa, burrowing into his nest of blankets and closing his eyes. He tries to find something to concentrate on, something remote from Mahoro but that’s equally sweet and peaceful, but there’s so many images flashing through his brain that they end up resolving into a dream as he slips under. It’s surprisingly pleasant at first; he’s a bird, pushing off the ground. The leaves above him look like the smudges of oil paint that Izuku had crafted with his brush. He soars to the tops of the trees, but then he’s suddenly ripped out of the air, trapped in a net. He thrashes around, he falls, down, down, and then he’s swallowed by a pillar of fire—

And then he wakes up, wrestling around in his blankets, letting out a throttled cry. Izuku hurries over to him, calling out Katsuki’s name, and the room comes into focus around him. 

That’s right. He’s no bird. His wings burned away long ago. 

“I’m okay,” Katsuki chokes out. The trembling in his hands has spread all over, and he hates himself to tiny little pieces over it. Just when he thinks he might be starting to feel a bit better, his body betrays him, reminding him that he is nothing but a mangled fire mutt now. He is wounded, he is damaged, and while he may be alive, it’s becoming more and more glaringly clear that he is also beyond any hope of true repair. 

Izuku’s brow is etched deeply in concern. “Let’s get you up to bed.” 

Katsuki has yet to attempt to sleep in his actual bed since Izuku first brought it up to him that day they went into the forest together and found the hot spring, but Izuku hasn’t fought with him on it. Before Katsuki can protest, Izuku is pulling away the blankets and taking Katsuki by the arms, helping him to his feet. He wraps an arm securely around Katsuki’s middle and leads him upstairs. He’s been doing more of this lately; touching Katsuki willingly. It’s not exactly unwelcome, but every time it happens, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room and Katsuki can scarcely breathe. 

Izuku feels much stronger now than he did when Katsuki first felt his arms around him, that day he held him when Izuku had first come home. It must be from the last few weeks of shifting rocks around in town. The familiar feeling of Izuku’s warm, strong, steady arms lets in other familiar feelings—old thoughts, old questions. What would Katsuki have done without Izuku all this time? From the burned bread, to this very moment? What would Katsuki be if Izuku had been killed, or if his torture had been irreversible? He can barely hold himself together even with Izuku here; he loathes to consider the alternative. The very thought of it makes him dizzy with panic, and has him tasting bile in the back of his throat.

They reach Katsuki’s bedroom, and Izuku helps Katsuki into bed and covers him up in blankets, tucking him in like a child, which makes Katsuki feel even more pathetic. He hasn’t stopped shaking. Izuku looks at him, forlorn, and runs his fingers through Katsuki’s hair. Katsuki instantly relaxes into the touch, thoroughly and completely, the tension melting away. Then, without thinking, Katsuki reaches out and grasps Izuku’s scarred arm, staring up at him. The question stays lodged in the back of his throat, but his helpless desperation must be written all over his face, because he can see Izuku mulling it over, weighing the cost of it in his mind. He watches as Izuku swallows thickly and then, without a word, climbs into the bed and wraps his arms around Katsuki. 

The relief is immediate and immense. Katsuki presses his head against Izuku’s chest until he can feel Izuku’s heartbeat against his ear, warm and deep and comforting. He closes his eyes and listens to Izuku’s breath, feeling the steady in and out. He loses himself in its rhythm, matching his breathing to Izuku’s until he’s taking his first full gulps of air in days, maybe even weeks, or perhaps even longer than that. 

And just like that, he’s fast asleep. 

When he wakes up in the morning, he feels like he’s been asleep for years. He pulls himself upright, yawning deeply and wiping at his eyes, and finds that he’s alone, and the fuzzy feeling of contentment dithers as disappointment takes its place. 

Downstairs, the paints from the previous night have been cleaned away and there is no sign of Izuku except for the neat stack of their book pages, with his brightly-coloured painting of Mahoro set on top. Katsuki stands there staring at it for an indeterminate length of time before suddenly the door opens and Katsuki looks up, brightening for only a moment before he sees that it’s Toshinori, and his shoulders sag a little. 

Katsuki throws himself into the task of fixing him and Toshinori up a quick breakfast, and he tries to keep up a conversation despite his distress. Toshinori has been in a good mood lately—ever since Izuku came home—and Katsuki doesn’t want to spoil it by being a basket case. 

It feels like there is a static charge in the air around him, like a coming storm he can feel in his blood and bones, and in the eye of that storm is Katsuki’s simple desire to put his lips on Izuku’s lips. Only how can it be simple when it’s surrounded in a universe of questions, consequences, and life-altering decisions? And his desire is for the old Izuku, for Deku. This new version—despite the many similarities there are on the surface, and the flickers of Deku that reemerge day by day—Katsuki is still unable to place into his understanding. 

Only the things he knows to be true. And therein lies the real problem. Real or not real? He simply doesn’t know. 

Toshinori offers to do the dishes, and Katsuki resists the temptation to pace, telling himself not to panic. He tells himself that Izuku must have stayed up late working on the painting of Mahoro, and then stayed up even later taking care of Katsuki. And then after Katsuki fell asleep, Izuku likely went home to get some sleep himself—not to run away and panic. He reminds himself also that there was a district planning meeting today, and that Izuku is likely there, which is why he is not here; why Katsuki didn’t wake up in his arms this morning. Like he always did those nights on the train. But then again, that was with the old Izuku, with Deku. Things are different now; Izuku has no obligation to stay. And perhaps, though it aches to consider, he no longer has the desire to. 

“You listening, kid?” 

Toshinori’s voice snaps Katsuki out of his despairing thoughts, and he looks up. “What?” 

Toshinori huffs, but he seems more amused than annoyed. “I said, we ought to get some kind of set-up made for those goslings you ordered from Ten. I don’t have a clue what they’ll need.”

Katsuki had forgotten all about that. “When are they supposed to be arriving again?” 

“Today. Sometime this afternoon.” 

Shit. Well, that ought to be a good distraction, Katsuki thinks. “They’re gonna need nestin’ boxes,” Katsuki says, “And a coop, of some kind. We can’t get all that done today, but we could at least build them a water trough. Apart from that, as far as I know, geese just need grass and they can basically take care of themselves.” 

“Sounds like the perfect pet for me,” Toshinori says. 

Toshinori and Katsuki go into town to get some lumber and bring it back to the Victor’s Village to nail together a long, flat tub and push it under the faucet at the back of Toshinori’s house. Afterward, they head to the train station and pick up a large crate addressed to Toshinori off of one of the train cars that's drilled with holes on the tops and sides. They set the crate carefully on a cart, and wheel it back to Toshinori’s backyard. 

They pop open the lid of the crate, revealing five plump goslings tucked snugly together in a bed of straw, who all start peeping wildly when their nice, dark box is infiltrated by sunlight and two grown men watching over them. Katsuki and Toshinori stare at them for a while.

“They’ll be great for eggs, once they’re big enough,” Katsuki says eventually, “Won’t need to order as many rations from Ten.”  

Toshinori merely hums a little in response. 

They get the little golden goslings out of the box and watch as they stagger around for a while before starting to nibble on the overgrown grass. Katsuki gets the water trough filled, and Toshinori brings over one of the fuzzy birds and sets it in the water, where it splashes around for a while before dipping its head down for a drink. 

“Goose is pretty delicious,” Toshinori remarks. 

“Not much meat on ‘em right now,” Katsuki tells him. He looks down to see one of the goslings stumbling over his shoe. He picks it up and sets it in the water to join the other one. 

Toshinori shrugs. “I’ll wait and see which one of them grows up the ugliest and meanest.” 

“So you’ll eat the one who takes the most after you?” 

Toshinori gives him a deadpan look. “And I was so hoping Young Midoriya being back home would soften you up.” 

Damn it. Katsuki had been counting on Toshinori not to bring Izuku up. So much for his distraction. He watches the goslings chase each other around in the water trough while letting out squeaky, happy chirps, and says nothing in response. 

“You’ve done a good job with him,” Toshinori says, suddenly quiet. 

This compliment catches Katsuki completely off guard. Katsuki hasn’t done a damn thing. Izuku has worked on his self betterment all on his own. In the Capitol, he did depression, anger, and grief management, cognitive-behavioural and art therapy, blood treatments…there was no aspect of his head that Dr. Yoshida had not seen. Meanwhile, Katsuki could hardly manage to pick up the phone when Yoshida calls, and doesn’t exactly talk much about himself when he does. 

When Izuku was allowed back home, he threw himself into his projects from the moment he arrived, whereas Katsuki had wallowed in his own despair for months, festering like a pustulating, ugly, gangrenous wound. If anything, it was Izuku who has been slowly pulling Katsuki back into the light ever since he came home; and how has Katsuki repaid him? He’s been determined to backslide, to spin his wheels in the mud, and barely make any progress at all. He doesn’t know how Izuku isn’t sick of his misery by this point. 

“We’ve helped each other,” Katsuki says, shrugging slightly. “Izuku is a hell of a lot stronger than any of us give him credit for. He’s a survivor.” 

“He is. I watched him stay alive in the mud for four days during your first Games,” Toshinori says, “I haven’t underestimated him since. And he’s put in the work to come back to himself after what All For One put him through, no lie. But you shouldn’t downplay your own role in it, Young Bakugou. He wouldn’t have found the resolve to do so without you. That boy…he loves you, you know. He loves you like all-fire.” 

Katsuki’s heart lurches. He pulls his gaze away from the goslings to look at Toshinori. “Toshi…wouldn’t you rather be somewhere else?” 

“Like where?” 

“I dunno. Someplace with alcohol on every corner. Maybe the Capitol.” 

Toshinori’s expression sours, and he shakes his head. “What the hell makes you think I’d rather be there than here? You think I liked it there or something?” 

Katsuki looks away, and shrugs again. “No. I just thought seein’ Twelve like this would be…I dunno. Too hard to handle.” 

“What, watching it become something better than it was?” Toshinori asks, “I’ve never found nostalgia to do me any good. The past is something I’m keen to steer clear from. And it’s starting to feel like our future won’t be so bleak, either. I don’t know how many more years I’ve got left in me, but…” Toshinori trails off, and looks away, up towards the sky. For a while, he’s so quiet that Katsuki thinks he’s decided not to finish his thought, but when he eventually speaks again, his voice is soft. “I’ve decided to keep on living.” 

Toshinori looks back over to Katsuki, and rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“I think us survivors have earned that right. The right to choose to live, and who to spend those lives with. Maybe that’s when we’ll finally find it.” 

“Find what?” Katsuki asks. 

Toshinori smiles. “The life of a victor.” 

Izuku arrives back from the district planning meeting earlier than usual. Katsuki pulls out some leftovers from breakfast, perching on the chair adjacent to Izuku to watch him eat. 

Finally, Katsuki says, “I slept so fuckin’ good last night.” 

Izuku looks up. “I thought so. You looked peaceful this morning, when I left.” 

So Izuku hadn’t just left after Katsuki fell asleep, then. He stayed with Katsuki until morning. 

“I slept well, too. No nightmares,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki nods slowly. “No nightmares,” he agrees. 

“That’s what we did before—real?” 

Katsuki hesitates on the precipice of what could be a very loaded conversation, considering the last time this particular subject came up between them. It was back in the dining hall in District 13, not long after Izuku was finally allowed out of his hospital room for mealtimes. When Izuku had accused Katsuki of their arrangement of ‘sleeping together’ to mean far more than the literal action. 

“You mean…when we shared a bed on the train?” Katsuki says carefully, “Yeah, that’s real. It was the only way either of us could get any sleep, on the Victory Tour. It wasn’t…part of the star-crossed lovers stuff. Just its own separate thing. Just for sleep.”

That hangs in the air between them for a while, before Izuku switches gears suddenly as he goes back to wolfing down his food. 

“The meeting was pretty productive today. We requested some heavy equipment from the Capitol. They can’t spare much at the moment, but we do have another twenty temp houses coming by the end of June, hopefully.” He pauses to take a gulp of water, then continues. “Oh, and the council finally determined a spot for the communal garden—the field adjacent to the Victor’s Village. They’re gonna start taking requests for seeds to order from District Eleven. If there’s anything in particular you can think of, let me know. If you make me a list, I can bring it to the next meeting. We’ll need to order soon, though. Spring will be over before we know it.” 

It’s hard to believe they’re already into the third week of April. Katsuki decides to linger on that, instead of the obvious, jarring segue in their conversation. “It’ll be weird not havin’ to be in the Capitol this summer,” Katsuki says. 

“Even weirder for Toshinori, I’ll bet,” Izuku remarks, “The first time in nearly three decades that he won’t have to be a mentor.” 

Katsuki waves his hand dismissively. “He’s got his goslings to look after now.”

“Oh! Did they come in today? I’ll have to go by and see them.”

“I need to build a coop for them,” Katsuki says, “Otherwise Tiger might eat the fuckin’ things.” 

Izuku nods eagerly. “I can help.” 

Katsuki shuffles a little in his seat. “You don’t have to, if it’ll pull you away from…” Katsuki trails off, and gestures around vaguely. “All your stuff.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “Not at all. I was actually starting to think that I might have a bit too much on my plate.”

“Really? Are ya sure about that?” Katsuki asks sarcastically. 

Izuku smiles good naturedly. He reaches across the table to rest his hand on top of Katsuki’s. “It’s why I left the meeting early, actually. I just realized that…I’d rather be here. With you.” 

Katsuki’s heart is suddenly pounding so loudly in his ears he’s certain Izuku can hear it beating like a drum, and can feel it where their hands connect. A rush of joy overwhelms him, hearing the words. And it’s even more overwhelming to realize that it’s good to hear them, and not something that fills him with dread. It’s not something he has to feel guilty, or undeserving of. 

Even so, if it weren’t for the talk he just had with Toshinori earlier today, he’s not so sure he would have the nerve to ask what he does next. 

“Izuku, did you come back to Twelve…just because they sent you here? Because they told you that you couldn’t go anywhere else?”

Izuku looks truly baffled by the question. “...No, of course not. Most people were against my coming back, honestly. They told me I could go wherever I wanted to, but I came back here because…well, where else would I go? This is my home. And you and Toshinori are the only two people in the world I have left. I needed to be here, and come back as soon as I possibly could. And when I saw you, and I saw that you needed help in the same kind of way that I did…of course, I had to be here for you. And when you didn’t push me away, I have to admit, I was…relieved. Even though I didn’t deserve to be. Even though you would have been well within your right to keep your distance from me, to get them to send me somewhere else…” 

Katsuki puts his other hand on top of Izuku’s and gives it a squeeze. “I wouldn’t have done that,” he says insistently. It’s a comfort and a relief to know now, at last, that Izuku is here by his own will, and not someone else’s orders. It’s also kind of nice to know that Katsuki isn’t alone in struggling with guilty feelings, and combating with what he does and doesn’t deserve. They’re two sides of the same coin.

Encouraged by this, he continues, “I was…worried. When I woke up and you weren’t there, that…that you felt like you didn’t…” He trails off, suddenly losing his nerve, trapped under Izuku’s penetrating gaze. He ducks his chin, staring down at their joined hands. 

“Like I didn’t what?” Izuku encourages softly. 

Katsuki swallows. “Like you didn’t belong here,” With me, he thinks, but doesn’t say. “Like I would have kicked you out when I woke up. I wouldn’t have. You once told me that your nightmares were all about…losing me, and so when you woke up and saw me there, you calmed down. And I…lost you so many times. So, when you weren’t there this morning…” 

Izuku looks crestfallen. “Oh, Kacchan. I’m sorry. I didn’t try and…and sneak out, or anything. I really did just leave for the district meeting, that’s all.” 

Katsuki nods. He feels like he must be red right down to his core. “I-I know. It’s stupid, I know. But—”

Izuku squeezes his hand. “It’s not stupid,” he assures him, “I can stay, from now on. I want to help you, and if you need comfort, or help to go to sleep, then I can stay. Whenever you need it.”

Yes. Stay with me. Always. This is where you belong, Katsuki thinks, but doesn’t say. 

“Okay,” Katsuki mumbles quietly instead. 

Izuku stays over for a while to work a bit more on the book. Then they take a walk over to Toshinori’s to check on the goslings, which Toshinori has put back in the wooden crate for the time being until a proper coop can be made for them. Izuku fawns over the goslings for a while, and then Toshinori joins them back at Katsuki’s for dinner. Izuku needs to get up early in the morning to work on bakery orders for the townsfolk, so he leaves with Toshinori, and just like that Katsuki is on his own again. 

That night, Katsuki attempts to sleep in his bed. But he wakes up a short time later to the sound of his own panting, his heart aching and racing. It wasn’t even a nightmare he’d been having, really; more just a memory, warped at the edges. He was back on the beach in the clock arena with Izuku…

I need you, Katsuki had told him.

And he saw himself, and felt himself, move in eagerly for the kiss. A kiss to stop Izuku’s mouth, to shut down his words. To breathe him and to taste him in a kiss that wasn’t meant for strategy—it was only meant for Katsuki. But Izuku’s lips were pursed, unresponsive. And then he put his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders, and pushed him away. 

I don’t, Izuku whispered.

And then he woke up alone, but the vividness of the dream had Katsuki searching around the bed for Izuku, anyway. The last time he had dreams like this, he was back in District 13—it was early on, when Izuku’s fate after the Quell was still an open question—and selfishly, in the darkness, he wanted nothing more than for Izuku’s living body next to his, to recreate and finish their kiss on the beach. A natural impulse, Katsuki supposes, but it felt self-centered and wrong at the time, and still does now. 

As he tries to catch his breath, he contemplates the conversation with Izuku from earlier that day. How he had told him that the arrangement with Izuku to share a bed on the train had been separate from their star-crossed lovers’ strategy. Except, in the grand scheme of things, it probably wasn’t. The same way Katsuki’s tactics during the countless banquets they attended during the Victory Tour—when he had pulled Izuku away to kiss him ravenously in dark, secluded corners—hadn’t just been to quell the rebellion in the districts and prove his affection for Izuku to All For One. 

Deep down, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he really had been using Izuku during those days. And back on the train, even though nothing happened between them beyond sleep, Katsuki had woken up both mornings with the evidence of Izuku’s desire for him pressed against him. If Izuku was aware of it, he didn’t apologise for it, but Katsuki hadn’t commented on it, either way. At first he played it off as the peculiarities of the male body at rest—that it wasn’t deliberate, and certainly not his fault. But that didn’t mean he forgot about it. 

After all, Izuku had loved him—why wouldn’t he desire Katsuki in that way? Katsuki had locked the knowledge away for future reference, only it was a future that didn’t come to pass. Izuku was taken and changed, and now all he remembers of that time—as far as Katsuki knows—is that Katsuki was deceptive and manipulative. Telling Izuku to join him in his bed, then sneaking into the woods with Kirishima once they were back home. 

Katsuki supposes that Izuku must accept now that they had never slept together—not in the sense he was led to believe when he was being hijacked, anyway. He does wonder, though, how it would have felt, if they truly had.

Katsuki isn’t naive—he knows what happens, where everyone’s parts are supposed to go. Of course, they didn’t exactly bother to cover same-sex dynamics much when he was in school, since it didn’t result in procreation, for one thing, and for a long time it was outlawed, though there was more leniency towards it these days. But there had been enough talk about it that he had overheard whispered amongst his classmates to get the gist of how it would work between two boys. Between him and Izuku…

He knows he can’t easily recreate it on his own. He wonders how it really feels? Slow down, Katsuki cautions himself, as his breath starts to come even harder rather than calm down. But really, how similar was it to—? (Stop it.)

He feels himself flush right down to his toes, feeling foolish and—frustrated. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first in a long time since these feelings first worked up inside of him, begging for relief. This might just be the worst it’s ever been, though. 

This sort of thing had felt like such a chore to him before, and not something he even really felt the need to do, even as he was in the throes of puberty. It was certainly tricky to get the kind of privacy such an act requires when you live in a single-room house with your mother, and she never left the house, so it always had to happen in the wee hours of the night when she was fast asleep. In District 13, it was a bit easier. Though he’d been so messed up back then, his already almost non-existent libido was almost completely shot. Almost. But on those nights when Mitsuki was working late shifts in the hospital, and Katsuki had their living compartment to himself, and he was kept awake at night not just by looming nightmares, but of the memory of that kiss on the beach, then Katsuki would close his eyes and think about how it might have gone, if they had gotten to continue. If there had been no cameras watching, and nobody else around. If they had just been two people giving into their passions on some private beach somewhere they had all to themselves…

He hasn’t done this since before his right arm got messed up. Using his non-dominant hand feels alien when doing just about everything, but especially with this. When he closes his eyes, it makes it easier to imagine that the hand is not his own. It takes a minute to push down the shame, relax into the sensation and let his imagination wander. It’s as complicated as every other feeling he has for Izuku, but pleasure feels especially self-indulgent and undeserved. But he knows that he won’t be able to get back to sleep otherwise.

So he does what he must, and then wallows in horrified guilt afterward. And though he’s not pleased with himself, he does manage to get back to sleep, and no dreams, nightmares, or old memories revisit him again for the rest of the night. 

The following morning, Katsuki wakes up early and heads straight for Izuku’s, despite his better judgement. What he should do, after last night, is head off into the woods by himself for a few hours and clear his head. Besides, today was a baking day, so he shouldn’t be distracting Izuku from his work. Or distract himself with the sight of Izuku, for he knows as soon as he sees him it will only make these thoughts even worse. Now that they’ve come, now that Katsuki has let them in, he can’t shut them out. All of his senses are jumbling together; he can feel Izuku on his skin, he can taste him on his tongue…

But despite all of these combating thoughts, he finds himself tramping over to Izuku’s anyway, where he can smell the bread baking in the oven before he’s even opened the door. 

He lets himself in, taking in the warm, sweet air as he walks through the house towards the kitchen, where sure enough he finds Izuku bent low over the table. Izuku jerks up in surprise as Katsuki enters. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku cries in alarm, and then he looks back down at the table and winces. “Oh, dammit—” 

That’s when Katsuki notices the cake. Not one of the usual big sheet cakes Izuku makes, but a little round one, decorated with green and orange frosting. One of the globs of green frosting Izuku had been piping along the rim is a bit bigger than the others, from when Izuku squeezed his piping bag too tightly in alarm from Katsuki’s sudden entrance. Katsuki feels a pang of guilt—he hasn’t even been here for two seconds and he’s already getting in Izuku’s hair. He watches on as Izuku hastily wipes away the messed-up frosting chunk and tries again. Katsuki stays quiet, sitting down to watch until Izuku is finished putting the finishing touches on the cake and has set the piping bag aside. 

“What’s that for?” Katsuki asks, “Is there some event in the town square tonight, or something?” 

Izuku looks up at Katsuki and blinks curiously. “No, it’s for you.”

“Oh,” Katsuki says, dumbly, “What for?” 

“Kacchan—it’s your birthday today.” 

Oh. That’s right. Today was April 20th. The day had completely snuck up on him; he’d been so preoccupied with other thoughts, he hadn’t even considered it. He was twenty-years-old. In fact, when he had woken up out of that dream last night, it had likely been past midnight. He had been twenty back then and didn’t even realize. Again, he had been too preoccupied with—well, other things. Things he could no longer blame on simply being a teenage boy, because now he no longer was one. Not that he really feels any more grown-up than he did yesterday. 

Katsuki stares at the cake, piped prettily with evergreen swirling borders and vibrant orange flowers, and feels his cheeks burn. It’s his and Izuku’s favourite colours—the ones they had told one another about back on the train during the Victory Tour. The ones Katsuki reminded Izuku of when they were in the Capitol, trying to piece Izuku’s memories back together. The colours of the two faux gemstones on the ring Katsuki wore every day from the moment Izuku placed it on his finger, the night before the Quarter Quell. The same ring he is still wearing now, even though both of the gemstones are gone, leaving behind two empty divots in the woven silver band. It’s such a constant that Katsuki honestly forgets it’s even there most of the time, only occasionally becoming aware of its weight on his finger. But much like any time Izuku crosses his mind, and now with Izuku’s kind gesture, it suddenly feels as though his hand weighs a ton. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t really be all that earth-shattering, Katsuki thinks, to become something more with Izuku. The entire country already thought they were engaged. And while there hadn't been any camera crews back in 12 with everyone preoccupied with their own reconstruction across the country, it would only be a matter of time until they did return one day, to get a look at District 12 once it had finished rising from its ashes. Something to dread in the future, Katsuki supposes. And when they did arrive, would they want to capture a glimpse of Katsuki and Izuku, reunited in their new home, together at last? Or would everyone be over the story of the star-crossed lovers by that point? Surely some word had spread about Katsuki coming back to 12 all those months ago, and Izuku arriving back only recently. Did people assume they had finally made things official in secret, or did they think that they were waiting for the town to be rebuilt so that the camera crews would have a place to stay to capture the ceremony, as if they could give a shit about such a thing? Or did anyone even care anymore? 

“Kacchan?”

Oh—he got really lost in thought just now. Katsuki pulls himself out of his reverie at the sound of Izuku’s voice, and realizes he’s still staring at the cake. “Yeah?” 

“I said, did you want to have some now, or later?”

“Later,” Katsuki says automatically, “I don’t want to cut into it yet.” It was way too pretty.  

“Okay, maybe for lunch, then,” Izuku suggests, “Do you want to come to the train station with me today?” 

Katsuki frowns. Today was a Saturday; not usually a day that the train came through. “Sure, but what for?” 

“I put in a order for food rations, to get some specialty items for your birthday,” Izuku says, “They didn’t send them in with the regular shipment, so they’re showing up today.”

Katsuki blinks. “Izuku, you…you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Of course I did,” Izuku says quickly, “It’s your twentieth. It’s your coming of age day. And besides…I think getting another year older is even more of a thing to celebrate than ever, for the likes of us.” 

Katsuki supposes Izuku has a point. He hadn’t been expecting to make it to his twentieth birthday, after all. Izuku puts away the cake, and the two of them head out to the train station. It’s a particularly balmy day, even for late spring; the humidity of summer was already creeping in, and the sky was thick with oppressive grey clouds. The air felt like it was charged with static electricity, and was heavy with moisture. 

Izuku clicks his tongue, looking warily up at the dreary sky. “Not exactly the best birthday weather.” 

Katsuki shrugs. He’s used to his birthdays being pretty hit or miss in terms of weather, being born in the spring. More often than not, it rained on his birthday. And today seemed to be no exception. In fact, he’s felt the change in the air for several days now. It looked like they were in for one hell of a storm. 

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Katsuki asks as they walk. 

Izuku responds with a long sigh. 

“You should've come over,” Katsuki tells him sternly—although, of course, last night would have been a bad time to do it. 

“It wasn’t nightmares, or trouble sleeping. At least, not at first,” Izuku says, “I kept having the same dream, over and over. I would wake up, go back to sleep, and have it all over again. It was the celebration we had in the town square a while back, when the first temp houses got built. Something was…off about it.”

“About the dream? Or the night?” 

“The dream was off, which makes me feel like the night was off,” Izuku says, “The dream was very dark, except for the bonfire. The fire was bright, so bright that everyone looked like a shadow. And I was dancing, but I can’t tell with who. And I kept reaching out for someone’s hand as I spun around the fire, but they were…missing. And the fire felt so hot, so real. I woke up in a sweat this morning, when I finally did wake up for good.” 

Katsuki chews on his lip. “Me, too. It was…pretty humid this morning,” he says, “So, who was missing? Or maybe it was more of a general feeling? The whole town is missing, after all.” 

“That’s true. In my dream, there were shadows of buildings. I felt them all around me. But…I’m not sure that was it.” 

Well, Katsuki is certainly no head doctor, nor is he much of a dream interpreter. He doesn’t have a clue what Izuku’s dream could mean. “Sounds like somethin’ to pick Dr. Yoshida’s brain over,” Katsuki mutters. 

Izuku stares ahead, quiet for a time. “I guess so.” 

They arrive at the train station just as a train is pulling in. Katsuki frowns at the sight of it. This is not a cargo train, the kind that typically comes into 12 to drop off rations and building materials, but a Capitol train, the likes of which hasn’t been seen here since Katsuki was taken to the Capitol for the Quarter Quell. The few Capitol officials from President Takami’s administration who had made appearances in 12 during the efforts to bring in the temporary housing units always arrived via hovercraft because it was faster. 

Katsuki stands on the platform as the train comes to a stop on the tracks, and begins to have the sneaking suspicion that Izuku had told him a fib about those ‘specialty food rations’ he ordered. When Katsuki looks at Izuku and sees him grinning ear-to-ear, it confirms it. 

When the doors of the train open, eight people pile off one of the train cars, laden with suitcases. Katsuki feels Izuku grasp his wrist, squeeze it once, and then let it go. And after that, the onslaught begins. 

Uraraka is the first to barrel forwards, a wide grin on her face as she laughs and leaps at Katsuki, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He hasn’t seen her since the day he left District 13 for the Capitol, when he gifted her the bundle of pine needles after she failed their final tests to be chosen for District 13’s army. She looks good; she’s put on more weight, her hair has grown back in a few more inches, giving her a passable pixie cut that honestly suits her round features pretty well. 

Suddenly, Katsuki’s feet start to lift up off the ground, and he squawks while gripping tighter to Uraraka, who starts giggling like a menace. 

“What the hell, Cheeks—?” 

“It’s my Quirk,” Uraraka says, “I can make anything I touch weightless.” 

“Well, great. Now put me the fuck down!” 

“Wow. So grouchy for a birthday boy.” 

But she shuffles in his arms and presses her fingertips together, which seems to release the weightlessness, and they drop back down to the ground. He’s still holding onto her until their feet are firmly back on the solid ground, but shoves her off the moment they’re steady, red up to his ears. Uraraka seems completely unphased by this, moving on to Izuku, who gets swept up in Uraraka’s floating embrace next, leaving Katsuki to greet the rest of the group. 

Kaminari, Jirou, Koda, Mina, Kirishima, Todoroki, and his mother Rei all come over to Katsuki with big smiles. Katsuki can’t even believe the sight of Kirishima, who is nearly unrecognizable with his hair dyed bright red and styled into a wild arrangement of spikes all over his head that’s very Capitol. He hasn’t seen Kirishima since the day of All For One’s execution. Katsuki had still been mute back then, incapable of speaking after the loss of Mitsuki. He and Kirishima hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, but none of that seems to matter now, because Kirishima’s toothy grin is the same as ever, like no time or distance or death has come between them at all. 

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Katsuki asks. 

Kirishima snickers. “Ya like it?” 

“It looks like shit.” 

Kirishima barks out a laugh. “It ain’t that much different from yours, y’know,” Kirishima says, reaching over to ruffle Katsuki’s hair, but Katsuki swats his hand away. 

“Alright, what the hell gives? Why are you all here?” Katsuki demands. 

“Midoriya reached out to all of us about your birthday,” Todoroki explains, “We’ve been planning it for the last few weeks.” 

The last few weeks? So Izuku has been in touch with everyone planning this? Had managed to arrange this in the midst of everything else he was doing? How long have they all been in contact? Katsuki hasn’t opened a single letter or tried to find a way to call any of them on the phone since he got back home. Why in the world would they all want to come and celebrate Katsuki's birthday when he hasn’t been a decent friend to any of them these past few months, completely going off-grid as soon as the war ended? 

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Izuku says, “I know it was tricky to work around everyone’s busy schedules, but I really appreciate you making the trip all the way out here.” 

“We wouldn’t miss it, dude,” Kaminari says cheerily, “Besides, we’ve all been dying for a break! We saved the entire freakin’ country and haven’t even gotten a chance to celebrate it. This was the perfect excuse.” 

“Well, let’s start with a little tour, so you can see how the rebuilding is going,” Izuku says, “Oh, let’s get a cart for everyone’s luggage…” 

Katsuki and Izuku lead everyone off the train platform once everyone’s luggage is deposited into a cart, which Izuku insists on pushing himself. Rei, Todoroki, Kaminari, and Uraraka had all been to District 12 before, during each of their own Victory Tours back when they won their Hunger Games. Koda and Jirou had briefly been in 12 for filming propos after the firebombing, but had never been there when it was still intact, or visited since the townsfolk began to return and rebuild. Izuku shows the group the temporary houses and the starting foundations that have been constructed for the new, permanent houses, as well as the plot for the communal garden near the Victor’s Village. 

District 12 got the worst damage of the districts, being completely obliterated by bombs everywhere except the Victor’s Village, but Todoroki and Uraraka regale them all about their own district’s rebuilding efforts post-war. Todoroki and his mother have split their time between reconstruction in District 4 and helping Uraraka with a rehabilitation program for those struggling with post-traumatic stress, addiction, and other psychological disorders. Jirou and Koda work closely with Mina on journalism and broadcasts, covering the after-effects of the war and the restructuring of society in a Panem without the Hunger Games. Kaminari splits his time between the broadcasts, and his task of getting all of Panem on the hydroelectric grid. Kirishima is still in District 2, working at the new Peacekeeper academy. 

“It was just supposed to be a temporary assignment,” Kirishima explains as they head for the Victor’s Village. “But now they’ve got me training the new recruits, and, well…I guess they’re happy with me.” 

“He’s being modest,” Mina cuts in, “Ei is absolutely incredible.” 

Katsuki blinks at the nickname. That was…awfully forward. Familiar. Then again, Mina was from the Capitol. But when Katsuki peeks at Kirishima out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction, he can see Kirishima is as red as his hair, and is rubbing at his neck in the way he always did when he was receiving praise he didn’t know how to accept. 

It’s hard to imagine Kirishima having any part of a system that is similar to the old one. Katsuki wonders why new Peacekeepers are even being trained—or why they still had Peacekeepers at all. Katsuki supposed that this new world they were crafting still required some kind of law enforcement, but why did it have to be with Peacekeepers? And why was Kirishima, who had been on the other side of the war, who had gunned down Peacekeepers without a second thought in the Capitol tunnels, now training the new ones? He had proven himself a great soldier in District 13, and had been integral to shutting down the Nut when they were in District 2. Kirishima made a name for himself early on in the rebellion after saving the people of 12 from the firebombings, and only continued to be impressive in the war efforts since. But it was still strange to think of Kirishima in a place that wasn’t District 12, and a district that pumped out Peacekeepers and Career tributes is the last place on earth that Katsuki thought Kirishima would end up. 

As good as it feels for Kirishima to be back home, Katsuki has to admit to himself that it had been a bit of a relief for Kirishima to not be here all this time. Katsuki isn’t so sure that Kirishima would fully understand this thing he’s been going through, with all his nightmares and the occasional spin-out into dark, overwhelming despair. Not to mention the whole Izuku thing would hang over them, and Katsuki would always feel guilty about it, even though Kirishima wouldn’t be trying to make him feel that way—which would have made the whole thing even worse. Though perhaps Kirishima’s jealousy towards Izuku would have actually turned bitter if he’d been made to watch Katsuki wallow in solitude for all those months while Izuku was in the Capitol, knowing that Kirishima’s presence alone was not enough to pull Katsuki out of the shadows. And once Izuku had returned, Katsuki’s growing clinginess towards him would have only further frustrated Kirishima. 

No, it was for the best that he had not been here. Katsuki needs Izuku, someone who understands what he’s going through, and Kirishima being here would have been an impediment, a block to Katsuki’s already slow-moving improvement. He had enough rotting in his brain without the pressure to examine his romantic feelings. For two years he had to simultaneously keep up the appearance that Izuku is more to him than is true to the Capitol and less to him than is true to Kirishima—and to Katsuki himself, he supposes. But now that these feelings of desire have had a resurgence within him, and with no pretense to hide behind, Katsuki has to admit to himself that he had never experienced quite the same yearning for Kirishima. Katsuki had spent months in District 13 with Kirishima, and had spent the entire time wishing he could kiss Izuku again. It had not been Kirishima that kept Katsuki tethered to life for all of those clouded months. And it had not been Kirishima’s return that finally parted those clouds and let beams of sunlight into his grey world. 

Kirishima had said that Katsuki would choose the person he couldn’t survive without, and at the time, Katsuki had thought Kirishima was cruel to consider Katsuki to be so cold and unfeeling in his decision. But there’s few who know Katsuki as intricately as Kirishima does, and in the end, he has to admit that Kirishima had been right, after all. A world without Kirishima is not one Katsuki cares to consider, but is something that he’s sure he could linger in, albeit with a dull and constant ache in his chest he would eventually learn to live with. But Katsuki knows with complete and utter certainty that he cannot exist in a world without Izuku.

So when Mina loops her arm around Kirishima’s and rests her pink cheek on his bicep as they walk along, and Kirishima’s own cheeks get even more red in response, Katsuki digs around inside himself, trying to register any lingering feelings of anger, hatred, or longing. But instead, all he finds is relief. 

Their party stops at Toshinori’s place to collect him for the festivities. Toshinori is outside looking over his new goslings, who are stumbling around in the grass and swimming in their trough. Koda takes to the goslings straight away, and is loath to be pulled away once their gathering moves on to Izuku’s so everyone can drop off their luggage. The houses in the Victor’s Village have multiple bedrooms and Izuku’s house alone has more than enough room to accommodate everyone, with a few of their guests pairing up. Koda, Rei, Todoroki, and Uraraka are all able to sleep in their own rooms, while Kaminari pairs up with Jirou (which doesn’t escape Katsuki’s notice), and Kirishima shares with Mina (which also doesn’t escape Katsuki’s notice). 

With the imminent storm looming, the group stays indoors, gathering on the plush chairs and couches in Izuku’s living room. Izuku is the perfect host, providing everyone with beverages and a platter of cheese, nuts, dried fruit and cured meats for all of them to snack on while they regale each other with what their lives had been like these past few months. 

Todoroki discusses the fishermen threatening a strike in District 4, brought on by increased contributions requested by the Capitol. With tripled quotas now that their seafood was needed in the districts as well as the Capitol, they expected compensation. The Peacekeepers—which Kirishima now calls the Public Safety Commission, with a hint of exasperation in his voice—had been called on by the Capitol to break up the strikes, which sounds a little too close to the old loyalty between 2 and the Capitol for Katsuki’s comfort. Kirishima explains, however, that the old and new officers he is training to eventually be sent out to the districts won’t be answering to the Capitol, but to the district councils. Eventually, new officers will be recruited from the districts themselves, but in the meantime, there’s already a whole population in 2 trained and ready to go. They just have to make sure of their loyalties—which is where Kirishima comes in. Katsuki can’t think of a better person for the job; nobody knew steadfast loyalty better than Kirishima, after all. 

Toshinori breaks out the spirits, including an apple-cinnamon moonshine he’s made himself in a still in his basement cellar; this is the first time Katsuki has ever heard of this particular extracurricular activity of Toshinori’s, but he supposes it’s not all that surprising that Toshinori would need more than some geese to fill his days. Everyone partakes in the moonshine, which tastes dangerously like no more than a liquefied apple pie; the burn of the alcohol hardly registers. 

As the bottle is passed around the group, Kaminari starts to laugh. “If only the cameras could see us now, the last of the victors all gathered around, guzzlin’ down moonshine in beautiful, drunken harmony.” 

“Last of the victors?” Katsuki echoes, “You mean, we’re all that’s left?” 

Kaminari shrugs. “Price of celebrity,” he says wryly, “We were targeted from both sides.” 

Meaning that the Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels, and the rebels killed those they thought were allied with the Capitol. Seventy-five years of Hunger Games, and the only victors that remained were all in this room. A brief pall comes over them all for a moment, but then Izuku gets to his feet and crosses the room to the radio. “Let’s see if we can find a station playing some music.” 

After some fiddling with the dials Izuku manages to find a crackly station playing some soft folk tunes. Conversations diverge into smaller pockets after that, and Izuku occupies himself in the kitchen working on preparing some more finger foods for a light lunch. Katsuki takes his glass of moonshine and slips away from the chatter of multiple conversations to escape to the quiet of the front porch. A breeze catches him, carrying a little bite to it. There is a rumble of distant thunder through the dark, heavy clouds. Katsuki had always hated the rain, but finds that he welcomes it now. The air is so uncharacteristically hot and heavy for mid-spring, and the sky feels like it is holding its breath. It would be a relief to have the release of a good storm. 

“Man, wish this storm would just hurry up and come already.” 

Katsuki sips at his moonshine as Kirishima comes up beside him. The two of them had a long history with storms, with all their years spent out in the wilderness. Kirishima could feel the current in the air as strongly as Katsuki. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters, “Feels like bein’ suffocated in slow motion.” 

“Katnip,” Kirishima says, and the slow caution in his voice has Katsuki looking away from the gathering clouds and towards him, but Kirishima opens his mouth several times and nothing materializes. 

Katsuki decides to help him along. “So. You and Mina.” 

Kirishima looks away, down into his half-empty glass of moonshine. “Me and Mina,” he says, strained. “Look, Katnip…you’re my best friend, and—and what I feel with Mina, it’s—well, you were long and slow, and she was quick and sudden, but—”

Love really is weird. You do crazy things, you say crazy things. Maybe even regrettable things. And you try to get out with some dignity, if you can. Katsuki had already grieved for the relationship he and Kirishima used to share. Their boyhood days of leaning on each other for survival, of being one another’s rock and comfort and constant, are over. But that didn’t make the love any less; it didn’t mean that the connection they would now carry into their adulthood was something superficial. 

“I know,” Katsuki tells him, “You don’t have to say it.” 

“I do,” Kirishima says insistently, “I do, just this once, and then we can put it away forever. I just need you to hear it, so there’s nothing awkward between us. I love you, and I’ll always love you. You were…the first person I ever loved, and, well…they say you never really get over those. But, with Mina, it’s—it’s just—”

“Different,” Katsuki supplies. 

Kirishima nods. “Different,” he agrees. 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The law of opposites in full effect in more ways than one. The thing is, Katsuki and Kirishima were far too alike, though their twin flames came from different sources. Kirishima’s burned for righteous justice while Katsuki’s was born of arrogance, then fury, then ruin. The two of them ending up together might have been the expected, natural thing at one point in their lives, but their paths had diverged long ago, leading them both to go against the norm, and end up somewhere—with someone—very unexpected. Well, at least for Kirishima. The differences between him and Kirishima were always there, and though it might have taken the arenas and the war for Katsuki to see it, perhaps it wouldn’t have taken being thrust back together at the reaping for Katsuki to find his way back to Izuku. Maybe he always would have come to that conclusion eventually. Katsuki isn’t so sure there is a world in which the reasons he chose Izuku didn’t always exist. 

Just as that thought comes to him, the first fat drops of water begin to fall from the sky, and it only takes a few seconds for the rain to begin falling in thick sheets. It carries with it both tremendous noise and a sweet, earthy scent. Thunder booms, and lighting flares across the clouds in the far distance. Katsuki and Kirishima both exhale softly, and then stand in comfortable silence as they watch the lightning strikes march through the woods. 

“Do you think you’ll ever come back?” Katsuki asks suddenly. 

“I don’t know,” Kirishima says, “It’s…it’s not Twelve—not to me. Twelve is gone, and now there’s some new district being built on top of it that I have nothin’ to do with.” 

“Twelve is in the people,” Katsuki tells him, “It always has been.” 

Kirishima looks at him and raises an inquisitive eyebrow. 

Katsuki bristles a little. “What?”

“That just sounded a lot like something Midoriya would say.” 

Katsuki huffs. “Well, it’s fuckin’ trite and cheesy, but—it’s true. You should come home—if you’re ever ready.”  

Kirishima looks back out at the rain. “I’ll think about it.” 

Suddenly, the door behind them swings open, letting out the chatter and music from inside the house, and Katsuki and Kirishima look around to see Izuku. “Kacchan, could you please go around and close all the windows on the first floor, before the rain gets in?”

“Sure.”

Izuku’s gaze flickers between Katsuki and Kirishima, and he lingers in the doorway for a moment. But Izuku is fighting against the clock; the electricity is in danger of getting knocked out by the storm, so he has no choice but to quickly slip back to the kitchen to continue prepping for dinner. Katsuki and Kirishima watch him go, and then wordlessly head back inside themselves.

Kirishima and Katsuki divide up the rooms on the first floor, going through and shutting all the windows. Afterward, they both hover in the hallway, out of sight and earshot from the rest of the guests, and from Izuku, who is still puttering around in the kitchen. 

“So,” Kirishima says slowly, “You and Midoriya.” 

“Me and Izuku,” Katsuki says. He knocks back the last of his drink, but he’s sure he could drain all of Toshinori’s stocks and never have enough liquid courage for this conversation. 

Kirishima leans against the wall. “Look, man. The thing about Midoriya is…he loves you beyond all reason or sense of self-preservation.”

Katsuki scoffs. “That was the old Izuku.” 

“It’s really, really not,” Kirishima says with a sigh, “Love is funny like that. It…it feels like a shared thing, even when it’s one-sided. And when you’re a kid, and you don’t even really know how love works…you still can’t help it. It just—happens. Midoriya…he made you love him when you weren’t even lookin’. And I think that…it was a choice, for both of you—something more deliberate, the second time around. And that’s why you should trust in it.” 

Katsuki thinks back to the conversation between Kirishima and Izuku that he had overheard back when they were in the Capitol. How doubtful Izuku had been about Katsuki’s affections; unsure about what was part of the act, and what wasn’t. And yet he had been so certain about Katsuki’s feelings for Kirishima.

He loves you, you know. He as good as told me so after you were whipped.

Izuku still thinks that Katsuki loves Kirishima, and Katsuki doesn’t know what Izuku would make of contrary information if Katsuki were to tell him. Would it mean a return of Izuku’s memories? Or would it just be a reflexive reaction of them being together again—some kind of body memory, in place of true, emotional ones? Would one or the other be more genuine? It would be hard to know, hard to trust. 

“The two of you are going to be together for the rest of your lives, anyway,” Kirishima goes on, “So, why not? You’ve more than earned it.” 

Katsuki is brought back to two different conversations; one from many months ago, with Kudo.

I’m planning for you to have a long life.

Why? You don’t fuckin’ owe me anything.

Because you’ve earned it.

And the second conversation he had just the other day, with Toshinori. 

I think us survivors have earned that right. The right to choose to live, and who to spend those lives with. Maybe that’s when we’ll finally find it. 

Find what? 

The life of a victor. 

Katsuki and Izuku have already been growing back together, slowly and steadily, from the moment Izuku was brought back to him. There were still moments when Izuku would clutch the back of a chair and hang on until the flashbacks were over. Katsuki still wakes up screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But now, Izuku’s arms are there to comfort him again. And now that Katsuki feels that thing again, that hunger that overtook him on the beach, eventually—perhaps inevitably—Izuku’s lips could be there for him, too. So why fight against it? Speaking it out loud would not conjure it into existence; it was already there, pulsating through the air around them.  

If he’s honest with himself, it was something Katsuki already knew intrinsically. What Katsuki needs to survive is not Kirishima’s fire; he has plenty of fire himself. The heat that Katsuki truly yearns for is warm sunlight. It is the dandelion in the spring, the bright yellow that means rebirth. A promise that life can go on, no matter how bad their losses. That it can be good again. And only Izuku can give him that. 

“I’m not saying you have to tell him right now,” Kirishima says, “But—I think you owe it to yourself. It’s okay to let yourself have this.” 

Katsuki contemplates these words and his next move, approaching it in the only way that comes naturally to him: through the lens of a hunter. He tries to trace his next steps just as he would anticipate the flight of a deer from a clearing. Which direction do Izuku’s feelings track? 

Katsuki needs to know more. He needs more knowledge of Izuku. He needs everything from him. He has to know if Izuku looks at him now in the same way the old Izuku—Deku—once did. If he feels about Katsuki the same way, if he still loves him, even though he’s not the same boy whose voice made the birds fall silent. Even though Izuku himself is no longer the boy who fell before he understood what falling even meant. 

Thunder shakes the house, and lightning flares pulsate against the walls.

Real or not real?

Katsuki doesn’t know because he hasn’t bothered to ask. And maybe it’s time he finally does. 

Izuku manages to get all the food out on time before the storm takes out the power. After lighting oil lamps and candles, everyone gathers in the formal dining room to eat, and it reminds Katsuki of the feast he had shared with Izuku and Toshinori on the evening Izuku first came home. Back then, the absence of their other loved ones had been a palpable feeling in the air. Now most of those who had been missing from that meal are gathered here, and the house is all the warmer and brighter for it. Even with only candles and oil lamps as sources of light, the house feels like it’s in the centre of the sun. 

After their meal, Izuku brings out the cake and cuts into the orange-and-green frosting, and it’s made short work of between the eleven of them. They eat and drink well into the night, and the alcohol buzzes through Katsuki’s blood, loosening his tongue and freeing him of inhibitions. He’s able to chat amiably amongst everyone, even falling into bouts of contagious laughter that takes over their group more and more as spirits are guzzled back with growing fervour. 

The downpour outside continues for hours, but eventually tapers off into a light drizzle that runs off the eaves, and most of their party steps outside to breathe in the fresh night air. Katsuki and Izuku hang back indoors, cleaning up the dishes from supper. They work shoulder to shoulder at the sink, with Katsuki washing (which mostly consists of him dunking bowls and cups into the soapy water more than anything, and letting the running tap do most of the work) and Izuku drying. 

“Today was a good day,” Katsuki says. 

“It was,” Izuku agrees, “I’m glad.”

The space between them—little as it is—feels charged with tenderness, affection, and desire. And Katsuki allows himself to enjoy the feelings for what they are, pushing away questions, worries, and guilt.

He hands over the final plate to be dried off, turning to Izuku and giving him a smile, soft and genuine. “Thanks for this, ‘Zu.” 

He realizes then just how close they really are to one another. Katsuki can see the way Izuku’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline as this seems to dawn on him as well. But neither of them move away, lingering for a while longer as they each look into each other’s eyes. And in that moment Katsuki knows that this truly is inevitable. And that he has been waiting for it since the day Izuku came back home to him. And that Izuku has been waiting for it, too. So Katsuki leans down, and his lips part with an escaping sigh. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers against his mouth. 

Their lips brush together, feather-light, and then Izuku hurriedly sets aside the plate and the dishcloth in his hands before he presses both palms flat to Katsuki’s chest, pushing him slightly away. 

“Kacchan, wait.” 

Katsuki freezes, and opens his eyes. His heart is thumping in his ears. He stays still, waiting. Izuku doesn’t look pained, or regretful, like Katsuki had feared. He looks conflicted, but there’s a pining look in those forest-green eyes that Katsuki doesn’t think all the spirits in the world could make him forget by the morning. 

Oh, right. Now he understands. And he predicts Izuku’s next words before he says them, as he watches Izuku rage an internal battle within himself—the same one Katsuki is also fighting in this moment, resisting the magnetic pull that just wants to put his lips on Izuku’s. 

Izuku swallows. “Let’s wait,” he says softly, “Let’s try this again tomorrow.” 

“I don’t need to wait,” Katsuki says fervently. His hands are damp and slightly soapy from the sink. They rest against Izuku’s hipbones and squeeze, and Izuku’s next breath comes out jagged. “Waited long enough.” 

Izuku closes his eyes. “Kacchan,” he says, voice strained, “I don’t…I don’t want there to be a single doubt for either of us. I don’t want us to wake up tomorrow and wonder…if we would have done this if we’d been in our right minds.”

It’s not exactly how Katsuki would have chosen to do it, in different circumstances. But Katsuki doesn’t need any flowery words, not even from Izuku, who has always been so good at them, and would certainly say the perfect thing. And he knows Izuku doesn’t need them either. Somehow, he just knows that Izuku knows. Their feelings are one. 

But, in some small, logical part left of Katsuki’s addled brain, he knows that Izuku is right. And he also knows that Izuku deserves better than this, after everything that he’s done for Katsuki. After everything that they have been through, together and apart, they couldn’t just stumble drunkenly into this next phase of their lives. They owed it to themselves to take that step with clear minds. 

Katsuki takes a very deep breath, and wills himself to find some resilience. The last thing he wants is for this to dissolve into regret; for either of them to start to doubt that they would have come to this same conclusion had they been sober. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pragmatic,” Katsuki grumbles, resting his forehead against Izuku’s defeatedly. 

Izuku lets out a choked little laugh. “Trust me, I really don’t want to be,” he says, “But, please. Just one more night.” 

Katsuki presses a firm kiss into Izuku’s hair, unable to help himself from doing at least that, and then forces himself to step back before he gets carried away. For a time, Izuku grips at the edge of the sink, and the two of them stare one another down, knowing without having to say a word that something has come back to life between them. 

The festivities continue for a few more hours before the excitement of the day slowly catches up to the group and picks them off one by one. Katsuki’s eyelids have been drooping for the last two hours, and his buzz is only just starting to wane, even though he changed to drinking nothing but water right after his and Izuku’s talk in the kitchen, determined to sober up as quickly as possible. And cursing himself for getting so drunk in the first place. 

Despite the lines they had drawn between them, Katsuki and Izuku are incapable of staying apart, glued to one another’s side on the couch throughout the night, leaning against one another. But as everyone begins to retire to their rooms, Katsuki grabs Uraraka by the shoulder before she can shuffle off to bed. 

“I’m gonna crash with you,” Katsuki tells her resolutely. 

“Huuuh? What for?” Uraraka groans, rubbing at her eye drowsily. 

“Because—because Izuku snores when he drinks,” Katsuki lies. Izuku snores no matter what, and it never bothers Katsuki. It’s a reassuring sound, that lets him know Izuku’s rest isn’t fitful or fraught with nightmares. It soothes him to sleep better than ocean waves ever could (especially since those remind him of the clock arena now).

Uraraka blinks slowly at Katsuki, then looks over Katsuki’s shoulder at Izuku. Katsuki follows Uraraka’s gaze and sees that Izuku is squirming a little in his seat, and is incapable of looking either of them in the eye. 

“Uh, yeah, Kacchan is right,” Izuku mumbles, “I’d hate to keep him up with it.” 

Uraraka snorts. “Fine, whatever. Not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” 

Izuku blinks rapidly at this, and suddenly has no problem meeting Uraraka’s gaze. “Wait, really?” 

Uraraka bats her eyes at Izuku. “Oh, Bakugou never told you? He and I were roomies for a little while back at Thirteen. Guess we both know how he likes to spoon, hmm?”

Izuku’s eyes bulge. Katsuki shoots Uraraka a dirty look before quickly looking at Izuku. “It wasn’t fuckin’ like that. Don’t listen to her.” 

“I wouldn’t lie,” Uraraka says, saccharine-sweet. Katsuki wants to throttle her. “We really did spoon. Bakugou had very snuggly arms, y’know, before All For One smooshed one into splinters and made it all gross-looking.” 

Katsuki ignores her. “It was only a couple times, when I was tryna get Cheeks over her stupid phobia of water. After our training she’d just—need a bit of comfort sometimes, is all. It was purely fuckin’ platonic. Just for sleep.” 

Izuku tilts his head. “Like our arrangement on the train?” 

Katsuki looks at him imploringly. “No,” he insists, “I mean, yeah, but—it was still—fuck—it’s different with—”

Izuku suddenly smiles. “It’s okay, Kacchan. I know what you mean.”

Uraraka yawns, like this whole interaction has gotten very boring for her all of a sudden. “Okay, I need to be horizontal.”

“I’m gonna walk Toshinori home,” Izuku announces, “See you all in the morning.” 

As Uraraka and Katsuki head upstairs, Uraraka starts snickering. “Boy, he is so possessive of you. At least it’s not all…tinged with spooky, murderous rage like before, though.”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Katsuki grumbles. 

“What, it wasn’t obvious? His hijacking twisted around his jealousy over you being around literally anyone else into…wanting to kill you, I guess?” Uraraka shrugs, “Figured you knew that. Anyway, it seems like it’s just…regular, non-lethal jealousy now. Just wanted to be sure.” 

Katsuki blinks at this. So all of that teasing back there had been some kind of a test? To see if Izuku would slip back into a demented episode when triggered? To see if he was safe to be around? Safe for Katsuki to be around? Was this her twisted-up way of…looking out for him? 

They make their way down the hall to Uraraka’s guest room. Once the door is closed, she whirls around and crosses her arms. 

“Okay, what gives? Why were you so hell-bent on bunkin’ with me?” 

Katsuki drops down onto the edge of the bed, and rakes a hand through his hair. “I have to. So I don’t fuck Izuku.” 

“First of all, gross. Second of all, haven’t you two done it, like, a million times by now?” 

Katsuki looks up at Uraraka and gives her a flat look. Uraraka’s eyes go wide, and then she captures a loud guffaw of a laugh behind her hands. Katsuki feels himself go white-hot with embarrassment. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki snaps. 

Uraraka takes a moment to collect herself, chewing on her bottom lip as she stifles back a shit-eating grin. She walks over and drops down next to him. “You two are so pathetic,” she says, “How did two of the biggest losers on the planet manage to save the country?” 

“I hate you so much,” Katsuki says. 

“Only because you know I’m right,” Uraraka says, “Just do us all a favour and wait until we leave before you two touch-starved buffoons finally do it, will you? I really don’t need to listen to you two peeling the paint off the walls with your screams.”

Katsuki feels like he could keel over dead from shame. He knocks his head back as he lets out a despairing groan. 

Uraraka clicks her tongue with very pretend sympathy. “Yeah, like that, but less pitiful.” 

Uraraka rubs his back and he’s still too inebriated to consider knocking her hand away. Though he might not have, anyway. Even if she’s trying to be more condescending than comforting right now, it still feels kind of nice. His mother used to do this for him. Uraraka reminds Katsuki a lot of Mitsuki, actually. Katsuki likes to think Uraraka had the same fierceness about her that his mother had when she was her age. Maybe that’s why he liked her so much. 

“I just don’t want to fuck this up,” Katsuki says. 

“You won’t, brainless,” Uraraka sighs, “You can literally do no wrong. Not in his eyes. He looks at you like you hung the moon. Hell, he looks at you like you are the moon. It’s as sweet as it is sickening. I can barely stand to look at the pair of you.” She ruffles his hair, and Katsuki probably would have started to cry if his buzz wasn’t wearing off, because his mother used to do that, too. “Get some sleep.” 

Katsuki obediently gets under the blankets. Uraraka props open the window, then leaves for a few minutes and returns with two big glasses of water for each of them. They both sit under the covers, slowly guzzling the water down to the last drop, and though it’s not lost on Katsuki that this simple action is a gigantic milestone for Uraraka—being able to run the tap and fill it with water for the two of them all by herself—he doesn’t comment on it. Uraraka knows the work she’s put in to heal her own trauma; she doesn’t need Katsuki to tell her so. But his chest swells with pride and relief for her all the same. 

Uraraka puts out the oil lamp on the bedside table and they burrow under the sheets. The open window lets in a cool breeze that feels like heaven against Katsuki’s flushed face. He takes in deep lungfuls of the earthy air, lush and fragrant after the downpour, and is asleep within seconds.

Chapter Text

xiv.

In the morning, everyone is dealing with the after effects of Toshinori’s potent moonshine, waking well after sun-up and lethargically dragging themselves to the kitchen, where Izuku whips up a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and plenty of coffee to help them all soak up the last of the booze in their blood. 

After they’ve all been well fed and caffeinated, they gather outside on the big wrap-around porch. It’s good to be outside after being shut up indoors all day from the storm. And now, thanks to that storm, the air is fresh, washing away the stale dust and the last remnants of ash. District 12 has been wiped clean. 

“Do you think the weather delayed the train?” Uraraka asks innocently, nursing her third cup of coffee. 

Katsuki shoots her a look, which Todoroki naturally doesn’t pick up on, because he replies, with actual innocence: “I shouldn’t think so. It should be here by three.”

“Oh, good,” Uraraka says, concealing her smirk behind the rim of her mug. 

“It’s too bad you all can’t stay longer,” Izuku says, and he does sound truly genuine saying so, for his part. Despite himself, Katsuki feels the same way. It’s been nice, having everyone here. “Maybe we could all do something for the Harvest Festival. Or New Years.” 

“There’s also your birthday in July,” Katsuki says. 

“Oh, we really don’t have to do anything for that.” 

Katsuki gives him a beseeching look. “Izuku, for every single one of your birthdays, there’s been a Hunger Games going on. For your eighteenth birthday, you were in the arena. And for your nineteenth, you were in the Capitol as a prisoner. You deserve a good birthday, for fuck sake.” 

“If anyone deserves to have a good birthday this year, it’s Toshinori,” Izuku mumbles, “His birthday is July 4th*, reaping day. This will be the first time he’ll ever have a birthday that didn’t come with a reaping, the first one in decades where he didn’t have to go to the Capitol with two kids being sent to their death. Besides, I’ve had a good birthday before. The day we spent on the roof. Real?” 

“Real,” Katsuki tells him. He’s glad Izuku remembers it; he feared that much like the Quarter Quell itself, any memories that had happened close to it were equally as hazy in Izuku’s mind. “We didn’t have to do presentation and content training for the final interview before the Quell, so we got the whole day to ourselves and hung out on the roof. And I decided to treat it as an early birthday celebration for you, since we would likely be in the arena for the actual day, like we were for the first Games.” 

“And Kacchan played the guitar for me,” Izuku says brightly. 

“Oh man, how did we never get Bakugou on the guitar last night?” Kaminari says with dismay, “That would’ve been so fun!” 

Katsuki hasn’t touched his father’s guitar a single time since he returned home. There must be a layer of dust at least an inch thick on it now. He’s not sure how well he’ll be able to play. Perhaps he’ll have to teach himself how to do that left-handed, too. “Well, you’ll just have to come back in the summer, then.” 

“They really don’t have to,” Izuku insists, “It’s fine, I—” 

Kirishima slings an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Midoriya, you ain’t gettin’ off the hook that easily, man. We are definitely throwin’ you a huge party.” 

Izuku looks mortified. “B-but everyone is so busy! You’re all off doing such important, amazing work for the country, and—” 

“It’s thanks to you that we get to,” Todoroki says, “I think the least we can do is thank you properly for it.” 

Izuku looks around frantically at everyone, looking like he wants to sink into the ground and never resurface. “I d-don’t need to be thanked. I just—it was…” But at the imploring looks on everyone’s faces, Izuku wilts, and lets out a defeated sigh. “Well, it would be nice to see everyone again soon, instead of waiting until the winter holidays…” 

“If it makes you feel any better, my birthday is June 29th,” Kaminari adds in with a wink, “So really, you could think of it as a joint celebration.” 

“My birthday is July 30th!” Mina says excitedly. 

“Mine is August 1st,” Jirou says. 

Izuku truly does look relieved to hear such news, and also eager to soak in these new pieces of information about his friends. He even pulls out the small notepad and stubby pencil he always keeps on hand and quickly jots each of the dates down. “Oh, that’s wonderful. We can do a celebration for everyone…” 

“And hey, nothin’ stopping us from doin’ something for the Harvest Festival and New Years, too,” Kirishima says, “There’s been talks about movin’ the Harvest Festival to sometime in the fall, instead, though.” Izuku is looking at Kirishima expectantly, and after a moment—and a kick in the shin from Katsuki—Kirishima perks up in realization. “Oh, and my birthday is October 16th. So, if they do change the Harvest Festival to be in the fall, then we can lump my birthday in with that, if everyone’s cool with it.” 

“Mine is December 27th, so guess I’m the New Years’ baby,” Uraraka says. 

“Mine is January 11th,” Todoroki says, “So it would be a little bit past New Years. But, if we’re just rolling it all into one big celebration…” 

“What about you, Koda? Is your birthday in the winter, too?” Izuku asks. Koda nods, and holds up two fingers on one hand and one finger on the other. “February 1st?” Koda nods, smiling wide, and Izuku hastily takes the rest of the dates down. 

Everyone spends the rest of the morning planning three months into the future, plotting out the details of Izuku’s birthday. Izuku is quickly outvoted on every decision not to make things too extravagant, although they do need to stay within the realm of possibility. Resources were still incredibly limited, after all. 

“You all shouldn’t have to come all the way back out here for it,” Izuku says, “It’s such a long trip, for one thing, and besides…it’s not like there’s much to do here. And things have been so slow-going, there likely won’t be much more done in another three months.” 

“You could all come to Four,” Todoroki suggests, “We didn’t have much rebuilding to do, so it’s nearly done, and now all the effort is being put on the new hospital being built there. It’s nice there in July, too, and the fish are even tastier.”

Katsuki and Izuku share a look. That would mean travelling outside of their home district again, for the first time since the war ended. But now it wouldn’t be for a Victory Tour, or for a war. It would just be because they could. Just for fun. A vacation. The thought seems entirely ludicrous. Katsuki never imagined that such a thing could even be possible. With most of their group settled in either District 2 or District 3, the only people who would have a long travel time to District 4 would be Katsuki, Izuku, and Toshinori—and since everyone else came all this way for them this time around, they may as well return the favour and do the travelling themselves the next time. And out of all the districts they visited on the Victory Tour—and despite the tense stirrings of rebellion at the time—Katsuki had thought District 4 would be a place worth revisiting. 

Izuku serves everyone a light lunch of cucumber sandwiches, and then it’s time for their guests to pack up and make their way to the station for the three o’clock train that will take them back to Districts 2, 3, and 4. On the platform, as the Capitol train comes down the tracks in the distance, final goodbyes and embraces are exchanged amongst everyone, with promises to call and to write, and to see one another again in the summer. 

Katsuki, Izuku, and Toshinori all stand on the platform waving as the train pulls out, with all their friends waving goodbye from the windows. Once the train is out of sight, they all head off the platform and back into town, where they gather some leftover building materials that were set aside for Toshinori by one of the townsfolk for building a coop for his geese. The three of them bring the materials back to Toshinori’s, and spend the rest of the late afternoon and part of the early evening getting a humble but decently-sized coop put together for the goslings, so they don’t have to keep being put back in the wooden crate they came in overnight. Toshinori has the crate inside his house when they arrive with the materials, where he placed it the day before to protect the goslings from the storm. The goslings are quite happy to wander around the grass while the three of them work on building their new home. 

While Izuku and Toshinori finish the final touches on the coop, Katsuki heads back to his house and works on getting dinner made. Usually Izuku uses his Sundays to prep for his baking shifts Monday through Wednesday, but he insisted on helping Katsuki and Toshinori with the coop today instead. While three pairs of hands had made the work go a lot faster—or maybe more like two and half pairs, really—Katsuki is certain Izuku will be playing a lot of catch-up tomorrow morning. He’ll probably be up before dawn getting things ready. Maybe Katsuki could lend a hand; he’s never really done much baking himself, but he’s sure Izuku could find something for him to do. 

After dinner, Toshinori heads back to his own place, and just like that, Katsuki and Izuku are finally left on their own. They’ve been so preoccupied with their visiting friends and the coop building that they haven’t had a moment to talk about the almost-kiss from last night. As strong as Toshinori’s moonshine had been, thankfully Katsuki’s memory of it had not been altered or erased. And from the brief glimpses he’s shared with Izuku throughout the day, during lulls in conversation between their friends or the passing of tools while they nailed together the coop, Katsuki knows it’s lingering in Izuku’s mind, too. 

And yet, without any liquid courage in his veins this time around, Katsuki finds himself without a clue how to begin to have the conversation that he knows is due between them. And even though Katsuki’s desire constantly thrums beneath the surface of his skin, he doesn’t know how to recreate that tangible moment from the night before, when it seemed as though they were drawn into one another’s gravity, where it was like a natural occurrence of the universe for their lips to connect. As painful as it had been to refrain, Katsuki is still glad that they did, but he also can’t help but fret that maybe he’s missed his window of opportunity. Maybe he should have said to hell with their inebriated states, thrown caution to the wind, and grabbed Izuku to kiss him right there and then. He doesn’t want to force it. He wants it to be perfect and natural, not something fabricated like so many of the hundreds of kisses they’ve already shared. But now he isn’t sure if he’ll get another chance.

That evening the electricity in the Victor’s Village comes back on, and Katsuki and Izuku decide to relax together on the couch and watch a program about District 4, which shows sweeping aerial shots of the ocean and the picturesque fishing boats on the wooden docks. It really would be nice to go back there, Katsuki thinks. And in just a few short months, he would be. When that program ends, another begins showing the on-going process in District 3 to get the districts on the hydro-electric grid.

“I can’t help but feel a little weird about all the districts being on the grid,” Izuku comments, “Like it’s…a little piece of the Capitol, slinking its way into Twelve. I know I shouldn’t view it that way anymore, and it’s kind of hypocritical when we already have electricity and heating and cooling in the Victor’s Village. I mean, I keep the lights off most of the time, anyway, but—”

“Nah, I know what you mean,” Katsuki says, cutting off Izuku’s rambling, “If it were up to me, Twelve would steer clear of any Capitol footprint.” 

“I can’t imagine the Capitol will be able to just sustain giving out power forever, either,” Izuku says, “It might be something the districts will have to start paying for, unless we can find a way to generate our own power. They’ve got wind turbines in District 10…maybe we could do something like that here. There’s been some talks about it already with the council, though it may be a few years before we can consider it. And so long as the Capitol doles out power for free, it’s not something we have to worry about just yet. But it’s good to think ahead.” Izuku hikes his feet up onto the couch, drumming his fingertips across his knees. “Speaking of which, they’ve been talking about incentives to get more families back here from Thirteen; the more people who come back, the faster the houses can go up. And they think having a school would help. But it would be a long time before a proper schoolhouse could be constructed. So I kind of…agreed to let the district use my house in the meantime.” 

Katsuki whips his head around to Izuku. “What?” he says incredulously, “I thought you said you were gonna take some shit off your plate?” 

Izuku shrugs slightly. “Well, we do need a school,” Izuku says, “And I’ve been feeling so guilty, about my living in that big house all on my own, when so many are living in tents, or those little temp houses. All the other houses in the Victor’s Village are being used by multiple families already, and I know that we couldn’t ask to use yours or Toshinori’s house, so—”

“Where the hell would you bake?” Katsuki demands. Izuku had used some of his victor winnings to get a specialty oven installed in his kitchen, back when they first moved into the Victor’s Village. Izuku’s house was the closest thing they had to a functional bakery. 

“I would still bake at the house,” Izuku says, “In fact, I was thinking that I would eventually need some help with the baking, and that maybe I could run some kind of apprenticeship program, attached to the school. Teach some kids to bake.” 

“Our teachers were always townies, and there ain’t many of those left, not counting you,” Katsuki says, “Who would teach the regular classes?” 

Izuku laughs a little. “Well, like you said…I’m trying to get stuff off my plate. So, fortunately, that’s not my problem. I just gotta provide the premises. I…probably should have discussed it with Toshinori first before agreeing to it, though.” 

Katsuki frowns. “Toshi? What for?” 

“Well, I figured I could live on the second floor of his place. He never goes up there himself, anyway.” 

Katsuki’s next words tumble out of his mouth. “Don’t be stupid. Just move in with me.” 

Izuku’s eyes go wide, and even with only the light from the oil lamp on the nearby table, Katsuki can tell his cheeks have gone rosy. It takes a second for Katsuki’s brain to catch up with what he just said, and the implications of it, and then he feels his own face growing hot. It’s stupid to be feeling shy about such a thing, really. Izuku already lived directly across from him, and they had been over at one another’s houses so frequently these past few weeks that they may as well already be living together. 

“Would that really be okay?” Izuku asks quietly, “I mean, well—aren’t you worried that people would…start to talk?” 

Katsuki tries to feign some nonchalance with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He looks away, scratching at the side of his nose. “Not like they weren’t talkin’ already. They probably think it’s more scandalous that we live apart at this point. As far as they know, we’re engaged.” 

If they ignored semantics, there really wasn’t much evidence to prove otherwise. They spent all of their free time together, and Katsuki had yet to be seen without the ring Izuku gave him on his finger.  

Izuku offers Katsuki a somewhat sad smile. “I suppose so. Although it’s certainly not how I would have chosen to do it, if the circumstances had been different,” he says. 

Katsuki releases a strained breath. It’s strange—the old Izuku, Deku, had talked about his feelings for Katsuki so openly for two years. Katsuki figured he would be used to talking about this sort of thing by now; and maybe he would be if this was the old Izuku. But it’s not, so in a way this all feels like uncharted territory. “I know. The Capitol ruined that for you,” he says. 

“And I wouldn’t want your decision to have me here to be based on what you think is expected of you, especially because of the Capitol. We’re done doing things for them,” Izuku says firmly, “Honestly, I did consider asking to live with you first, but…well, I just didn’t want to be presumptuous. You hold all the cards here, Kacchan. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. And if you ever tell me to leave, then I’ll go. As far away as you need me to.” 

A strangled sort of sound comes out of Katsuki, that’s stuck somewhere between relief and frustration. “And what about what you want?”

Izuku smiles softly and his hand finds Katsuki’s in the darkness. “There’s only ever been one thing that I want.” 

Katsuki takes a deep, heavy breath. Once. Twice. Three times. And he waits for a moment longer, to see if Izuku will say it. But really, who even needs words anymore? Concentration is nearly impossible at this point, conscious thought is a thing of the past. He’s not sure a single word could form on his tongue even if he tried. 

So instead, Katsuki kisses him. And it is a monster, a full-on attack of a kiss, with no preamble, no build-up. Katsuki forgot he knew how to kiss like this, moving his mouth against Izuku’s as though he were trying to burrow straight through every layer of him down to the core of his being, to swallow him whole. And Izuku responds in kind, his fingers moving over Katsuki’s waist, his chest, before gripping the fabric of his shirt into his fists. 

There’s no more games, no more strategies, no more cameras or crowds. It’s moves and countermoves, and it’s just the two of them, alone and together, together and alone, with everything and nothing in between them all at once. And even though Katsuki has done this a thousand times in a thousand ways for a thousand reasons, he feels a rush of nerves that feels violent enough to shatter him to pieces. He’s standing before the drop and falling all at once. 

He feels like a wave crashing on the shore of some unexplored, exhilarating territory, lapping at the edges of something that could as easily mend him as it could destroy him. Because choosing this also means choosing to open himself up even further to something that he could lose, in some way or another. He’s tried for so long to harden his heart, but Izuku always found a way to break through his defenses and carve out a place for himself in Katsuki’s chest despite all of his resolutions. He slowly took root there and buried himself deep, and now there’s no chance of dislodging him, even if Katsuki wanted to. 

His heart is lurching anxiously in his chest, and it feels as though Katsuki might just start to hyperventilate. This is all incremental, inevitable. He knew this is where they were headed, but it still doesn’t make it any less difficult—and at the same time, nothing has ever been easier. He is absolutely terrified, and excited, and so dizzy with want it feels like he’s delirious, like he might just be driven truly mad if he doesn’t have more right this instant. He craves this feeling, just as he craves Izuku. This was no longer simple hunger, but downright, absolute, debauched gluttony. 

Not too sure how it even happened, they are suddenly off-balance and tumbling backward on the couch, ensnared in a tangle of limbs and lips and teeth. Katsuki feels more drunk on this than he had been on the moonshine from the night before. He knows nothing except Izuku’s touch, and it feels like an absolute necessity that he learns the taste of every inch of Izuku’s skin so he can commit it to memory and taste it forever on his tongue. And everywhere Izuku’s lips touch him feels like it catches on fire. Katsuki could laugh at the irony of it all if his mouth weren’t so preoccupied. Everything really was circuitous; he is the boy on fire once again, in the only way he ever wants to be until the end of time. 

Their hot breath tangles in the small space between them, Izuku’s lips brushing across the line of Katsuki’s jaw as his fingers trace along the scars on his right forearm—it’s even more sensitive than his natural skin, and Katsuki writhes and gasps with the sensation of it. Izuku’s other hand finds the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, and Katsuki’s breath catches when he feels Izuku’s callused fingertips against his stomach. A spark catches in his chest and spreads heat through his nerves. Izuku pauses, tentative, waiting for permission. He looks up at Katsuki and their gazes meet, eyes locking in a silent exchange. 

Then Katsuki pulls back and lifts both of his arms the best he can, allowing Izuku to assist him in keeping his right arm aloft so Izuku can pull Katsuki’s shirt up and over his head, dropping it down to the floor beside them. Izuku’s hands then linger at Katsuki’s sides, thumbs skipping along his hip bones. Katsuki’s heart is thundering away in his chest and feels like it’s melting away his lungs and ribs, as though it had turned into a clump of magma, and it only intensifies when Katsuki sees the way Izuku looks at him, wide-eyed and reverent. 

Izuku’s hands splay across Katsuki’s bare skin while Katsuki works on the buttons of Izuku’s shirt, his fingers feeling thick and numb. His mouth feels like it’s filling with sand, going drier and drier with each inch of freckled skin he exposes, his hands lingering where soft fabric gives way to warmth. They both move a little slower now, slightly clumsy with the suppressed urge to be frantic, but both forcing themselves to be careful—as if they were testing the boundaries of something too fragile to hold—as they worked tremulously to discard one another of the rest of their clothes, removing the last of the physical barriers between them. 

The cool night air creeping in through the half-open windows creates a contrast to their bare, warm skin. For a time, all either of them can do is look at one another, taking the other in. Izuku’s hands brush at Katsuki’s sides, electrifying and grounding him in equal measure. Katsuki swallows hard, words forming and dissolving on his tongue. He leans down, supporting his weight on his elbows as he hovers above Izuku, and kisses him again. It’s slow and deep, and he pours into it all the things he doesn’t know how to say. Apologies. Promises. Things he isn’t ready to name. Izuku’s hands travel up Katsuki’s back, pulling him in closer until there is nothing left between them. 

Katsuki’s breath turns ragged as Izuku moves underneath him, and his own body leans into it almost involuntarily, seeking out the friction. Izuku sucks in a sharp breath, and Katsuki buries his face into the crook of Izuku’s neck as his entire body shudders. 

“We really never did anything like this before, huh?” Izuku says suddenly. 

Katsuki pulls himself away from Izuku’s neck and blinks at him. “Tried to tell you.” 

“Thank goodness,” Izuku says, exhaling softly, “I wouldn’t want to not remember it.” 

Katsuki lets out a soft laugh, just a gentle puff of breath more than anything, but he’s grinning wide. Izuku chuckles, and the movement of it presses them together again in a way that has his mirth melting into a moan that Katsuki matches with his own. 

“Was it like this before? On the beach?” Izuku asks.

Katsuki’s heart somehow manages to thump even more erratically, and they’re pressed so flush together he’s sure Izuku can feel it. “Yes,” he says quietly, “But also no. This is—more. A lot more. Never got the chance to be more back then—though I wanted it to be.” All the cameras and the whole of Panem watching be damned, Katsuki thinks. 

“I’ve watched it,” Izuku murmurs, “The Quell. I have a copy of the tape. I’ve seen it a few times. I know what happened; I believe it happened. But I don’t…remember.” 

“That’s a shame,” Katsuki says, brushing his lips along Izuku’s cheekbone. “It was a good one, as far as kisses go. I can remember it for the both of us. Maybe that’ll have to be enough.” 

“I want to,” Izuku says hoarsely, “I want to remember.” 

Katsuki kisses the corner of Izuku’s mouth, and his next words flutter across his heated skin. “Then I guess I’ll just have to jog your memory.” 

“Please,” Izuku whispers. 

With a tremendous amount of effort, they pull their bodies apart. Katsuki knows they aren’t going to get much farther with sweat and saliva alone, so after a brief and somewhat awkward trip into the kitchen, he returns with a bottle of oil, his whole body burning under the intensity of Izuku’s stare as he walks back towards the couch. He’s never done this before, and he has no idea if he’ll even be any good at it, though he hopes he is. In any case, he would at least ensure that it absolutely would not hurt. 

It takes a kaleidoscope of solicitation, assurances, and intense focus from the both of them as their trembling hands move across one another gently and carefully, ensuring that nothing about this night could be taken from them and twisted into something cruel, like so many other things in their lives had been. Katsuki’s touch is deliberate yet exploratory as he coaxes Izuku’s body to relax under him, and syrupy warmth pools thick in Katsuki’s stomach with each of Izuku’s breathy, encouraging sighs. 

Their movements turn instinctive and eager, and it is not until Izuku is gasping out desperately, begging for more, that Katsuki finally moves to bring them together. And just before he does so, he pauses, searching Izuku’s face again for any signs of doubt. Izuku’s smile is like the sun, and Katsuki leans down to swallow it. Then he presses forward with a careful rock of his hips, and they gasp against each other’s mouths. 

Izuku’s breath catches on a sob, and Katsuki freezes, roaming his eyes over Izuku’s face in search of any traces of pain, but Izuku shakes his head and surges upward to press frantic, reassuring kisses to Katsuki’s neck. “Kacchan,” he breathes, “Kacchan, please—“ 

Katsuki’s heart stutters, and he hisses through his teeth as he presses in deeper. “Deku—”

There are no more words after that. Izuku captures Katsuki’s mouth in a kiss as they move, slow and unhurried, and the only sounds that remain are their whispers of breath and hushed groans. Katsuki’s mind goes delightfully blank for the first time in years—there’s no memories, no regrets, no anger. There’s only this. Just Izuku, warm and steady and alive beneath him, matching him move for move as the heat between them builds, growing more and more intense and intoxicating until Katsuki is completely lost to it, until the only word he’s capable of is Izuku’s name.

When it’s over, the most startling part of it all is in the immediate aftermath. They lay tangled together on the couch, sweat cooling on their skin, with Izuku’s head resting on Katsuki’s shoulder. Izuku’s fingers trace lazy patterns across Katsuki’s chest, and Katsuki closes his eyes and relishes in the comforting weight of Izuku pressed against his side. Katsuki is all relaxed muscles and sore joints wrapped up in sweaty skin, and yet he feels uniquely attractive at this moment in a way he can’t quite explain. It was strange, how something that had been so foreign to him could now feel so grounding and natural. 

“We definitely never did that before,” Izuku mumbles. 

Katsuki manages a soft snort in response. He curls his fingers, in and out, his fingernails gently moving across the ball of Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku lets out a contented hum, and burrows in closer. 

“Are you okay?” Izuku asks drowsily after a while of them laying in silence. 

Katsuki can’t answer right away. His throat feels too tight, and there’s something unfamiliar lodged in his chest. His gut aches in a deep, hollow way that is like no hurt he has ever felt before. If he let himself, he might actually cry, and yet it is not quite the same feeling as the grief with which he is all too familiar with. There is a joy to it. He knows what it is—what name he could give it. But he also knows he is far too cowardly to speak it, unless Izuku does it first. 

Katsuki opens his eyes, looks to Izuku, and pushes some of the curls away from his forehead, where sweat has made them stick to his skin. “Yeah,” he mutters finally, “I’m good. I mean, I don’t feel any different,” Then he smiles a little. “Except that I also do.” 

Izuku grins in return. “Me, too. It’s a good thing. At least, I think it’s a good thing. It was good, right?” 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking me if I enjoyed myself? Figured that would’ve been pretty obvious. Don’t overthink it, ‘Zu.” 

“I tend to do that,” Izuku replies, “Like right now I’m thinking that I took too long. Or not long enough. I’m thinking that I have no idea what—”

Katsuki leans down and stops his flow of words with a kiss. He doesn’t pull away until they are both breathing heavily. 

“Well, here’s what I think,” Katsuki says, “I think it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. That there isn’t any right way to do this, as long as both people are happy in the end.” 

Izuku licks his lips. “So, it was good, then?” Izuku asks, “You’re happy?” 

Katsuki grins. “Happy enough to do it again,” he says. And again, Katsuki thinks, and again. Practice makes perfect, so they say, though Katsuki doesn’t know if it can get much better than this. But he’s eager to find out. Seems like this kind of hunger wasn’t one that could easily be sated. Maybe Izuku has ruined him for life, and he’ll feel like this forever now. 

Izuku puts his fingers on Katsuki’s cheek, and Katsuki can feel Izuku’s quickening pulse on his skin as he pulls Katsuki back down for another kiss. 

“Now what?” Izuku whispers when they separate, though their lips still brush feather-light against each other as he speaks. 

“Now,” Katsuki says slowly, “We shower. Have some food. And then go to bed.” 

Izuku smiles, and the glint in his eye tells Katsuki he understands that Katsuki has no intention of sleeping any time soon. “Sounds like a plan.” 

And so they get up, snickering to each other at the ridiculousness of their nude journey to the upstairs bathroom to shower. They help one another rinse off the sweat from their tryst, only getting a little bit distracted with some kisses (it’s kind of fun, but Katsuki can’t really feel and taste Izuku’s lips properly, and a bunch of water gets in their mouths so they keep having to stop). Then they bundle up in robes and head downstairs again to the kitchen where they guzzle down some water and snack on cheese buns. Then they go back upstairs to Katsuki’s room—their room now, Katsuki supposes, his heart leaping at the thought—where their mouths waste no time finding one another again while they rid each other of their bathrobes as Izuku leads Katsuki backwards towards the bed, and they crawl on top of the sheets. 

Katsuki loops his arms around Izuku’s shoulders as Izuku hovers above him, kissing Izuku until the world shrinks down to a pinpoint. There are no eyes or expectations upon them; they are free to ignore the details of everyday life and simply focus on each other. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki says between kisses, “I want—“ Then he exhales, sudden and sharp, as tension knots in his chest. He turns away, hiding his face in Izuku’s shoulder. 

Izuku turns to press a kiss to Katsuki’s temple. “What, Kacchan?” Izuku murmurs, “I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Katsuki hesitates. Asking for things didn’t come naturally to him—it never had. And this wasn’t just anything.

“This time, I want you to…” He trails off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as heat creeps up his neck. 

Izuku leans back, taking in Katsuki’s expression for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low. “You want me to…” Izuku pauses for a moment, searching for a word. “Lead?” 

Katsuki grunts softly, a sound that somehow was an affirmative but also a warning to Izuku not to make Katsuki have to repeat himself. Even though he never said anything in the first place, making Izuku come to the conclusion and say it himself. He keeps his face turned away, unwilling to let Izuku see the flush in his cheeks, as fruitless a venture as it was, since Izuku obviously knew it was there. He’s not exactly hiding his ear from Izuku like this, and those have always been far more of a giveaway to his embarrassment than his face had ever been. He can feel them prickling with fire and knows they must be cherry red. When Izuku kisses the shell of his ear, Katsuki knows he’s seen it, and hides his face even more. 

He doesn’t know why the hell he’s suddenly so nervous. He’s acting more like a pathetic loser of a virgin now than he had when he had actually lost his virginity less than an hour ago. Handing over the reins of control is also something that does not come naturally to him; he’s out of his depth here, even though in the countless times he had imagined himself with Izuku, his fantasies showed them on an equal playing field, showing Katsuki on the receiving end just as often as Izuku. But imagining it and living it are too very different things, Katsuki is quickly realizing. 

Izuku is quiet for a time, but when he speaks again there is no judgement in his voice. Only warmth. “I’ll do my best.” 

Something fragile and unspoken feels like it’s lodged behind Katsuki’s ribs. Katsuki swallows hard, forcing the tension in his shoulders to ease out bit by bit as Izuku peppers slow, soft kisses to his hair, his forehead, his cheeks, gently coaxing until Katsuki manages to pull himself out of hiding. Izuku gives him a pleased smile when their eyes finally meet and kisses him on the mouth, tender and sweet. 

Something in the air shifts between them as Izuku’s fingers trail along Katsuki’s skin, tracing paths of heat with every unhurried stroke. Katsuki squirms under the ministrations, breath stuttering in his throat, fingers curling into the sheets beneath him. Izuku cups at Katsuki’s jaw, holding Katsuki like something precious, like he might just shatter if Izuku held on too tight. Maybe that’s due to Izuku’s own reservations, an after effect of his torment, or maybe Katsuki really would break—and maybe Katsuki wouldn’t mind if it was Izuku who broke him apart. 

Izuku doesn’t rush. It is with even more deliberation this second time around as he trails kisses down Katsuki’s body, and Katsuki lets him take his time as he maps out parts of Katsuki nobody else has ever had such knowledge of. Katsuki can feel with every press of his lips, with every touch, that Izuku knows him. Every scar, every sharp edge, buffing them all smooth with every breath between them until Katsuki’s chest is heaving for air, laboured and wanting. 

“Are you okay?” Izuku murmurs, hovering over him. 

Katsuki scoffs, though it lacks the bite of annoyance, coming more from a desperate impatience. “You tell me,” he forces out, “What do I look like?” 

Izuku smiles, small yet sincere, and Katsuki’s stomach flips at the sight of it. “You look perfect.” 

Katsuki’s throat feels tight again, and when Izuku kisses him, it’s with such a slow reverence that Katsuki isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle it, his chest aching. Izuku presses kisses along his jaw and his throat; he whispers something into the hollow of his clavicle that Katsuki can’t quite make out, but just the feeling of Izuku’s breath against his skin and the sound of his voice has heat coiling deep in Katsuki’s belly as his trail of kisses moves down towards Katsuki’s stomach, then his hips, his thighs…

“Izuku,” Katsuki says breathlessly, his hands reaching out to clutch at Izuku’s broad shoulders, gripping him like he might disappear. “Izuku—“ 

“I know,” Izuku says, breathing hot against his skin. “I know, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

Katsuki thickly swallows, his face hot as his breath catches in his throat. Izuku hasn’t called him sweetheart since the Quarter Quell, but it’s not the time right now to delve into that, to see if all of this truly is sparking up memories within him and pulling them to the surface. But he tucks it away in the back of his mind to address later. He realizes his eyes are squeezed shut, and cracks one open to look down at Izuku. His expression is so earnest it’s almost unbearable. Katsuki feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something both sharp and tender. 

“Still with me?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki manages a nod. “I’m here,” he rasps, “I’m with you.” 

Izuku smiles, and kisses down his inner thigh, hands smoothing over Katsuki like he was something worth holding on to. Katsuki hadn’t realized until this moment, with Izuku’s weight pressing him into the mattress, just how much he had wanted this—to be seen, to be wanted by Izuku in this way. It feels like the world has shrunk down to only include this room, and it’s just the two of them, warm and safe inside of it. 

“Tell me,” Izuku says, “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you,” Katsuki whispers, the words scraped out of him from somewhere deep, voice breaking just slightly. “All of you.” 

“You already have me,” Izuku tells him, “You always have. Always.” 

Katsuki lets out an exasperated huff. “Then get the hell on with it already, Deku.” 

Izuku laughs—and it’s his old laugh, a sound so rare and delicious that Katsuki sets aside his own aching need to soak in it for a moment. “Okay, Kacchan.” 

Izuku’s touch grows bolder, but he moves so slowly; torturously slow. He’s not used to this kind of tenderness, this patience. Katsuki isn’t quite sure when exactly it happens, but eventually he becomes aware of the fact that he’s no longer gripping at the sheets, and that he’s gone pliant and soft under Izuku’s hands, losing himself in the raw vulnerability of it all. And all the while Katsuki tries to breathe as Izuku talks him through it, voice low and soothing as he works Katsuki open. 

Just when Katsuki thinks he’s about to lose his mind, Izuku moves over him, and for a moment Katsuki believes he’s been saved from the humiliation of having to beg, but Izuku moves even slower than before as he slowly, slowly pushes inside. Katsuki can’t tell where he ends and Izuku begins, and it’s all too much and yet not nearly enough, and he absolutely can not stand it anymore. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki pleads, his voice wrecked, “I need to feel you. Please.” 

He can feel Izuku shiver, and let out a strained chuckle. “Still so weird to hear you say th—“ 

Katsuki digs his nails into Izuku’s shoulders. “Izuku.” 

Izuku hisses through his teeth. “Sorry, sorry—“

Izuku finally moves in deeper, and they each only take a few moments to adjust before Katsuki clings to Izuku and they begin to move together, breaths ragged and broken. There’s something frantic and desperate within it now, and something insatiable within Katsuki as he continues to urge Izuku on.

“More,” Katsuki gasps, “More, c’mon—Izuku, baby, please—“ 

And finally the last shreds of Izuku’s hesitancy fall away, vanishing the moment Katsuki hooks his legs around Izuku’s waist and holds on for dear life. It turns fast and desperate and Katsuki loses himself to the feeling—the sweet heat and the deep ache—letting his pleasure crest and crash like a wave. 

Afterwards, Izuku holds Katsuki close, and they both slowly breathe as the world settles back into place around them. Izuku rolls off of him after a while, and Katsuki's body feels suddenly weightless with the separation. Katsuki indulges in the unfamiliar practice of tracing Izuku’s collarbone lightly with his fingertips as the enormity of what they’ve done soaks into his understanding. 

Izuku’s expression is thoughtful and quizzical as he reaches out to brush a hand through Katsuki’s hair. His hand moves down and cups at Katsuki’s cheek.

“You love me,” Izuku whispers, “Real or not real?”

Katsuki places his hand over Izuku’s, and his thumb rubs along the scar there; the first scar that Izuku got in Katsuki’s name. He turns to press a kiss to the inside of Izuku’s palm. 

And, at last, he tells him.

“Real.” 

“Slow down,” Katsuki snaps, “That’s too fast.” 

“Sorry,” Izuku says, “I kinda get into a rhythm.” 

Katsuki has his hands pressed into a ball of dough, watching Izuku’s fingers fly over his own dough ball as he presses and flips and squeezes it into a large, fluffy mound. Izuku slows down his movements, and Katsuki tries to mimic them to get his own lumpy ball to cooperate. 

In some ways, things haven’t changed much over the past couple of weeks. Izuku keeps his regular schedule of baking, construction, and district council meetings. Katsuki hunts every other morning, as long as they aren’t on Thursdays or Sundays, which is when he and Izuku relax together. Sometimes, it is at the lake, now that the weather is getting warmer—a place that was once Katsuki’s world, his second home, a place where he went for comfort and honesty with himself. And now it’s Izuku’s world, too. Other times, they gather herbs in the fields and clearings in the woods, or Katsuki teaches Izuku how to shoot a bow and arrow—which goes about as well as Katsuki trying to bake bread—though it’s a a bit of a balm to Katsuki’s bruised ego to know that he’s still a better shot than Izuku even while shooting left-handed. 

Most times are spent with the memory book, filling out pages on pages on pages. Chiyo, Cassie, Tsukauchi, Kudo, Bruce, En, Shinomori, Banjo, Tokoyami, Shoji, Yoarashi, Monoma, Toga…on and on it goes. Filled with all the details it would be a crime to forget. 

Though he didn’t want to have anything to do with it at first, Toshinori eventually made his own contributions to the memory book, not long after Toshinori read the pages Katsuki wrote about Masaru. It seemed to ignite something within him, leading to Toshinori including his own stories about Katsuki’s father from when he and Masaru knew one another in their youth, things he had never told Katsuki about. After that, Toshinori told them about Nana Shimura, the former owner of the mockingjay pin. And from there, his mother, his girl, and twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. 

Additions have become smaller, with an old memory that resurfaces or strange bits of happiness, but there’s still plenty of pages left. And Katsuki still hasn’t written a single one about Mitsuki. But that’s not something that’s bound to change anytime soon. Izuku never pries, never pressures Katsuki about it. He must have quietly decided on his own that this was one thing Katsuki simply had to do on his own time. It took Toshinori decades to put it all down on paper. Talking about the mother that he lost to All For One, too. But unlike Toshinori, Katsuki isn’t so sure he’ll ever be able to do it at all. 

Other things have changed a lot, but the transition has been so smooth that the change feels imperceptible. Izuku doesn’t have to give up his house until September, so in the meantime they split their time between both of their houses. They spend Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights at Izuku’s, and the rest of the time at Katsuki’s. And there’s no more hesitancy between them; no need to ask or to worry—they sleep together now. And ‘sleeping together’ no longer means just sleeping.

As the summer has wound on, each night their hands roam over each other, every time eliciting a new sensation. Everything they’re curious about, they go ahead and try, learning the intricacies of one another, finding out what they liked, and what drove them wild. They are downright insatiable—and, honestly, probably a little bit insufferable—in their unyielding affection for one another. But there are no whispers of scandal, no talks amongst the people in town. Most of them are Seam folk, after all, and are as protective of Katsuki as they have ever been, maybe even more. And Izuku is one of them now. 

When Katsuki is at Izuku’s house in the mornings, he tries to help him with the baking when he isn’t out hunting. Kneading dough ends up being good physical therapy for his right arm, too, less intensive than archery and targeting smaller, more specific muscle groups that aid in rebuilding his dexterity. He has been improving slowly but surely day by day. Drop biscuits are easy to make, and some other quick breads he’s picked up well enough, too. It’s the leavened breads that require a bit more finesse not to turn out dense or flat or full of air pockets. Izuku is a far more patient teacher than Katsuki is a student. 

“You’ve got flour on your face,” Izuku says, reaching for Katsuki’s nose. 

Katsuki swats Izuku’s hand away with his dish cloth, and then claps his hands over Izuku’s cheeks, leaving behind two white handprints. 

“So do you,” Katsuki says. 

With a grin, Izuku descends on Katsuki with a barrage of kisses, and when they manage to pry themselves apart there is flour in both of their hair, on their necks, all over Izuku’s previously spotless apron and on the backside of Katsuki’s pants. And they might have gone further, if Izuku wasn’t so adamant about not fooling around near his food preparation areas (no matter how many times Katsuki has tried to bend Izuku over the counter). But it’s just as well, Katsuki thinks—after this, they’re going to the lake. 

At the lake house, Katsuki and Izuku have mounted a wooden door and added some shutters to the windows. They all get thrown open wide when they arrive that afternoon, and inside, they’ve scrapped together a little table and two carved stumps for chairs using some leftover lumber from the construction site. Izuku has started a mural on the wall opposite the fireplace, with a painting of the moon hung over a meadow of pale, glowing flowers. 

There’s a straw mattress on the floor, which has gotten plenty of use, and that afternoon is no exception—they both need the distraction from the bullshit memorializing of the war happening back in town. President Takami was making a brief appearance during his tour of all the districts to commemorate the new holiday, replacing what had always been known as Reaping Day with Rebellion Day.

The whole thing just pisses Katsuki right off. A day to celebrate what had happened and to remind everyone not to repeat the mistakes of their past all sounded too close to the spiel used to justify the Hunger Games. And having the new president visiting 12 for the first time since the end of the war would undoubtedly mean there would be a camera crew tagging along. All the more reason to steer clear until President Takami was on his way back to the Capitol. Izuku had a surprise cake awaiting Toshinori when they invited him over for dinner that night. They both figured the man wouldn’t want any big production made out of his birthday, even after so many of them were tinged with despair. Katsuki wasn’t even sure they should acknowledge the day at all, but Izuku insisted.

“It’s the least we can do, considering we’re making him cover for us today,” Izuku had said.  

The water droplets start baking off of Katsuki as soon as he emerges from the lake. Izuku is inside the lake house, shirtless and sweaty, kneeling on the floor with a paintbrush and palette in his hands, finessing his painting of the moon. Katsuki can tell by his stance that he’s reached a pause in his work, though it’s hard to tell if it’s a temporary lapse or not. Katsuki wouldn’t mind another dip in the lake, with Izuku to accompany him this time. Preferably with his legs around Katsuki’s waist.

“I’m sure they’re even more piqued by our absence than if we had been there today,” Izuku says, “They’ll eventually be back.” 

“Then we’ll just come back out here when they do,” Katsuki says simply. He leans against the doorway and looks over Izuku’s mural. “That’s lookin’ good.” 

“Thanks,” Izuku says, “I think I’m nearly done with it.” 

“What made you decide to paint the moon, anyway?” Katsuki asks as Izuku packs up his paints. 

“It’s always put me at ease,” Izuku explains, “And so does this place. And both of them are tied to you, so…it seemed fitting.” 

“Me?” 

“The character of ki in your name means ‘moon’,” Izuku explains, “So, it’s always reminded me of you.” 

Wow. Uraraka hadn’t been exaggerating then, when she said that Izuku thought Katsuki was the moon. Katsuki feels heat flood through him. He pushes off the edge of the doorway and over to Izuku, whose back is turned to him as he finishes packing away his paints. He locks his arms around Izuku’s waist from behind and drags him to the straw mattress—for the second time that afternoon—causing Izuku to cry out with laughter, before his mirth devolves into other, more salacious sounds. 

Another perk of the lake house was how secluded it was. Out of a force of habit, most of the townsfolk still didn’t venture far out into the woods, so Katsuki and Izuku have this oasis all to themselves. Which is just fine by Katsuki, because it allows them to be as vocal as they wish. By the time they’re finished, they both stagger out to the lake to wash off the sweat on unsteady legs.  

“Kacchan, do you want me to quit the council?” Izuku asks suddenly, as they walk along the lakebed, the water lapping at their chests. 

Katsuki looks over at Izuku curiously. “Why would I want you to?” 

“So we can let other people handle things. So we can just—keep out of it all.” 

Katsuki isn’t sure what exactly brought this on. “Is that what you want?” 

“I do and I don’t,” Izuku says honestly, “The fact there might be problems gathering beyond my awareness, and not knowing about it…it would bother me, I think. I was in the dark about so many things, so the thought of not being in the know sets my teeth on edge. But then, knowing isn’t much better, either.” 

Katsuki wades out a little further into the water. “I get that. A part of me wants to believe that everything is perfectly fine now. Because otherwise, what the fuck was all of it for? What was the point of everything we went through? And a small part of me wants to make sure of it. To protect our peace. Hearing about those strikes in Four, it made me think…we still have a lot of work to do.” 

Izuku nods. “I want to keep Twelve safe. And…and I couldn’t do it again. Go back into another war. And I couldn’t see you involved, either. And…maybe this is terrible of me to think about, but—would they even deserve our help, if they managed to break the country again?” 

Katsuki looks at Izuku in alarm. “Do you think something major is gonna happen?” 

Izuku sighs. “Yes and no. I don’t know. That’s why I’m wondering if I should quit the council. So I won’t have to be so paranoid.” 

“I’m sure Dr. Yoshida would tell you to do whatever stresses you out the least—staying and knowing, or not staying and worrying.” 

“Sure, but I’m not asking my doctor for advice right now,” Izuku says, “I’m asking my boyfriend.” 

Boyfriend. Why in the world that title, out of all the others Katsuki has had when it comes to him and Izuku, is the one that has his heart skipping a beat, Katsuki doesn’t know. It seemed like a step down from fiancé, too—but they seem to have come to an unspoken agreement that the Capitol proposal didn’t count. Besides, this new title suited Katsuki just fine. 

“Well, I do think you’re good at all the councilman shit,” Katsuki says, “But if it means you’ll be home more often, well, as your boyfriend…I certainly wouldn’t complain. First and foremost, though, you gotta take care of your head.” 

Someday, Katsuki thinks, he will take Izuku away for a long time. To the lake, then perhaps even further. They could go up into the hills, dissolve into the wild tangle of the forest, and maybe not come back until the snow comes. Maybe not even then. Izuku shouldn’t have to keep struggling with frustration and futility when he’s done nothing to incur or encourage it. All he’s done is rely on the reasonableness of his fellow human beings. Creatures who have done little to merit his trust. 

It’s probably a bit obnoxious of Katsuki to keep feeling so protective over Izuku, but first impressions are the most lasting. Some part of Izuku will always be the boy with the shattered hand and wounded leg who needed Katsuki in order to survive in the first arena. And he would always be the boy with the bread and the bruised cheek. And the boy with the wounded feelings. The boy with the broken mind that needed to be pieced back together. Katsuki wonders what image of him lingers in Izuku’s head across time and circumstances. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon fishing in the lake. Fishing is exactly the sort of outdoor activity that suits Izuku. He can phase in and out of concentration as he wishes, and in the stillness between fish bites, his inner artistic eye is working on a painting, or simply meditating on the beauty of the crystalline water and brilliant blue sky around them. 

Once they’ve caught a few fish between them, they bring them back to the lake house where Katsuki cleans and grills them over the fire. It reminds Katsuki of pleasant summer days with his father, when they would come out to the lake house together on Masaru’s Sundays off from the mines to spend the day catching and grilling fish.

“I can’t wait to try the seafood in District Four,” Izuku says while they eat. 

During their Victory Tour, they hadn't gotten the chance to have any seafood in District 4, and not even because of the exhaustion and despair that had been gnawing away at him and his appetite at the time, but because they hadn't even gotten to stay in District 4 for a banquet. The crowds were so unruly there at the time, they had been sent back to the train after returning back to the Justice Building after touring the beach following their speeches. He's tried seafood in the Capitol, and had fresh shellfish when they were in the clock arena, but the seafood dishes in 4 had to be sublime. 

He watches Izuku take another bite of their grilled fish, and it suddenly strikes him how different all of this is. How different they are. How much has changed. It’s hard to fathom that in just ten days, they would be getting on a train and leaving District 12 again. Willingly. No cameras, no script, no obligations hanging over them. Regardless, Katsuki isn’t so sure how well he would handle the journey, even if he constantly reminded himself that it was just for a vacation. That thought alone still sounded far too ridiculous in his mind, so his brain simply refused to conceptualize it, rejecting it outright, refusing to accept it as real. 

Real or not real. 

Just a vacation. He knows what that should mean, of course. Time away, a chance to rest, just an experience. But it’s like his body just doesn’t get the message. The thought of stepping back onto a train makes his stomach twist into anxious knots. He knows it’s ridiculous, but the feeling still lingers. It’s a primal instinct within him, screaming at him that to get back on a train would mean heading somewhere he couldn’t come back from. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice pulls Katsuki from his thoughts, and he realizes he’s being watched, forest-green eyes scanning his face with a quiet concern. “Are you okay?” 

Kastuki goes back to his own fish, plucking a few of the charred scales off and flicking them away. “Yeah.” 

Izuku hardly looks convinced, of course, but Katsuki has never been able to lie to him. He doesn’t press him on it though, looking back to his skewered fish, twisting it around to check for more flesh. 

“Maybe we can have some fresh oysters,” he says lightly, “I hear they’re a natural aphrodisiac.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but he’s secretly grateful for the shift in tone. “Right. Like either of us need any help on that front.” 

Izuku grins, and just like that, the brief heaviness passes, and Katsuki allows the warmth of the moment to settle back in around him. 

The next few days are spent preparing for the upcoming trip, packing up clothes and gifts and ensuring that there’s a good backlog of baked goods and game for the townsfolk. Then the day arrives that Izuku and Katsuki are standing on the platform to catch a train out of District 12 for the first time in a little over a year. 

As he suspected, spending time on a train is not a situation designed to put Katsuki at ease, but thankfully they have a private sleeper car. So they spend the entirety of their journey getting tangled up in the bedsheets, expunging their anxious thoughts and replacing them with caresses and sighs instead. It serves to be as good of a distraction as it had been back on Rebellion Day. When they’re finished, they have no idea where the pillows went and Katsuki has to remind himself why they are even on the train. 

In a little under six hours, they arrive in District 4. It’s not a self-contained square like District 12, but spread out along rugged coastlines with a number of fishing villages hugging the few accessible inlets. The centre of District 4, however, is a fair-sized city overlooking a large bay. It’s not as big as the Capitol, or even District 2, but has a sizable downtown with a cluster of multi-story buildings. The train pulls to a stop in this downtown area, and while the station and the sidewalks are crowded with people who will undoubtedly recognize them, Katsuki still takes a moment to appreciate the salty tang coming from the ocean and the fish markets. 

Todoroki is there to greet them at the station, and they’re ushered into a dark car that takes them to the Victor’s Village. It’s far more luxurious than the one in District 12, and Todoroki’s house is even larger than theirs. Stylistically, there’s something more opulent about it, with rooms divided by columns or thin doors with rice paper panels that slide open on tracks, instead of solid walls. There’s thatched, sage green mats across most of the floors in the common areas. It’s both gorgeous and open, yet somehow homey. 

The rest of their friends have either already arrived or show up not long after Katsuki and Izuku do, and once everyone is accounted for, they decide to take a tour of the district. While he enjoys walking along the coast, and looking at the ships and the stalls along the piers, Katsuki can’t help but find it a little unfair that District 4 is still so intact, so perfectly preserved that every memory is sharp enough to feel, when District 12—which Izuku wants to remember so badly—is so completely changed that sometimes even Katsuki can’t remember what the bakery used to look like, or the school, or the people he once knew. 

It appears that Katsuki and Izuku don’t need to make any kind of announcement about becoming ‘official’ partners. It comes off of them in waves so obvious that their friends pick up on it instantly, but they have the good nature to act pleasantly surprised and offer their congratulations. Through natural progression—once the beer and honey mead and wine start flowing as the evening goes on—come questions about taking their relationship to the next step. When Katsuki and Izuku explain that they aren’t engaged, and there’s been no talks of marriage or a wedding happening anytime soon, everyone seems a little puzzled—probably because Katsuki has yet to take his ring off, and doesn’t plan to. 

The rest of the country likely assumes that Katsuki and Izuku were already married, or near enough. And the ones who know better—all the people in the room with them now—were all expecting it of them, anyway. So there wasn’t a need to do anything drastic, to move at lightning speed, or worry about making any announcements or long-term plans. The only deadline coming up for now was Izuku officially moving in with Katsuki in the fall.  They didn’t need more of a commitment than that—they knew how they felt about each other—even if at twenty-years-old they were on the outside range of when people get married in District 12. None of their friends give them any grief over it, thankfully—they all agree that there’s no need to rush, and to just enjoy their time together. 

The conversation moves into the districts, and Jirou and Kaminari talk about their time visiting an artist’s colony together in District 10—some cockamamie idea that someone in the Capitol had. A building in the Capitol where a bunch of artists all lived got destroyed during the war, so they all went to 10 and bought an abandoned ranch from the district to live together, raise chickens, and work on their crafts. Capitol artists and District 10 ranchers sounds like a weird matchup, but Katsuki supposes it was just a part of the new Panem. 

Kaminari suggests to Izuku that he could sell his paintings at the artist colony, which was said to be hosting an art show in the coming months. 

“I’m serious, dude,” Kaminari says, “Kyoka and I could get you set up with the art dealer we met there. I’m sure people would want to buy your art.” 

“Only because I’m…notorious,” Izuku says, although he’s blushing. 

Kaminari shrugs. “Well, use it to your advantage. None of us get our victor winnings, anymore. Gotta make money somehow.” 

The look on Izuku’s face is brief, but clear. He would like people to see his paintings. Maybe he would even like people to buy them. Maybe he thinks it would be nice to be known for something outside of his part in the rebellion and the war. Katsuki has no idea what Izuku’s paintings could possibly sell for. Back in 12, everyone still largely relied on trade for the majority of their day-to-day transactions. It was easier for Seam folk to measure the value of a thing by that which would be accepted in return for it. But Katsuki supposes Kaminari has a point, and they would all have to get used to the national currency, eventually. 

Katsuki finds himself wondering, uneasily, if a place like an artist’s colony would be somewhere Izuku would rather be instead of in District 12. In the colony, they likely all shared chores and responsibilities and food and other essentials, while maintaining their own quiet, independent spaces for working on art. There, Izuku would only have to spend a little time baking bread for a few dozen people, instead of churning out enough for the nearly five-hundred now who have returned, with more coming each month. Most of the time, he could paint, talk to people about his painting and discuss other people’s artwork. It might not be so bad, with barns and pens of pigs and chickens. District 10 had a folksy charm to it not unlike District 12. But the self-involved thoughtlessness of the Capitolites who had settled there would certainly spoil it. 

Maybe that was an irrational thought, especially since they’re all supposed to be equal now—but they never truly would be, if Katsuki were to be honest with himself. It’s not something he can easily get over. Those people had the time, resources, and safety to be bored enough with their own bodies to augment them, to wile away the hours with frivolous hobbies, while the coal miners of 12 worked themselves into early graves, and didn’t even own their own neglected, malnourished bodies. 

He wonders who Izuku would be, what he would do, if he hadn’t tied himself to Katsuki and their little train stop of a district still pulling itself up from the ashes of its ruin. If he went to District 10, Izuku wouldn’t have to be weighed down with decisions about the welfare of his people and his district. Katsuki knows that he’s weary of it. The only problem is, Katsuki knows that while Izuku would fit in seamlessly in such a place, Katsuki would grate against it. There’s no way he could ever be at ease in a place like District 10, so flat and ochre. 

That night, their guest room at Todoroki’s house is dim with the darkness of the summer storm brewing outside. It’s hard to tell exactly what time it is, but it must be nearly dawn. The sound of the thunder had woken Katsuki up some time ago, leaving him startled for a moment when the ceiling above him was a strange, unfamiliar one. 

For a time, Katsuki watches Izuku, still deep asleep. The party went late into the night, and he was happy and exhausted. There’s a slight upturn to his mouth, which gives Katsuki the impression that his dreams must be happy. Normally Izuku’s contentment brings Katsuki contentment, but tonight there’s a restlessness under his skin that he can’t shake. 

Katsuki slips out of bed and moves over to the window. The window faces east, so he can see the sun rising like a ring of fire underneath the black clouds on the horizon of the shimmering, dark ocean in the distance. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku calls out, sleepily, from the bed. 

Katsuki looks over his shoulder. “Hey.” 

“Everything okay?” 

“I’m just watchin’ the storm. The horizon looks so bizarre.” 

“Ooh, let me see,” Izuku pulls away the blankets and joins Katsuki at the window. “Oh,” he breathes, “It reminds me of you.” 

Katsuki snorts with a laugh. “What?” he says, incredulous, “Shut up.” 

“No, seriously—that red is almost the exact colour I use for your eyes,” Izuku explains, pointing to the red ring of sunlight behind the thick, oppressive clouds. “And beneath that, that line along the horizon above the water, it’s like a prairie fire.” He lightly kisses Katsuki’s shoulder. 

“I’d like to think I’ve cooled down some,” Katsuki mutters, though he’s not displeased. 

“Well, it’s not the only thing that reminds me of you,” Izuku says, “You’re way too complex to be captured by just one natural phenomena, after all.” 

Katsuki feels his cheeks getting hot, but since he began thinking all of those unpleasant things the previous night, they are now weighing him down, and Katsuki knows he will have to confess his pettiness to Izuku. He thinks of the mural of the moon in the meadow of white flowers that decorated the wall of the lake house back home, and thought of it being copied onto a canvas and sold in some auction to the highest bidder. The thought makes his skin itch. 

“Izuku,” Katsuki starts carefully, watching the lighting flicker through the hazy sky. “What did you think about that artist colony thing that Sparky was tellin’ us about? About sellin’ your art to people?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku says, “For me, painting is a pretty solitary pastime. And the thought of a group of artists like that seems really…anything goes. Like it would just turn into some kind of pretentious echo chamber. I prefer having more cynical eyes looking at my work. Like yours. It keeps me grounded.” 

“I guess so,” Katsuki says, “I couldn’t stand to live in a place with so few trees, anyway.” 

Izuku looks away from the storm and up at Katsuki then, blinking in confusion. “Kacchan, you don’t seriously think I’d ever leave Twelve, do you? Let alone expect you to do the same.” 

“You were just talkin’ about quittin’ the council,” Katsuki says, “Figured it might be…I dunno, stressin’ you out, bein’ there.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I told you before. Twelve is my home. I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. Besides, I think I’ve figured out a bit of a compromise with the whole council thing.” 

Katsuki perks up at that. “Yeah?” 

Izuku nods. “Yeah, it’s evolving into various subcommittees, and I’m going to go onto the planning subcommittee. I won’t have a vote on the council, I’d just continue to think and plan and make recommendations for buildings and expansion in Twelve—which is all I really joined for in the first place. It also gives me the excuse to travel in the region outside of the district boundaries and survey the open land. Update our maps of the area and just kind of see what’s out there,” Izuku nudges his hip against Katsuki’s. “Could make for some excellent camping trips, don’t you think? We could go for plenty of hikes. Maybe we can find more hot springs.” 

Katsuki stares at Izuku in awe. Izuku has not only eased his mind, he’s also proven just how well he truly knows Katsuki—because Katsuki is certain that Izuku has come to this resolution with Katsuki in mind, knowing that this is everything Katsuki wanted for them and more, to enjoy some peace and quiet and to let the days pass, for nature to take care of itself. Katsuki is certain that the two of them together, far away from people watching, staring, monitoring them, is the only way that Katsuki will feel truly at peace. 

It’s why the lake house has become his favourite place to be lately. But he has to admit, there’s still a bit of a problem there. It’s like he’s built his own arena—or anti-arena, really—to avoid all the shit that the Capitol and the rebellion put him through. It’s a safe place, but barren. Not like the meadow that Izuku has painted on its walls, but a desert that Katsuki has dragged Izuku into. And if Izuku has sensed it for himself, then he hasn’t been trying to dissuade it, and now with this planning subcommittee thing, and the prospect of camping trips away from the district, he’s fully encouraging the behaviour. It was exhilarating, and maybe just a little bit intimidating, to be with a boy who loved him perhaps a little too much. 

Of course, none of these thoughts stop Katsuki from taking Izuku by the wrist and leading him back to bed, where he can love him a little too much right back. 

If the little bastard will let him, that is.

“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku whispers hastily, pushing at Katsuki’s shoulders as Katsuki presses him down into the mattress, “We shouldn’t—we’re guests here, it’s not polite.” 

Katsuki pauses in his downwards trek to Izuku’s chest to look at Izuku with a deadpan expression. “And when the fuck have I ever cared about bein’ polite?” 

Izuku looks incredibly conflicted. “You know I’m awful at staying quiet.” 

In a flourish, Katsuki whisks off Izuku’s shorts and shoves them in Izuku’s face. “Then stick these in your mouth.” 

“Kacch—mmrpph!” Izuku pushes the shorts aside to properly watch Katsuki’s descent, back arching against the mattress as Katsuki rolls up Izuku’s shirt to press lingering kisses to his stomach. “Kacchan, would you…seriously have gone with me to Ten, if that’s where I wanted to be? Or any other district, for that matter?” 

Katsuki looks up at Izuku through his lashes. “Well, it might be kind of irrational, but it always feels like bad things will happen if I don’t keep my eye on you. I promised myself I wouldn’t let you outta my sight again.” 

Maybe it was unreasonable. They aren’t in the arena anymore. They aren’t being targeted. Katsuki does worry a bit that he barely has the option to be strong for himself anymore. The downside to him and Izuku being there for each other, supportive as they try to be, is that they might be too dependent on each other. And Dr. Yoshida would probably have a thing or two to say about how it wasn’t healthy for Katsuki to live his life so co-dependently. Obviously there’s some things that still frighten Katsuki that he needs to get over, but whether Izuku is in the same room with him or in District 10, or anywhere else, that fear is always there. It’s a little overwhelming, the enormity of trying to fix something that started all the way back when he lost his father. It’s not something Katsuki is going to be able to work through and resolve right now. 

So instead he crawls back up the bed and kisses Izuku, and Izuku kisses him back with a smile. Katsuki gently bites his lower lip, clamping it briefly between his teeth, a suggestive act that’s ultimately a question, and the quivering sigh it pulls from Izuku is Katsuki’s answer. He’s not exactly playing very fair, but he also doesn’t really care.

“I love the taste of you,” Izuku breathes. 

Katsuki huffs, soft and fond. “And how do I taste?” 

“Well, it’s different now. Before, your lips just tasted like—well, nothing, really. Just like skin. Sometimes like those mint leaves you like to chew on,” Izuku says, “It’s how you tasted in the first arena, and plenty of times since. But…the first time you kissed me again, when we were in the Capitol, I’ll never forget it—you tasted like caramel. There was a smokiness to it, though, like the sugars were burned. And you’ve tasted like that ever since. It’s kind of like kissing a campfire. It’s stronger in the summertime, I’ve noticed. And, uh…even stronger after, um…” Izuku trails off shyly, unable to utter it, which is pretty comical for a guy who has been having as much sex as Izuku lately. 

Smoky and sweet, huh? It dawns on Katsuki quickly what this means. “That’s my sweat, Izuku. You’re tasting my sweat.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s delicious.” 

“Weirdo.” 

It doesn’t deter Katsuki from his previous mission, however. He resumes his trail of kisses down Izuku’s neck, his chest, and his stomach. And then he settles himself between Izuku’s legs. Izuku has already scrambled to collect his discarded shorts and stuff some of the fabric into his mouth, per Katsuki’s suggestion. Katsuki grins, and then he dives in for a taste of his own.

Chapter Text

xv.

As pretty as the beaches of District 4 are, and as much as Katsuki enjoyed the fresh seafood, the spicy sauces to dip it all in, and the salty-sweet air by the ocean, he’s still relieved to be heading back home. Even with the nearly-constant noise of hammers and saws building the villages, there’s still no place that brings Katsuki more comfort. Even if Izuku changed his mind one day and felt like settling down elsewhere, Katsuki knows in his bones he wouldn’t ever be able to truly relax anywhere else. He would miss his woods far too deeply. It would ache like a bruise that would never fade. But, wherever Izuku goes, Katsuki would follow; unless Izuku were to tell him otherwise. 

Katsuki is dead on his feet by the time they’re crossing the threshold to his house, meanwhile Izuku seems to be vibrating right out of his skin. It’s a restless energy, but not an anxious one, though Katsuki is too tired to entertain it and crashes into bed for a nap, not even bothering to unpack or change his clothes. 

A few hours later, night has fallen. Izuku has propped open their bedroom window, and Katsuki can hear the sound of crickets and nightbirds out in the darkness. Katsuki drags himself out of bed and heads downstairs, where Izuku is on the couch, poring over some of his old sketchbooks by lamplight.

This was something new that Izuku had started to do, studying every page of his sketchbooks in detail. Some of the drawings he remembers at once, and others he has lost completely. Katsuki has tried to help him with it; what he doesn’t know for sure, he can sometimes guess. Every once in a while, Izuku will say something like ‘I remember how that felt,’ about one of the drawings, even something as generic as a sketch of a squirrel. He doesn’t elaborate beyond that, and Katsuki doesn’t pry or try to interfere with his process. Because this might very well be the way that Izuku fully comes back to himself again, reconstructing his past one sketchbook, one drawing at a time. Remembering both what he drew, and how he felt when he drew it. One of the most troubling things to Katsuki about Izuku’s memories was not just that he didn’t remember some things, but that even when he did, he didn’t always seem very attached to them.

Izuku has drawings of plants, animals, and people from numerous angles, as if he was making a study of them. The first sketchbook in Izuku’s collection has drawings that date back to when he was eight years old. Even back then his drawings were good, far better than Katsuki could hope to do back then or today.

Katsuki had been a little bit surprised to see just how long Izuku had been drawing him for. There are sketches of Katsuki in every single one of the sketchbooks; he is clearly Izuku’s favourite subject. The improvement of Izuku’s art style can be seen most clearly in the drawings of Katsuki, as he incrementally grows up and becomes more recognizable to his real life self on the pages. Some seem to be drawn purely from memory, but most appear to have been drawn from life, capturing a moment in time. How had Katsuki never noticed Izuku drawing him, when he had clearly done it so often? From the age of ten onward, Katsuki would have made it a point to vehemently ignore Izuku, so he must have just been too preoccupied with his bitterness back then to see what was so clearly in front of him. Not for the first time, Katsuki thinks of how he must have been an awful person to have a crush on. Although, he supposes it had eventually paid off for the both of them, in the end. 

Katsuki comes up behind Izuku and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’ll strain your eyes,” Katsuki murmurs, burrowing his nose into Izuku’s hair. It smells like his shampoo; he must have showered while Katsuki was asleep. “You should put a light on.”

“Force of habit. I’m used to reading by firelight. I kind of prefer it, really,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki hums. “Well, you’d still look pretty cute with glasses.” 

Izuku laughs, and then cranes his head back. “That was a long nap. You’re gonna be up all night now.” 

“Good thing you’re a night owl. Come up to bed,” Katsuki tells him. 

“How about a walk?” Izuku suggests. 

Katsuki’s lips brush along Izuku’s hairline. “I like my idea better.” 

“But I have a surprise.” 

Katsuki nibbles on Izuku’s cheek. “I hate surprises.” 

Izuku squirms. “Kacchan…” 

Katsuki sighs. “Fine, fine,” he says, “But it better not be another surprise party or you’re dead fuckin’ meat. I’m all partied out.” 

“It’s not,” Izuku says, “I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you will.” 

Katsuki isn’t sure what to make of that statement, but he lets Izuku lead him out into the night. He’s not sure what time it is exactly, but it must be around midnight or so, because the town is still. There’s only the faint flickering glow of candlelight from a few of the windows of the Victor’s Village houses. They round the corner of the final house along the green, and once they reach a line of tall hedges, Izuku stops them suddenly and turns to Katsuki. 

“Close your eyes,” he says. 

Katsuki squints at Izuku in the dark. “Izuku, what—“ 

“Just trust me, okay?” 

Katsuki sighs gratingly, and closes his eyes. He feels Izuku take him by the wrist and guide him along. It’s tempting to peek, especially when walking with his eyes shut is so disorienting that he moves with clumsy, unsteady steps, but he dutifully keeps his eyes closed. Eventually Izuku brings them to a stop again. He hasn’t been instructed to open his eyes yet, so Katsuki stays still, listening as Izuku’s footsteps fade away slightly ahead of him. Without sight, Katsuki’s other senses kick in harder. The air is heady with the scent of damp earth, and something else that’s cloying and sweet that Katsuki can’t place. Then, Katsuki hears Izuku walk back over to stand at his side. 

“Okay, open.” 

The sight before Katsuki is bathed in the light of the moon, as well as a warm, amber glow from dozens of paper lanterns that cast gentle, fluttering shadows on the community garden in the centre of the village green, which finished construction a few weeks ago, though now Katsuki sees some new additions that were not here before they left for District 4. Across the patch of land are rows of wildflowers, and in the centre is a stately obelisk surrounded by benches, and trellises filled with delicate white flowers that seem to emit their own silvery light. They remind Katsuki of the white flowers in the mural Izuku painted on the wall of the lake house. When Izuku had first started to paint the mural, Katsuki had asked what kind of flower they were, and Izuku said they were a night-blooming variety of morning glory, that opened its blooms at dusk, also known as moonflowers. 

Katsuki finds his feet moving forward of their own accord, and he moves closer to the trellises to get a closer look at the flowers, fascinated by the way the pale petals refracted the light of the moon, gleaming with a luminescence that almost seemed artificial. 

His eyes land next on the tall obelisk in the centre of the garden, which has carvings down either side of it with people’s names. Izuku comes up beside him, looking up at the monument. 

“This was erected to commemorate the lives of the medical volunteers in the rebel army that lost their lives in the war,” Izuku explains quietly. 

Katsuki’s heart constricts, and his eyes roam more intently across the stone, walking around to the other side. A shudder of a breath rattles out of him at what he sees. Not just an engraving, but a mural. His mother’s face, shining down at him in the light of the lanterns and the moon. Katsuki hasn’t even brought himself to look upon his parent’s wedding photo once since he returned home, or the gold pendant Izuku first showed him in the clock arena which contained her picture. It’s the first time he’s seen his mother’s face since—since the day she—

“I told you before that part of the kanji in your name can translate to ‘moon’,” Izuku says, “It’s the same character that’s in your mother’s name. Mitsuki, which means ‘light’. So, this place is for her. And for you. A place where you can come and be with her.” 

Katsuki’s jaw works uselessly, but he doesn’t have words. His hands clench at his sides as he stares at the painting of his mother, captured so perfectly it was like she were encased within the stone. Protected in a way that Katsuki hadn’t been able to do for her in life. He can feel Izuku’s eyes on him, waiting for a response. He remembers when he first came across Izuku, back home in 12. He had been nailing together a trellis much like the ones around the garden. Had Izuku been planning this all this time, for all these months? Since the very moment he returned home, before he had even seen Katsuki again, seen the state he was in? Katsuki steps forward and places his hand upon the obelisk. His mother’s cheek is hard and cold under his hand. Katsuki swallows hard, his throat burning. 

After a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. The sweetness of the moonflowers fills his senses. Slowly, a knot within Katsuki’s chest loosens, just a little. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not when the burning in his throat is so constricting, and the same sting behind his eyes threatens to spill over. But eventually he stands back from the monument and reaches out for Izuku, taking his hand in his, and giving it a tight squeeze. 

They sit on the bench for a while, enjoying the cool night air, the scent of the flowers, the glow of the lanterns, and the sounds of nature around them. Then they walk back home, hand-in-hand. Even though Katsuki had napped for hours, he suddenly feels tired in a bone-deep, aching way that transcended mere exhaustion. He crawls under the covers and Izuku holds him close, petting his hair until Katsuki slips away. When he dreams, he sees his mother. He waits for the fire to take her, like it always does, but instead of being wreathed in flame, she is resplendent and ethereal, bathed in the white glow of the moon. The moon shrinks down until it looks like an egg, and his mother cradles it in her hands and then swallows it whole, and its incandescent shine shoots out of her in all directions until she is moonlight itself. Beautiful, and gone in the morning when Katsuki opens his eyes, wet with tears he shed in his sleep. Izuku is there to kiss them away. 

Several nights later, Katsuki takes the memory book to the garden alone, and sits down at the bench. He sets the book aside and pulls his legs up onto the bench, and wraps his arms around them while resting his chin on his knees. 

He thinks of the promise his mother had asked him to make to her as she pressed her golden mockingjay pin into his hand the day of the Reaping. A piece of home to take with him into the arena; a way to keep a piece of himself intact. Preserved, and uncorrupted. 

Only it was an impossible promise to keep. The Capitol had dressed him up and forced him to kill other kids. Then the rebels dressed him up and made him encourage everyone to kill each other. He is no longer the boy on fire, he is not the Mockingjay. He is Katsuki Bakugou, and he has no idea what that means anymore. Katsuki closes his eyes, and repeats an old mantra to himself. Only the things he knows to be true. 

My name is Katsuki Bakugou. I’m twenty-years-old. My home is District 12. It was destroyed by the Capitol. It is being rebuilt. Izuku saved the country. All For One is dead. My mother is dead. All For One killed her. I volunteered for the Hunger Games to give her a better life. Now there are no more Hunger Games. And she isn’t here to see it.

Katsuki digs into his pocket and pulls out the gold mockingjay pin. He runs his thumb over its etched wings, caught in flight. For a moment, he considers burying it in the garden, as a way to bury Mitsuki, too. There had been nothing left of her body, and nothing of hers at home that carried the same weight as the pin in his hand did. Maybe if he buried it, he could let go of some of that burden. Maybe he would feel a little lighter. 

The weight of the pin’s symbol is not just carried in Mitsuki, or her promise. It is also in Katsuki; of the arrogant, ignorant boy he was before the arena, and the broken thing he became after. It is in the rebellion, where the mockingjay became a beacon of hope for the districts, and a symbol of treachery for the Capitol and All For One. In a way, Mitsuki had handed Katsuki the very thing that ultimately led to her demise. Katsuki should want to bury it, or to burn it, or to chuck it into the lake. Cast it aside and forget it forever. 

Instead, Katsuki sticks the pin down into the next page of the memory book. And for hours, he stays on the bench, writing until his left hand cramps up and he’s forced to continue with his right. The moon travels across the sky, and gives way to the sun, cresting over the tops of the trees. 

He seals the pages with salt water, and while he was never able to keep that first promise to her, Katsuki makes a new one. He promises to live well, to make her death and all of the others count for something. 

He owes it to her, to all of them, to at least try. 

By the end of August, Izuku’s house has been emptied out of his personal effects, and he officially moves in with Katsuki. It’s an easy move, since Izuku really didn’t have that much of his own belongings that he brought to the Victor’s Village in the first place, and Katsuki’s house is right across the green from his. Izuku’s house is then repurposed as a temporary schoolhouse, and by the beginning of September the children of District 12 resume classes. Before, school terms in District 12 ran from April until March, with three breaks in between. The students are starting the school year out a bit late, when they would typically begin second term, but they would be back on a regular three-term year the following spring. 

Izuku runs a home economics class, and recruits two students as youth apprentices who help him run the bakery, which still operates out of the kitchen in his old house-turned-schoolhouse in the meantime, until a proper shop can be built in a couple of years. Those two students are Eri, the daughter of Mayor Aizawa, who Izuku volunteered for in the first Games. The other is Kota, who was the boy that Katsuki volunteered for (though he had to be reminded of that fact by the boy himself, as he had completely forgotten). As for Katsuki, he teaches archery. They might not have a fancy Peacekeeper—or rather, Public Safety Commission—academy here in District 12, but it was still important for their youth to learn the basics of survival. 

Most of the kids probably wouldn’t end up hunting, but Katsuki doesn’t really care. It’s something to do, and he doesn’t completely hate it. While Katsuki hunts a lot less frequently these days, only bringing in enough game to feed his immediate neighbours, and even though District 12 was no longer starving the way it was before, with access to communal gardens and food rations sent in from the Capitol each week, Katsuki still considers his skills transferable and important to show to the young ones who would one day be running things themselves. 

They finally get on the hydro-electric grid that autumn, so now all the houses constructed in the new villages have access to power at all times just like in the Victor’s Village. Out of a force of habit, most people still use the electricity sparingly. There hasn’t been any announcements from the Capitol about charging them for the power as of yet, but most people are concerned that if they fall into any sort of complacency and use more power than they need, the Capitol would start charging them sooner rather than later. 

Not long after all the districts are supplied with round-the-clock power, a nationwide announcement is released regarding the Harvest Festival changing its date to the end of October, rather than taking place midwinter. Plans are arranged to travel to District 2 to visit Kirishima and Mina, and celebrate the Harvest Festival as well as Kirishima’s 20th birthday. 

They disembark from the train and step out into a golden autumn afternoon. The last time Katsuki saw District 2, it was in the darkness of a cold and bloody night. But he did spend the better part of the fall season in these mountains before, and he remembers the glowing sun and crisp air that brings a tang to the atmosphere that Katsuki can’t bring himself to hate, despite everything he associates with this place. 

Izuku hasn’t been to 2 since their particularly stressful stop on the Victory Tour, but he watched the fall of the Nut on live television, including when Katsuki got shot. Katsuki can see the exact place where that all happened, in fact, spotting an extension of the train tracks from the station in the town square towards the mountain that used to be the Nut. Squinting in the sunlight, Katsuki can see some activity around the base of the mountain. There looks to be some scaffolding being built at the entrance to the mine. 

Then his attention is pulled away when he hears his name being called. Katsuki and Izuku hurry over to where Kirishima is waiting, leaning against a car parked on the street. He is strange and familiar all at once. He’s still got that ridiculous hairstyle that makes him look like a spiny red porcupine, and fine civilian clothes nicer than anything he ever used to wear, but he flashes Katsuki the same sharp, toothy grin as they approach, and pulls him in for the same rock-hard, bone-crushing hug. 

As Kirishima drives them along, he asks how 12 is coming along, and Katsuki and Izuku regale him on the start of the school term, and their respective classes. Izuku also explains about the continued construction of the village neighbourhoods, each with its own green, and in the centre of the four neighbourhoods, a commons for gatherings and market stalls. Essentially like the Victor’s Village, duplicated three times over, with each of the neighbourhoods forming a cross with the Victor’s Village at the southern end. 

“There’s also townhouses going up around the Justice Building and the town square,” Izuku goes on, “There will be thirty in total, and they’ll get assigned to people getting married or young adults wanting to move out of the common homes. Then there’s the west side, where we should be able to put another, larger neighbourhood. And once the temp houses aren’t needed, we’ll develop north of the tracks, which will keep us busy for some time.” 

“How many people have come back so far?” Kirishima asks. 

“Around three-hundred and fifty,” Izuku replies, with a slight tone of defensiveness that maybe only Katsuki can hear, since he’s so used to it in relation to this topic, “I know it’s not much. Only about a third of the survivors. Thirteen had a lot to offer our people, especially the families. And others went to the Capitol, or to Eight, who recruited labourers for clean-up and employment in the factories. And a lot came out this way, too—miners who wanted to keep doing what they knew best.” 

They pull into District 2’s Victor’s Village, which much like District 4 is much larger and fancier than the one in 12. Most of the houses, owned by prior victors, were left unoccupied after the purge of the victors during the war. Considering Kirishima’s status as a high-ranking officer and war hero, he was offered first dibs on the houses here the same time he was offered his position at the Peacekeeper academy. It’s a full house already when they arrive, with Kirishima’s mother, two little brothers and sister all living there, as well as the rest of their friend group who came from District 4, 3, and the Capitol to join in on the celebrations. After they are shown their room and unpack, Katsuki looks around the house. It reflects 2’s beautiful, white-columned Justice Building. Gorgeous, but not exactly cozy. And a tad on the garish side, with Kirishima and Mina’s obviously very clashing senses of taste. 

In the kitchen is an enormous oven, which absolutely dwarfs the one that Izuku purchased for his old house. Katsuki doesn’t know why a household would even need an oven this huge, but this was District 2, after all. A lot of the Capitol’s overindulgence bled over thickly here. 

“Do you do any cooking, Katsuki? Or is it all Izuku, since you can’t use your right arm that much?” Mina asks, coming up to him in the kitchen. 

If there was anything truly influenced by the Capitol about this place, it was definitely Mina. Though she had become a little less grating over time, Katsuki still couldn’t help but be irked a little any time she spoke, especially when she used his first name. And Izuku’s. Back home, nobody called Izuku by his first name but Katsuki. And despite his original reasons for starting to refer to Izuku by that name, it had developed into something else over time. No longer a way to detach himself from the pain of losing Deku to the Capitol’s torture, but rather a rare form of familiarity seldom seen in District 12, only used in intimate circumstances among childhood friends, married couples, and the like. But they didn’t have the same kinds of customs in the Capitol, so Katsuki can’t exactly hold it against Mina for her forwardness. And since it went both ways, Katsuki supposes that made them even; though he had once tried to refer to her as ‘Ashido’—her last name—and she had looked at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“Izuku has to spend enough time in front of an oven as it is,” Katsuki replies, “So I cook most of the meals,” And then, he tacks on, rather defensively, “And my arm has regained a lot of mobility.”

“You know, Ei told me about how he used to have feelings for you,” Mina says suddenly. 

Katsuki swallows and looks around the room; anywhere but at her. “Oh. Uh, well, y’know—nothin’ ever really happened between us.” Except for that kiss in the woods, not all that far from here, Katsuki thinks. And not all that long ago, either, though it feels like a much different time. A much different time with two very different people—one hurt, and one broken. 

“Well, I know this seems odd to say but, I guess I wanted to thank you for breaking his heart,” Mina says, “I’m certainly happy you left him free for me.” 

Katsuki is starting to understand Mina’s appeal to Kirishima. She’s blunt and straight-forward, which were two things Kirishima had never really gotten from Katsuki when it came to the topic of his feelings for him. “Uh. You’re…welcome, I guess.” 

Mina laughs. “Besides, you and Izuku are just so cute together.” Mina looks around Katsuki and perks up, and Katsuki turns to see Izuku in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Don’t come in here, Izuku,” Katsuki warns him, “You don’t wanna see this oven.” 

Izuku admires it for a while. “It would never fit in our kitchen anyway,” he says, “And it’ll be a while yet before a bakery is built. Ours will work just fine for now.” 

Despite this, he continues to gaze at it longingly while Mina gets his opinion on what to do about that evening’s supper. 

During their meal that night, Kirishima outlines a new apprenticeship program that the oldest of his two brothers is taking part in. He’ll learn about animal husbandry, metallurgy, electricity, machinery, and weaponry ranging from bow and arrow—which he already knows from Kirishima—swordplay, and guns. 

Katsuki can’t imagine teaching kids about shooting guns, the way they were back in District 13. He was teaching kids archery at the school, but that was for hunting and self-defence, not for combat. It was different. Katsuki supposed they were pretty isolated in District 12—it was peaceful there, so removed from the rest of Panem. 

“Sounds like Two is learning to specialize in all the industries,” Katsuki remarks. 

“Yep. As many as we need to keep independent.” 

“I noticed some scaffolding around the entrance to the mine,” Katsuki says, “What’s that about?” 

Kirishima shrugs. “They’re just stabilizing the entrance, I guess.” 

Of course. District 2 is reclaiming what the rebellion took away: its cache of weapons, hovercrafts, and a small arsenal of nukes. Surely Kirishima has put the pieces together; he’s the one who took down the Nut with the avalanche in the first place, after all. When Katsuki spares a glance at Izuku, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing he is. 

Besides District 13, 2 is the only district with a force of trained police, large-scale supply of military-grade weapons, and a training academy teaching its citizens about agriculture and manufacturing, setting them up for independence. Perhaps these are merely logical steps in securing the district in the long-term, and they should all be thinking in such terms of self-reliance. It strengthens a district to diversify its resources, and just because it was a little unsettling that it was 2 doing it, didn’t mean they had no right to do so. 

But it was one hell of a head start they had on the rest of them. 

In early November, as the leaves finally start to blanket the floor of the woods after a long, late-running summer, Izuku and Katsuki go back to the lake for a weekend. Katsuki hunts around for hickory and oak branches of good thickness, saws them down, and brings them back to the house. There he joins Izuku, who is fishing at the lake. 

He sits down next to him and examines one of the branches, finding the natural curve of the branch, visualizing where the hand grip will be. Then he steadies the branch between his knees and  begins to shave down at the ends. Several of his father’s old bows had been taken out of their hiding places throughout the woods and were now being repurposed for use in Katsuki’s archery classes at the school, so he’s taken on the task of crafting new ones. He’s gone through a few trial and error bows already, but is finally starting to get the hang of it. It used to drive him nuts that he wasn’t immediately good at it—much like baking—but now he finds the process pleasant. He enjoys the sound, smell, and feel of the wood beneath his fingers. He likes to think he’s getting better at baking, too, though he’s not so sure he’ll ever catch up to Izuku. 

“So, what’d you tell the council about Two?” Katsuki asks. 

“Back when Kirishima first told us about the Peacek—uh, Public Safety Commission, I informed Aizawa about it. He’s been keeping tabs on them ever since. Turns out the Capitol is getting a troop, and Two is ready to send more out to the other districts, unless they’re refused. Eight, Ten, Eleven, and Thirteen are already opposed. Thirteen has no need for them, of course. And Eight has its own troops left over from the war, too.” 

“And what about the Nut?” 

“That’s complicated,” Izuku says, frowning, “I wonder if President Takami knows about them refortifying the mine. I mean, he toured the districts. But maybe he didn’t see it, or they may not have told him about it. All we know right now is what Mayor Aizawa told us. District Two recently called for a vote demanding an immediate disbursal of Thirteen’s nukes among the rest of the districts.” 

Katsuki pauses in his branch shaving, and looks at Izuku with wide, sharp eyes. “I thought we were supposed to be disarmin’ them?” 

“We are. Eventually. But it takes a long time, and tools we apparently don’t have anymore to do it,” Izuku says, “Not that I believe that myself. I think Thirteen probably has the tools. Maybe they’re keeping that from us. Either way, we’re stuck with them for the time being.” 

“So why can’t we bury them, or hide them, or something?” Katsuki asks incredulously, “I don’t fuckin’ want them here.” 

Izuku sighs. “There’s no way to hide them from everyone. There will always be people who know.” 

“If we had them here, we’d have to guard them,” Katsuki says, “And we have no Peacek—fuck, Public Safety Commission—to do that. Unless…we agree to bring them in from Two.” 

Izuku looks at Katsuki with a pained expression. “And there could be accidents. A single accident could take out this entire district. Not to mention the radiation poisoning any survivors would be subjected to. But some people might argue that it puts us on equal footing with the other districts.” 

“We’ll never be on equal footing with the other districts,” Katsuki says firmly, “Not for generations.” 

“I know,” Izuku says, “There has to be another way. But…there’s forces beyond our control here.” 

“It hasn’t even been a fuckin’ year since the war ended and already we might be on the verge of another,” Katsuki mutters, “I guess there’s always gonna be people plottin’ shit, no matter what. We can’t escape it.” 

“It might come to nothing,” Izuku says quietly. 

“Then why does it feel so—”

“Because you and I are especially scarred by the feeling of powerlessness,” Izuku says sadly, “Tomorrow afternoon Mayor Aizawa is going to hold a district-wide vote to determine how we all feel. Although I don’t think it’ll take much convincing for us here. A lot of the folks here had mandatory lessons on the history of nuclear weaponry and war when they were in Thirteen. So I’m not too worried about where Twelve stands on the matter. But I guess we won’t know about everyone else until the big vote between all the district representatives.” 

“When’s that happening?” 

“Tuesday night,” Izuku says, “Also, this might be kind of bad timing to bring this up, but…I kind of let Kaminari rope me into doing an art show.” 

Katsuki nearly drops his knife into the lake. “What? I thought you said that shit would be too pretentious?” 

“I mean, I did, but Kaminari also had a point. We won’t be able to rely on trading goods forever. I’m going to have to find a way to earn a living, and if people really want to buy my art, then, well…maybe that’s how I can do it. Even if I’m just selling out to some artsy Capitol snobs with fat pockets, at least I’ll be doing something I enjoy.” 

Katsuki supposes Izuku was right. He had been thinking of ways he could earn money, too. He hasn’t asked for any compensation from the board of education for his archery classes. But maybe he should. “So it’s in Ten?” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No, this time it’s in Four,” he says. And then he smiles a little. “So, I’ll get to see Todoroki again, on the bright side.” 

Katsuki fiddles around with his knife. “When is the show?” 

“Next weekend,” Izuku says, “But I need to leave for Four a little bit beforehand. I’m bringing fifteen paintings with me. Some old stuff that’s not for sale, just for show. And others I’ll be selling. They’ll need time to install the pieces, and I wanted to be able to get in a nice visit with Todoroki, too, so I was thinking I would leave…maybe on Friday? I would leave sooner than that, but, Kota and Eri are still just in training, I can’t expect them to do all the baking for the town while I’m away, and—“ 

“I’ll look after the bakery,” Katsuki says, “You were teachin’ me before those brats, and I’m a quicker study than them. I can babysit, make sure they don’t burn your hou—uh, the school down.” 

Izuku blinks, and his mouth opens and closes like the fish that continue to ignore his fishing line. “You mean…you’d stay behind? You wouldn’t come with me?” 

Katsuki winces. “Don’t look at me like that, ‘Zu. Obviously I don’t want to stay behind, but…I have to. We can’t exactly expect two fourteen-year-olds who've only been doin’ this for two months to bake enough bread to feed over three-hundred people. If I stay, then you can leave earlier in the week. When we visited Four last time for your birthday, we only stayed for the weekend. This time you can get a proper visit in.” 

Izuku’s eyes are shimmering. “But I’d miss you.” 

Katsuki can’t even bear to look at that kicked-puppy expression. He goes back to shaving at his branch, just to keep his hands busy. “I’ll miss you, too,” Katsuki grumbles, “Obviously. But…maybe this’ll be good for us. A test of sorts. Dr. Yoshida probably thinks we’re too reliant on each other for survival. If we can pull off a little separation, then we can rub it in his face. Maybe stop doin’ our sessions with him altogether.” 

Izuku laughs weakly. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says, “Okay, I’ll leave Wednesday then. That’ll allow me to at least get a bit of prep done, so you and the kids aren’t in the weeds without me.” 

Katsuki scowls, jabbing Izuku in the arm with the end of his shaved branch. “Hah? Don’t underestimate me! I’ll have those kids whipped into shape by the time you’re back.” 

“Kacchan, ow,” Izuku grouses, rubbing at his arm. “Don’t scare away my apprentices.” 

“Not my fault you’re too damn soft on ‘em!”

After dinner on Tuesday night, Izuku turns on the television so they can watch the live coverage of the vote on District 2’s referendum. The district-wide vote held in 12 on Monday afternoon had broadly landed on the refusal of receiving an allotment of nuclear arms along with the other districts. Looks like Izuku had been right—the people of 12 knew better than most, thanks to their time in 13, that holding weapons they will never be able to use to defend themselves would not really make them any stronger. But the larger districts suddenly would be, and that could be an issue in the long run. 

The mayor of District 2, an imposingly tall, sharply-dressed man named Oboro Shirokumo, has become a fixture on Capitol TV. He speaks very passionately—and convincingly—about the need to protect at all times against the creeping encroachment of a centralized government. And while the president in District 13 might not lead Panem, that doesn’t mean that 13 does not enjoy a special relationship with the Capitol, and that relationship also includes almost every military weapon in the country, which is far too dangerous to allow. 

Well, since that’s almost exactly the relationship that District 2 had with the Capitol before, Katsuki guesses Shirokumo would know best.

It’s a compelling argument, though. They do have to guard against the central power of the Capitol. But they also—at least at this point in time—badly need its protection. A guarantor that a trigger-happy district mayor, or a new breed of rebels, perhaps, can’t get their hands on these weapons more easily. 

District 13, meanwhile, argues on wholly pragmatic terms about the risks of transporting and storing nukes, and the ongoing research into how to effectively neutralize them. It’s a little too logistical and uninspiring, especially after Mayor Shirokumo’s speech, which was a tough act to follow. Katsuki can see Izuku chewing on his thumbnail with worry. 

But the vote ends up going their way. Nine of the thirteen district representatives vote to maintain the status quo, leaving the nukes where they are. 

Izuku leans back on the couch and lets out a puff of air, raking his fingers through his hair. He looks at Katsuki, and his expression is openly relieved. “Well, that’s that. I can go back to deciding on how big of a septic system I’ll need in the—” Suddenly Izuku stops, distracted by the TV. 

The representative meeting has not concluded, but instead has gotten very heated, as people on the legislative floor begin shouting. It takes some time for things to settle down, and then Mayor Shirokumo stands at the podium again to make another statement. 

He announces District 2’s resignation from the representative council. It will no longer participate in votes or the common trade market. In effect, it is leaving Panem and moving forward as its own sovereign region.

Katsuki is surprised by the powerful return of his anxiety, which starts with a nightmare the night before Izuku leaves for District 4. Izuku wakes him in the middle of the night, shushing him gently. Katsuki’s eyes stay wide open long after Izuku falls back asleep with his arms wrapped around him, thinking about the dream he had. He saw District 12 decimated once more, the walls crumbling and covering the dead. And Katsuki alone had to uncover all of the bodies, dig up the charred meadow and combine all the new bones of the dead with the old. 

In the morning, as Izuku packs up his paintings, Katsuki calls Kirishima. There’s an automated voice at the beginning of the call before Kirishima answers, informing Katsuki that he has only one minute of call time. That’s new. Katsuki only has a chance to inform Kirishima of Izuku coming through 2 for his layover to 4. Kirishima quickly tells Katsuki that all is well with him and his family in 2, that they are safe, and then the line goes dead. 

At the train station, Izuku peppers Katsuki’s face with kisses, promising to call as soon as he gets to District 4, that he’ll call every night, and that he’ll be home soon. He barely makes it onto the train in time because he clings to Katsuki until the very last possible second.

It’s only for a few days. Less than a week, even. It’s not healthy, Katsuki knows it’s not healthy, but they are so seldom apart, and there has not been this kind of distance between them in so long. A distance that increases every minute as the train rolls down the tracks and out of sight. Katsuki is filled with dread. What if Izuku has nightmares or flashbacks and Katsuki isn’t there to comfort him? There is no one who really knows about them like Katsuki does, who knows what to do when Izuku is in that state. And what if Katsuki has nightmares every night? Who will hold him if Izuku isn’t here? 

Katsuki heads straight home and digs out his mother’s basket of sewing, knitting, and crochet supplies. Usually Katsuki would let off his nervous energy with a long trek into the woods and some intense hunting, but he refuses to move away from the telephone today. He’s been trying to teach himself how to crochet with winter closing in, thinking it would be handy to learn how to make hats, mittens, and scarves. Much like bread-kneading, it’s also a gentle dexterity practice for his right hand and arm. Perhaps he could even get good enough at it to sell some stuff. It’s busywork, in any case, and he can’t have idle hands right now. Impulsively, he presses his nose into one of the balls of yarn, thinking it might carry some of his mother’s residual scent. But it just smells like wool and dust; nothing like Mitsuki at all. 

All Katsuki manages to do for several distracted hours is make incredibly long, wobbly chains of yarn. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the ring of the telephone yanks him out of a doze and he bolts upright from where he had slumped on the couch cushions, crochet hook still in his loose fingers. Katsuki tosses his hook and length of chain aside and snatches up the receiver with one hand, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other.

“…H’lo?”

“Kacchan, hi!” Izuku says from the other end of the line. 

Katsuki instantly tries to shake himself awake. “Izuku. Hey.” 

“Did I wake you?” 

“No,” Katsuki says, then he winces. He has no idea why he’s lying. “Well, yeah. I fell asleep while crocheting.” 

“What are you making?” 

Katsuki looks down at his lumpy, way-too-long chain that’s coiled around his lap. “A scarf,” he says.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Izuku says, “Anyway, I just got to District 4. Todoroki says hello, by the way. He’s making me something called ‘soba’ for dinner. Some kind of noodle dish. He’s very excited about it.” 

“How was the trip?” Katsuki asks, “Any problems at Two?” 

“None at all. Kirishima met me at the station for my layover, actually.” 

“Yeah? Good. Did he say anythin’ more ‘bout all this crap? We couldn’t talk for long on the phone earlier.”

“He said everything is fine. He thinks all the districts should go independent, actually. That it would avoid the rise of dictators.” 

Katsuki frowns. “I dunno ‘bout that.” 

“Me neither. Anyway, I better go. I’m using the pay phone at the station—I told you I’d call as soon as I got here!—but I have to get my paintings off the train now. I’ll call again tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” 

“Everything okay?” 

Katsuki clutches the phone a little tighter. He doesn’t want to lie—that’s not who they are or what they do. But he also doesn’t want to worry Izuku. He wants to prove to him—and to himself—that he isn’t going to fall apart just from a few days of separation. 

“Awful quiet ‘round here without all your nerdy mumblin’,” he says softly. 

Izuku laughs a little. Katsuki closes his eyes and drinks in the sound. It’s not quite the same over the tinny crackle of the phone, but still as sweet as ever.

Then Izuku goes quiet, so quiet that for a moment Katsuki thinks that the pay phone has disconnected their call, but then Izuku speaks again, in a near whisper. 

“I love you.” 

Katsuki’s heart squeezes tightly. That’s the first time Izuku has said those words. He’s shown them in a thousand different ways, but never said them out loud until just now. And Katsuki can’t even get pissed at him for saying them over the phone now of all times, because Katsuki hasn’t said them, either. 

Katsuki licks his lips. He rolls the words around on his tongue, as though taste-testing them, and then lets out an unsteady sigh. “…Love you, too.” 

“See you soon, Kacchan,” Izuku says, and Katsuki can hear the smile in his voice, and he wants to see it so badly it aches. 

“Yeah. See you soon.” 

After he sets down the receiver, Katsuki gets up and goes into the kitchen, where he pulls a bottle of Toshinori’s apple-cinnamon moonshine out of the fridge. He drinks half of it before going to bed, to ensure his first night without Izuku will be guaranteed to be free of nightmares. 

It’s fine. It’s just for a few days. 

Katsuki wakes up in the morning with a slight headache, but no bad dreams. He spends the first part of his day over at the school, supervising the bakery as Kota and Eri pump out biscuits and bread rolls. For two young brats who have only been at this for two months, they really were showing a lot of promise. Izuku was a good teacher, and the brats themselves made a pretty handy team on their own. Once the orders are done, Eri and Kota are sent off to deliver them and Katsuki spends the rest of the day hunting, working on getting the hang of right-handed shooting again. 

It’s late afternoon before he returns home, and Toshinori is on his porch when Katsuki arrives. Real subtle. With a sigh, Katsuki lets him inside. Katsuki spends the early evening fixing them a small dinner, and then he and Toshinori sit in the living room sipping moonshine while Katsuki tries, once again, to crochet. He manages a few uneven rows of single crochets this time around before the phone rings. Katsuki snatches it up before it can get to the second ring. 

“Izuku?” 

“Hello, Bakugou.” 

Katsuki scowls. “Put Izuku on, Half-and-Half.” 

“I will, but I wanted to say hello first,” Todoroki says, “I was disappointed when you weren’t on the train with Midoriya.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes impatiently. “You just saw me at the Harvest Festival for Shitty Hair’s birthday.” That’s a new nickname for Kirishima, Katsuki has decided. Because his Capitol hairstyle really is shitty, and so are his views about District 2 going rogue. It’s not what the old District 12 Kirishima would have thought of all this. 

“I know, it’s just surprising that you didn’t come with Midoriya, that’s all,” Todoroki says, “We had soba last night. I’ll have to make it again next time I visit, or if you come back here. Don’t worry, I gave Midoriya the recipe.” 

Katsuki didn’t ask, but whatever. “Can I fucking talk to Izuku now?” 

“But you haven’t said hello to me yet.” 

“And I’m not gonna!” 

He can hear Izuku’s voice calling from the background. “Kacchan, don’t be mean! Todoroki just misses you.” 

“Izuku, tell that Half-and-Half bastard to give you the damn phone already!” Katsuki yells. Toshinori shoots him a glare from the other couch for the sudden increase in volume. 

“Not until you tell him hello!”

Fucking meddlesome little twerp. He can stay in District 4 forever for all he cares. “Fine. Hello,” Katsuki snaps, “Now let me talk to Izuku, moron.” 

“Talk to you later, Bakugou.” 

“Don’t count on it!” 

There’s some shuffling across the line. “Hi, Kacchan.” 

“Hey,” Katsuki says, his tone instantly softer. Toshinori snorts loudly. Katsuki throws his ball of yarn at him. 

“Oh my goodness, Kacchan, Todoroki’s soba really was so delicious. You would have loved it.” 

“Was it spicy?” 

“Oh, no. It was cold, actually.” 

“Sounds like I’d hate it, then.” 

“I got the recipe! We can make it at home sometime and you can see if you’ll like it,” Izuku says, “I can make a spicy dipping sauce for the noodles or something, maybe. So what did you do today? Any progress on the scarf? How were the kids?” 

“I went hunting. And they were fine, we fuckin’ crushed it, obviously. Now Toshi’s here, uh—keeping me company.” He decides to omit the part about drinking. Toshinori throws the ball of yarn back at Katsuki, but it loses air halfway through its arch and then rolls under a chair. 

“Good,” Izuku says, “Well, tomorrow night is the art show, so I might be a little later to call, but—“ 

“Wait, didn’t you say it was this weekend?” Katsuki asks, frowning, “You were originally going to leave on Friday to get there for the show.” 

“Yeah,” Izuku says, sounding sheepish, “I was planning to get here and, uh, get everything all set up a few hours before the show started. And then probably only stay for a few hours after the show to mingle with the art dealers and whatnot before hopping on the last train home the same day.” 

“Izuku!” 

“I didn’t want to be away from home any longer than I had to!” Izuku cries. And then Izuku’s voice lowers into a grumble, “I wasn’t expecting Kacchan to be so darn gallant and look after the bakery for me...”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “Don’t fuckin’ praise me with that admonishing tone of voice.” 

“I’m so nervous about the show tomorrow! I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight…” 

Izuku is clearly trying to change the topic, but Katsuki just rolls his eyes and allows it. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll sell every single painting. They’ll probably be beggin’ for the ones you said ain’t for sale, too.” 

“Hopefully people aren’t too demanding,” Izuku says with a sigh, “Well, I should probably get some sleep. I’ll let you know how the show goes tomorrow! Tell Toshinori I say hi. And not to drink too much.” 

“He’s making a very obscene gesture at me in response,” Katsuki says. Toshinori is actually on all fours, fishing the ball of yarn out from under the chair, which he absolutely didn’t have to do. It’s probably horrible for his knees. Toshinori wrinkles his nose, and picks tufts of Tiger’s fur out of the ball of yarn. “Good luck tomorrow. Not that you need it.” 

“Thanks, Kacchan. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye,” Izuku says. After a beat, he tacks on, quickly, “I love you.” 

Katsuki feels heat rise up his neck and billow steam out of the top of his head. Fucking dammit, Izuku. Not in front of Toshinori! Katsuki lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, clenching the receiver in his other hand tightly. “…You’re gonna wear it out.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible.” 

“Sure it is. If you say it all the damn time like that, then it ain’t even special anymore.” 

“So when should I say it?” 

“…When you’re back home.” 

“Okay,” Izuku says, “Then I won’t say it again until then.” 

The next night when Izuku calls, Katsuki can tell just from the sound of his voice that Izuku will have a hard time sleeping tonight from the blend of flushed excitement and nervous anxiety he can hear. 

He sold five paintings and had a lot of people come up to talk to him, and only some of it was about the Games, surprisingly. He admits to drinking two glasses of wine, to calm his nerves. 

“That shit’ll kill ya, y’know,” Katsuki says, taking a swig of his glass of moonshine. “Were there cameras there?” 

“Some, but I avoided talking to anyone. I think they just filmed some of the paintings and did an interview with the art dealer. It might air later tonight.” 

“Oh, I’ll see if I can catch it,” Katsuki says, forcing himself to keep his tone light even as he shudders. Izuku seems slightly agitated, but not unhappy, and he doesn’t want to ruin his mood. 

Katsuki fills him in about his own day, which was once again spent in the kitchen with Eri and Kota, and then instead of hunting he came home and tried to make some actual progress on the scarf he said was supposed to be making. He’s had to pull the whole thing apart six times already because he keeps losing count of his stitches and it makes the whole thing go lopsided. It also doesn’t help that Tiger thinks the yarn is a toy. He’s currently laying on his back in Katsuki’s lap, batting at the yarn dangling from the crochet hook in Katsuki’s hand. 

“I miss you,” Izuku says suddenly, “It’s only been two days, so I feel kind of silly for feeling this way, but…it’s like—”

“Like being separated before, yeah,” Katsuki says, “I miss you, too.”

“It’s like you said. It’s as though bad things will happen if I don’t keep my eye on you.” 

“I know. We’re just—bein’ irrational,” Katsuki says assuringly, “It’s fine. We’ll be okay, ‘Zu.” 

When he gets off the phone, Katsuki thinks to himself that he is the antithesis of okay. Katsuki can tell, he has that feeling of just being on the edge. He is a mess, and everyone around him knows it. Toshinori hasn’t left him alone since Izuku left, and Katsuki has knocked back moonshine every night in order to sleep without dreaming. 

Katsuki can’t find anything about the art show on TV, but does come across coverage of the current district representative session. He turns the volume down low and goes back to his attempt at a scarf, trying to preoccupy his mind with the rest of the school year and the upcoming harvest while braiding the yarn into a chain over and over until he can do it without paying attention. It doesn’t help ease the worried thoughts in his mind, but it does hold off his physical reaction to the stress. He pauses his chaining to keep taking gulps of moonshine. Toshinori is snuffling drunkenly like a dog in his sleep on the couch across from him. He reaches a part of the yarn that Tiger must have been chewing on, because it’s damp and cold to the touch. Katsuki wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking down at the culprit in his lap, in a deep doze much like Toshinori, his fluffy belly exposed. Katsuki sets aside his yarn and hook and buries his fingers into Tiger’s thick fur. The cat twitches in surprise at the sudden touch, and trills, but quickly starts up a crackly purr as Katsuki starts to scratch at his belly. 

Katsuki looks up at the television. Something feels off, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. There seems to be some argument going on in the meeting, but that’s not unusual. By the time Katsuki turns the volume back up, the session is ending and the screen goes black for a second, before it returns to regular programming, and some documentary about extinct wildlife comes on. Katsuki flicks through the channels again, but finds more of the same, generic programming. And then a red banner appears and starts to scroll across the screen. 

Communications are down in District 1.

If you are attempting to contact residents from Districts 1, 4, 5, or 6, please wait.

Communications are down in…

Despite the directive, Katsuki jumps for the phone, rudely disrupting Tiger from his peaceful slumber, and tries to call Todoroki’s house. Circuits are busy, and there’s an automated voice telling him to try again later. Just then there’s a frantic knock at the door that rouses Toshinori, and he bolts upright, spluttering. Katsuki rushes to the front door and flings it open to see Kota standing there, chest heaving with laboured breath. He must have sprinted all the way here. 

“District One joined Two,” Kota says frantically, “Two cut off train access to both of ‘em and phone lines are down. I tried to call my cousin, she’s in One right now, but it didn’t go through! Have you tried calling Midoriya-sensei?” 

Katsuki feels very cold. “I couldn’t get through to Four, either.” 

“Don’t panic, Young Bakugou,” Toshinori says. 

That only causes Katsuki’s blood pressure to spike. He whirls around to look at Toshinori. “How the fuck will Izuku get home? He has to go through Two to get back from Four.” 

Toshinori shrugs. “It might take a little longer, is all. The Capitol and Thirteen can send hovercraft, and there’s some back roads the Capitol can use to get to Four,” he says, “But there’s larger issues here, kid. Don’t you understand what this means?” 

Katsuki doesn’t. And he doesn’t give a shit, really, about what District 1 does, or 2. “I have to get out there,” Katsuki says quickly, “I’ll go to Thirteen, get on a hovercraft. Toshi—“ 

Toshinori crosses over to Katsuki and grabs him by the shoulders, guiding him back over to the couch. Kota lingers by the door for a moment before deciding to let himself in, gingerly closing the door behind him. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine, kid,” Toshinori tells him, “You’re just going to have to be a little patient.” 

A scream starts growing to life in Katsuki’s throat and he clenches his neck muscles over it. Toshinori is right, of course. But then again, why does he look so pale? Why are Kota’s eyes so wide? 

“I fuckin’ knew he shouldn’t have gone,” Katsuki says hoarsely. 

Silence settles around them, and in the silence Katsuki can see, smell, and feel Izuku all around him. His eyes start to sting. 

“I promised myself I wouldn’t let him out of my sight again,” Katsuki whispers. 

“You can’t live your life that way,” Toshinori mutters, “Or expect him to do the same. You two aren’t in the arena anymore. He’s safe, kiddo.” 

No. Toshinori is wrong. Izuku isn’t safe unless he is with Katsuki. He is not safe unless Katsuki can confirm it for himself. He reaches for his glass of moonshine with shaky fingers and drinks the rest of it right up. 

A few days was now an indeterminate length of time. And Katsuki would prefer to be passed out for the interim, if he can help it. 

The phone brings him out of his stupor. He’s asleep on the sofa again. His bed is not his bed without Izuku. Toshinori is asleep again on the opposite couch. He stirs for a moment at the sound, but doesn’t stop snoring. Katsuki clambers for the receiver. 

“…Deku?” Katsuki slurs, hopefully. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice. Thin, but real. 

Thank goodness. Thank goodness. Katsuki’s eyes flutter closed with relief. “Oh, fuck. Izuku, baby—“

“I don’t have much time. I’m on some private line that President Takami’s people have. I just wanted you to know I’m okay. I gotta find some alternative route out of here, though. I could go—….Capitol—but—Eleven…might take a little—“ 

Fuck. “Izuku, I can’t—”

“—breaking up—can’t—love y—“ 

Katsuki is left holding the receiver as the line goes dead. 

After two days, Katsuki loses all sense of the self he carefully constructed over these last few months. He may as well be back in District 13, the same dazed and desperate boy who was pulled out of the Quarter Quell. And the worst of it is, nobody is surprised to find him so distraught. 

Some nights, the burn of moonshine is the only thing that helps him slip into the forgetful oblivion he craves, heavy and numb, with the edges of his memory dulled just enough to let him breathe. Other nights, it doesn’t work at all. The ache only sharpens, the hours stretch out longer, and leave him stumbling through the house wide-eyed and sleepless. He starts to drink harder, chasing down the bottle like it owes him something, desperate to disappear inside of himself until there’s nothing but the heat in his throat and silence in his head. Eventually Toshinori cuts him off the moonshine, with no confrontation or lecture, but just a quiet finality. 

He finally manages to get a hold of Todoroki. He says many welcome the isolation in 4, especially the fisherfolk. He is surprised when Katsuki asks about Izuku. He left two days ago. 

The days stretch into a week. Kota brings Katsuki news from Mayor Aizawa, who contacted the Capitol. People have been evacuating from 4, 7, 1, and 2 for days by any means necessary, by car or on foot. Roads that have been used for years only by cars on Capitol business are suddenly choked with vehicles. Izuku refused a ride to the Capitol with his art dealer and crew. That’s all he has to tell him. 

One week turns into two weeks. Katsuki waits by the phone, paranoid about missing a call. Katsuki fights against the horrible feeling growing within him to run. To leave the house, to dash into the woods, as far and fast as he can go. Far enough to forget him. He can’t do this. It’s better for him to be on his own. 

He’s ashamed of himself. Will he ever not be broken? And what’s even worse, is that if their roles were reversed, Katsuki knows that Izuku would have handled things differently. He would have been less paralyzed, he would have thought of some way to get Katsuki home sooner. Katsuki has to find a way to fix himself.

He would go to the woods. But he won’t run. He would just go to the lake house, maybe. The anxiety is choking him, and he needs to be in a place that is theirs. As though it’ll stand in for Izuku and he can communicate with him there somehow. Katsuki shoves on his boots and reaches for the door handle, but the front door flies open on its own. 

And there’s Izuku. 

Katsuki stares at him mutely, as if afraid he’s a vision that would dissolve if he disturbed it. Izuku’s face is flushed, his hair wind-swept and wild, and his chest is heaving. There’s bright teal sparks crackling off the edges of his skin. He must have sprinted all the way here. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku slams into him, knocking the last of the breath from Katsuki’s lungs, and then he starts talking so fast Katsuki can barely keep up. “Kacchan, oh, Kacchan, I’m so sorry—I could have been back sooner but I didn’t go to the Capitol, like an idiot, so I had to wait for a truck and I got driven out to Six, and then I had to wait for a train to Eleven. But it was crazy, there was panic everywhere, they had to reroute all the travellers around One and Two, there were so few trains to go out and they were all overbooked, so I took another truck but it was so slow! The roads were terrible! All dirt, not even close to smooth, and then there was a snowstorm and—oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was going crazy thinking about how—”

“I need you to fuck me,” Katsuki blurts out. 

Izuku’s breath hitches, and he pulls away to look Katsuki in the eyes, hands still gripping Katsuki’s shoulders. “Wh…what?” 

“Izuku,” Katsuki says, “It’s too much. Too…too heavy. I need to feel every inch of you. I need to be able to feel you for even longer than you were gone, so I can believe you’re back.” 

After gawking at Katsuki for a moment, Izuku quickly lifts Katsuki up and Katsuki throws his arms tightly around Izuku’s neck. He seeks out Izuku’s lips and absolutely attacks them. Izuku’s hands grip Katsuki’s back as Katsuki presses frantic kisses to Izuku’s face and neck, bites his cheeks, takes his earlobe into his mouth and sucks on it, and grips the unruly ends of his green curls and lets them tangle in his fingers. 

“Right here?” Izuku gasps out. 

“No,” Katsuki says, in a voice that’s half a sob. “Take me to bed. Our bed.” 

Izuku uses some of the percentage of One For All to rocket them up the stairs and into the bedroom in mere seconds. Katsuki can’t bring himself to be mad about it; in this moment, it’s a blessing. In fact, he finds himself fervently thanking all the previous users for its power. Izuku is still crackling with neon teal lightning as he lays Katsuki down on the mattress, his irises glowing bright. 

They only shred off just enough clothes to get the job done between snapping teeth and haggard breaths. Izuku tries to waste time with working Katsuki open, but Katsuki slaps his hand away. 

“I’m not fuckin’ waiting anymore, Deku.”

Izuku’s eyes are dark with how blown wide his pupils are, but his brows furrow with concern. “Kacchan, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I need it to hurt,” Katsuki rasps out, “Please, baby, please—I—I can’t—can’t—“

“Shit,” Izuku whispers, “Okay, Kacchan, okay.”

Izuku refuses to go entirely dry, however. He spits liberally into his hand and works it over himself for the few frantic seconds Katsuki allows him to before he’s shoving his way into Katsuki, whose head falls back against the pillows as he cries out. It is chaotic, it is desperate. There’s something downright primal, utterly animalistic in its intensity. It’s not pretty or poetic, the way their bodies crash together. Their reunion isn’t sweet and tender, but barbaric and rough. Katsuki feels a deep, brutal burn coiling in his gut that he knows with certainty he’ll be feeling for days. He might just have to get Izuku to stoke the fire if he starts to feel its ache fade. 

It’s vicious but short-lived, neither of them lasting very long after two full weeks of separation. Katsuki doesn’t even have to chase down his own climax, and Izuku doesn’t bring him there himself. Katsuki’s back arches as he spills over himself, entirely untouched. He doesn’t need it. He feels Izuku everywhere else. And Izuku, seeing this, isn’t far behind him. He crushes himself against Katsuki so hard Katsuki wonders if it’ll be enough to merge them into one being. He clings back just as fiercely, and wishes for it to be the case. Then they’ll never have to be apart. 

They are gasping for breath and sweating when it’s all done. They fully undress, both too overheated not to be naked. Izuku holds Katsuki close to his chest, massaging gentle little circles into the small of his back, and Katsuki sighs appreciatively as it somewhat soothes the ache. He would probably be walking with a limp tomorrow. 

“It was bad,” Katsuki murmurs against Izuku’s flushed, sweaty neck. 

“How bad?” 

“Five nights drunk on moonshine bad,” Katsuki says, “Toshi cut me off after I threw up in the living room.” 

“Kacchan.” 

“I know, I know,” Katsuki sighs.

Izuku stares at him for a long time. “It’s been a while since you spoke with Dr. Yoshida.” 

Katsuki can only nod, as he wallows in self-loathing at his weakness. So, that’s it—he failed the test. He can’t bear to lose Izuku. His loss would destroy him. And it’s not healthy, and it’s not fair, to put that kind of a burden on their relationship. Onto Izuku. He doesn’t know what to do. 

So he cries. All the crying he had suppressed these last weeks. He clings to Izuku as if he would float away without Katsuki to hold him back. And Izuku lets him. Katsuki’s tears fall over his arm and chest while he gently strokes Katsuki’s hair. Izuku even spares Katsuki a little dignity by starting to cry himself, so Katsuki doesn’t have to be alone in that, too. 

After they’ve both settled down, Izuku departs momentarily to bring them both a glass of water, and a cloth damp with warm water to clean them both off. Katsuki is too sated and exhausted to even feel a twinge of anxiety for the few minutes Izuku is not in his line of sight, but he burrows right back against Izuku’s side once they’ve both had some water and gotten cleaned up. He has a feeling he was going to be pretty clingy for a good while yet.

As they lay wrapped around each other, Izuku fills Katsuki in. The fisherfolk in District 4 threatened another strike. District 6, the transportation district, was in mayhem, slowed down by the damage caused to their manufacturing plants during the rebellion. They’re being asked to redirect all the old rail routes and construct a new plan for new rail lines around Districts 1 and 2. It’ll be years of work. 

Katsuki lays on his side, cheek resting on Izuku’s shoulder, and listens quietly as he absorbs all the information. “And Eleven?” 

“Unemployment is really high there right now,” Izuku says, “With the Capitol providing machines to replace the human pickers, and with so many of the districts growing their own food, there’s quite a few without enough to do.” 

Katsuki thinks about the sheer vastness of District 11, which had blown him away when they had been riding through it on the train for the Victory Tour. District 11 was so large, they could follow District 2’s lead. But the people of 11 simply didn’t think to diversify. Crops are what they know. 

“Did Two take One by force?” Katsuki asks. 

“I’m not sure,” Izuku replies, “It might have been a mutual agreement. Or they could have been annexed. I didn’t hear much about anything, until I got to Six. And it’s still all really muddled. The Capitol is awfully close to District One. Not as small, but not any better defended. Two could take them next pretty handily,” Izuku sighs gratingly. “I heard Thirteen is mobilizing troops to send there, which will probably provoke Two even more. I don’t—I just don’t get it. Why does it have to be this way?” 

Katsuki looks up, watching Izuku’s face, how he’s very genuinely concerned and thoughtful about this whole situation and what it means for the country, now and for the future. But Katsuki finds himself caring very little about it—he’s just happy Izuku is finally home, in Katsuki’s arms, where he belongs. 

To hell with being healthy. Katsuki is never letting Izuku out of his sight ever again.

Chapter Text

xvi.

Near the end of December, the medicine factory is finished being built. Katsuki, who is considered the local herbal expert, starts to serve as an occasional consultant for their herb cultivation plans and learns about which herbs and fungi that will go into making the medicines they will be manufacturing. When there have been falls or injuries on the construction sites around town, or fevers and colds, people have come to Katsuki and he’s used the rudimentary skills and herbal remedies he learned from his mother. He never exactly planned on becoming the town healer, but the role was kind of just thrust upon him out of necessity, and lack of anyone else with the same know-how that Katsuki had from learning it first-hand from Mitsuki. 

There was another considerable slow-up to the rebuilding efforts when it became more complicated to get stone and stone-laying materials from District 2. However, they compensated by learning to build concrete housing, which was faster, cheaper, and more energy-efficient, anyway. The concrete houses are starting to be built on the west side of 12, while construction continues and eventually concludes on the town centre and the townhouses. Within a few more months, Izuku will be able to move the bakery to an actual shop in town. 

As for the crisis in District 2, a hovercraft attempting a flyover to see what was going on with the district was shot at by anti-aircraft guns. It was called a warning shot, but it put an effective chill on any attempts to communicate with 2. There are still ongoing negotiations to return 2 to the table, but the two sides are so far apart, it seems unlikely that it will happen any time soon. No one has the stomach to try to force the issue. 

Katsuki starts talking a little more with Dr. Yoshida. After a few attempts to talk about Katsuki’s feelings had led into Katsuki distracting Izuku with demanding kisses instead, eventually Izuku voiced his concerns several weeks after his return to 12, saying he understood why Katsuki was worried and upset while he was gone, but that Katsuki was different for a while after Izuku came back. Possessive, yet distant. He doesn’t mention the drinking, though Katsuki is fairly certain that Yoshida will have something to say about it. And sure enough, it’s what the doctor fixates on when Katsuki first calls him and tells him about what happened, how he drank through his anxiety. He renews Katsuki’s old prescription for anti-anxiety pills (which Katsuki never bothered to refill once the bottle was empty) and makes Katsuki promise to take those instead of using alcohol as a crutch. He also thinks Katsuki has not allowed himself enough time to heal. Katsuki vaguely agrees to consider more sessions. 

By the end of March, the frost is still stubbornly sticking to the ground. The school is on spring break until the next term begins in April. With construction slowing down, and Eri and Kota being trusted to handle fulfilling small orders for the bakery now that the holidays are behind them, Katsuki and Izuku take a trip out to the lake house to get away for the weekend. With a bite still lingering in the air, it’s the perfect weather to relish in the hot spring they discovered. They haven’t gotten a chance to venture out farther to see if they can find any more springs yet, with everything that’s been going on, but are happy to enjoy their private little retreat for now until they can manage longer excursions away from home. They haven’t come back to the hot spring since the first time they discovered it, and it feels even better now than before. Maybe that’s because Katsuki doesn’t have to be nervous about being around Izuku while naked anymore. In fact, he wastes no time pulling Izuku into his lap once they sink into the hot water. 

Unfortunately, sex in a hot spring—which had seemed like a good idea initially—is kind of awful. The water sloshes everywhere, making it hard to stay in a rhythm, and their skin gets so slick with water and sweat that they can’t get a grip on each other. They laugh and kiss through it, however, until the heat of the spring and the exertion makes them dangerously light-headed, and they retreat back to the lake house to pick up where they left off. Sprawled on the straw mattress in front of the hearth, it’s gentle and unhurried; there’s no desperate edge of urgency like their brutal reunion from three months ago. They’ve slept together plenty of times between then and now, but this time feels especially different, even more intimate than usual. The heat builds between them, slow and steady, and the pleasure is so sharp it feels close to agony. 

Afterward, they build a fire and heat water for some tea. And as Katsuki stares into the hearth, he thinks about District 12’s toasting ritual. Traditionally, the couple would wear something clean that wasn’t mining clothes. Usually the same nice clothes they saved for Reaping Day. A bride sometimes rented a wedding dress that had been worn a hundred times. The couple would go to the Justice Building and fill out forms and be assigned a house. Friends and family gathered to share a meal together and, if they could afford it, some wedding cake. Afterwards, the newlyweds would cross the threshold of their new home as their guests sang a traditional wedding song. Finally, came the toasting. The couple would make a fire together and toast a piece of bread to share between the two of them. This constituted the wedding ceremony. 

They’ve already told one another that there was no need to rush things, and that their reluctance to jump straight into marriage did not come from a lack of commitment on either of their parts. Katsuki has no doubt in his mind that he and Izuku will be together for the rest of their lives. It’s inevitable, like a chorus following a verse. So who cares how long they waited? Or, if they waited at all?

Why not make it official here and now? There’s bread packed in a bag nearby. They could have a private toasting ceremony, right here. It wouldn’t be legal until they did paperwork at the Justice Building, of course. A symbolic, spiritual ritual would make it real enough for Katsuki, though. But while the same sentiment might hold true for Izuku, he would probably prefer for Katsuki to talk to Dr. Yoshida a few more times first. Or maybe Izuku would want to be the one to bring it up, since he had been cheated out of a proper, real proposal the first time around. Maybe he wished for a do-over. 

“What are you thinking about?” Izuku asks softly, looking up at Katsuki from his crouched position by the fire. 

Katsuki feels his neck grow hot. “A lot of things,” he says, “About talkin’ to Dr. Yoshida, I guess. I think…I want to have more regular sessions with him.” 

“That’s good, Kacchan. I think that’s a great idea,” Izuku says, “And, if you need…space, or anything, from me…to work things out, I can give you that. Gladly.” 

Katsuki frowns. “What do you mean, space?” 

Izuku shrugs. “For me to leave you alone for a while. For me to move out of the bedroom. Or…out of the house.” 

Katsuki sits upright in alarm. “What—Izuku, what the fuck would make you think I’d want that? Or need it? Just look what two weeks of having ‘space’ from you did to me. Hell, I was a wreck after two days.”

“I’ve just been thinking that maybe you feel a little…trapped,” Izuku says carefully, “My parents were trapped together, and they were miserable. And I was, too, living with them. Their misery was like its own entity, a silent fourth person in the house with us—and sometimes not so silent. So, if you need space, I won’t be upset.” 

Is this why Izuku didn’t want to jump into an actual, legal marriage with Katsuki? Because of his parents and their abusive relationship? Does Izuku think…? 

“Do you think that I would…” Katsuki trails off and swallows. It makes him sick just to think of it, let alone utter the words out loud. “That I could get to the point where I would start treatin’ you like your dad did to you, and your mother? That I would start to…to yell at you, or…even hit you?” 

Izuku looks stricken by just the words alone. “Kacchan, no. Of course not.” 

“But you think I need space from you,” Katsuki says miserably, “Do you think I would just…take it all back?” 

Izuku suddenly looks deeply uncomfortable. “Well, that was…kind of part of it. I didn’t really believe it—not entirely—at first, that this was…completely reciprocal...“ 

Oh. That hurts. “Izuku.” 

“I’m sorry. I swear I don’t think like that now. It’s just the way my head was at the time. I know you love me. I just want to…give you the space to do it, if that’s what you need.” 

“It’s fuckin’ not,” Katsuki says insistently. He moves over to Izuku and grasps either side of his face, forcing Izuku to look at him. “I love you, Izuku. I know I’m bad at sayin' it. And some days I’m not great at showin' it, either. I know sometimes I avoid talkin’ about my shit and just…try and distract you by gettin' physical instead, and—“

“Well, I’m not complaining abou—”

“No, shut up, you idiot, lemme get this out,” Katsuki snaps, “I know I’m still so fucked up, and I’m tryin’ not to make it your problem. I don’t want to burden you. I don’t need space. I don’t want you to leave me. I love you. Okay? I love you. I’ll say it more often if that’s what you need, alright? I love you. I love you like all-fire. I’ll say it every day.” 

Izuku’s eyes are swimming with unshed tears. “Kacchan,” he whispers, “You already do.” 

The tenuous pinnacle of emotions resolves with a kiss that Katsuki doesn’t have to feel guilty about this time, without feeling like he’s trying to keep anything at bay. And Izuku kisses him back with a smile on his lips. Katsuki cleans Izuku’s tear tracks away with soft brushes of his lips as he guides Izuku back down onto the mattress. 

Izuku brackets Katsuki’s body with his arms, leaning down to kiss him again when suddenly he pauses, his gaze flicking over to one of the windows. His brow knits together quizzically. 

“What is it?” Katsuki asks, barely masking his impatience. 

“Is there another hot spring over there? Is that steam?” 

Katsuki sits up and looks out the window in the direction Izuku is looking. There’s something fluttering above the tops of trees. Katsuki strains his eyes. It’s a thin trail moving up into the sky, barely perceptible in the overcast grey, but as Katsuki watches it, he can see it’s just a little darker than the clouds. 

“It’s smoke,” Katsuki says. It’s not coming from the direction of District 12. It’s on the other side of the lake. Katsuki looks over at Izuku, raising his eyebrows. 

Izuku’s mouth falls open. “There are people out there.” 

Katsuki doesn’t know how he let himself get roped into this. 

Teaching archery is one thing. He’s used to being much better at it than anyone around him, so lack of skill or any real interest on the student’s part doesn’t frustrate him. And every once in a while, one of the kids will show a natural ability, which pleases Katsuki, as well as makes his job easier. 

Music class is very different. 

He has no fucking aptitude for it. It takes him forever to quiet the students down at the beginning of the class, no matter how much he yells. In fact, the little bastards seem intent on riling him up on purpose. He also doesn’t really know how to teach things like pitch and harmony, something that just comes naturally to him. So he usually just gets the kids singing songs for the better part of a half hour, and by the end of it he can feel all of the kids boring their eyes into him and he wants to run screaming into the woods. 

It doesn’t help that this new school year has been so unhappily tense. It’s only because Izuku has been suffering so much more than Katsuki has in these last couple of months that he hasn’t up and quit in the middle of it. 

Izuku was the public face in support of the refugees from District 11—and ‘refugees’ was essentially what they were, driven out by the rampant unemployment and forced off the land they used to work on—that Katsuki and Izuku found out in the woods back in March, and what they’ve learned in the last four months is that you can’t easily dislodge deep-seeded prejudices. 

Despite everything Izuku did to compromise and frame his arguments in favour of the settlers, there was a percentage of people from 12 who never really accepted it. 

Izuku argued that 12’s numbers were still ridiculously small. They were already the smallest district before the war, and their numbers still barely touched 400. He reminded everyone that they have no political or economical power. They have nothing, really, to trade. While they now make medicine here, those mostly go to the hospitals and clinics, not out to the markets in the Capitol. 

He also insisted that the District 11 refugees wouldn’t even need to settle into District 12 proper, but could establish farms in the valley to the south. It could be a means to convince the Capitol to eventually expand their borders. 

He also reminded everyone that this communal period in Panem—which District 12 benefits from more than any other district—cannot last forever. Already, District 4 doesn’t fully participate, let alone 1 and 2. Eventually, they’ll all be expected to pay for what they can’t trade, which would make the inclusion of crop-growing experts an enormous benefit. 

But it doesn’t matter. Not to some, anyway. Izuku is the perfect mouthpiece that Katsuki always thought he would be for the rebellion. He’s passionate without being overzealous, fair without being too pliant, and he backs it all up with sound logic and excellent points. It’s only a small percentage of people that Izuku can’t reach, but in a small district, small percentages have outsized voices. 

Then the kids from District 11 enrolled in school at the beginning of April, and the tension only continued to stretch out, like a frayed rope barely hanging on, ready to snap at any second. It wasn’t just with the adults, but with the kids.

The kids might be their future, but they were also fucking brutal. 

Katsuki has seen it firsthand. The kids cluster in groups, segregated by those from 11, and the locals to 12. Hateful words are said, and fights break out. Turns out one loaf of bread sent to Katsuki from District 11 during his first Games isn’t enough to magically make them all the best of friends. 

As if old, ingrained prejudices weren’t bad enough, the kids have something entirely new to be hostile to one another over, something Katsuki never had to deal with when he was school age: Quirks. 

It is even more of a perpetual pissing contest than the one happening between all of the districts. It’s even worse than the cliques that formed between the Seam and town kids when Katsuki was in school. The kids with Quirks that are considered cool, flashy, and impressive draw in crowds of admirers like moths to a flame, while other children with powers that are deemed lame or pointless are ostrichsized by their peers. Especially if their Quirk factor impacts their looks in some way. 

The districts were always taught to hate each other. But it’s more than that. Something deeper, far more personal. This wasn’t just a matter of hometown pride, this was about self-esteem. And that was fragile enough for most already without throwing Quirks into the mix. 

Izuku had worked so hard when planning out the town map to ensure that the new District 12 wouldn’t be divided by status, or profession, or looks. And now it was like they weren’t just back at square one, but in completely uncharted territory. It was difficult to traverse, not just for the people from 11, but also for themselves. 

Katsuki is just glad it’s summer break. Like the kids, he’ll have the upcoming days to himself. He’s eager to spend some time in the woods. Izuku and him have been talking about making upgrades and building additions to the lake house that he’s eager to get started on. And he also just desperately needs to get the fuck out of town for awhile. 

Katsuki puts sheet music and binders into a cupboard and locks it up for the last time. He is definitely not doing music classes again for the second term. Out in the hallway, Katsuki can hear the raucous shouts of the kids as they run outside. Katsuki can’t help but smile a little at this. 

For him and his peers, the end of first term at the end of July was never this joyous. It was hard to enjoy summer break when two of your classmates had just been Reaped earlier that month and, within a matter of days, were killed. Without schoolwork to serve as a distraction, it’s usually when the reality of it all would catch up with everyone. Those two classmates would not be returning to classes for second term, would not be home to enjoy summer break with their friends, would never finish out the school year, because they were dead and would never come home again. But these kids would never know that feeling. 

As Katsuki heads out of the schoolhouse, he sees a knot of kids bunched together on the village green, with a looser throng of kids watching them. 

Then he hears screams. 

Katsuki instantly runs into the thick of the crowd. Two boys are fighting—one from 11, the other from 12, Katsuki notices. The boy from 12 has a knife, and while the boy from 11 is unarmed, he’s still moving around in an attack stance, looking for an opening. The kid from 12, Katsuki already knows, is Quirkless. That’s why he’s got the knife to defend himself. As for the boy from 11, his Quirk was called Binging Ball—he could release small floating spheres with sharp-toothed mouths from his body. So really, he wasn’t all that unarmed, though Katsuki isn’t sure what kind of damage those little pointy mouths on the spheres can really do. 

The kid from 11 moves in, several spheres shooting out from his body, and the kid from 12 pulls back his knife in a striking blow. 

Katsuki jumps between them. “Oi! Stop!”

Suddenly, he’s on the ground, with a sharp pain in his side. He puts his hand down to his waist and his fingers come away warm and sticky. Katsuki looks up and sees that the crowd, now shocked into silence, have made a wide circle around them. The two boys who had been fighting are both gawking down at him. The 11 boy has deactivated his Quirk, and the boy from 12 is holding his knife in a trembling hand, and the blade is slick with blood. 

A very familiar shout in a very familiar voice cuts through the panicked muttering in the crowd, and Katsuki’s heart sinks. 

“Kacchan! Kacchan!”

Izuku shoves his way through the crowd, and Katsuki covers his side up with his hand—he’s sure it looks worse than it actually is.

“Move!” Izuku cries, his usual manners cast aside when he spots Katsuki on the ground. “Out of my way!” 

Izuku kneels down next to him, breath heaving. There’s flickering remnants of teal lightning bouncing off his skin. “Are you okay? Danger Sense started going off like crazy and I—“  Izuku frowns and pries Katsuki’s hand away from the wound. “Damn it, Kacchan, let me see it.” 

“I’m okay,” Katsuki insists. 

“I think you might need stitches,” Izuku mutters. He pulls off his apron, and bunches it against Katsuki’s side. “Here, hold this and apply pressure.” 

Then Izuku scoops him up into his arms, carrying him bridal-style as Katsuki presses his apron against his side. Okay, this was totally going overboard. Not to mention embarrassing. Katsuki looks around at the crowd of people watching them, students and teachers alike, all looking stunned. The two boys are nowhere in sight. They must have used this distraction to take off. 

“Izuku, I can fucking w—!” But Katsuki doesn’t get the rest of his sentence out because Izuku suddenly springs into the air, One For All sparking back to life across his body, and they fly over the gasping crowd. “H-hey! Don’t fuckin' use One For All for this! Izuku!” 

Izuku ignores him, his body still releasing the lightning as he sprints at full-speed down the path that will take them to the medicine factory, where there’s also a small clinic attached. “This is all my fault,” Izuku says, “Did someone attack you?” 

“No, I was just breakin’ up a fight. I’ll be fine,” Katsuki says, “And it’s not your fault. Really, Izuku, I don’t even think I need—“ 

“Shut up, Kacchan,” Izuku says tightly. Katsuki clamps his lips together instantly, stunned into silence. But then Izuku continues, more gently, “Just...humour me for a little bit, okay?” 

Katsuki stays silent, too caught up being worried about other things. Like Izuku using One For All unnecessarily. What if he lost control? What if the power became too much and broke his body? What if this is all too similar to how Katsuki got hurt when he fought against All For One in the City Circle? Would this trigger something? Even if Izuku can keep One For All in check, what about his mind in general? It’s been a long time since he had a flashback. What if this caused a relapse? And it would all be Katsuki’s fault. 

Beyond that, Katsuki also thinks about the consequences of violence, from the relatively small problem of disciplining the kids involved, to the prospect of the inflamed reactions among the adults. Not to mention the lingering worry of how to eliminate this problem that shouldn’t even be a problem. 

How fucking annoying. He can’t believe he got stabbed. Again! And by some dumb kid no less. This was really going to put a damper on his summer plans. 

In the clinic, it’s confirmed that nothing vital is injured, and Katsuki has a few stitches put in. He watches Izuku, sitting in a corner of the office with his head in his hands, and knows that this wound of Katsuki’s is far more psychic than physical for Izuku. Katsuki can see that Izuku is struggling with both the horrors of the past and the disappointments of the present, and Katsuki feels a deep and heavy guilt drowning him. 

Back at home, Mayor Aizawa comes by to get an incident report from Katsuki, who tries to temper the seriousness of the whole thing. 

“I overreacted,” Katsuki admits, “I tend to do that. I shouldn’t have jumped into the middle of things. I just made things worse.” 

“Where are the boys?” Izuku asks wearily. 

“Sho is in the Justice Building being questioned about the incident. He was the one with the knife,” Aizawa says, “The kid from Eleven, Tamashiro, hasn’t been spoken to yet. He wasn’t home when we went there looking for him, and his parents weren’t cooperative.” 

“Of course not,” Katsuki scoffs, “None of the parents have done shit to try and relieve the tension between the kids. If anything, they’re probably the ones feedin’ their own bias to them. Kids are soakin’ up all their poison like a sponge.” 

“It’s hard to say who the instigator would have been,” Izuku says, “Sho is Quirkless. He might have been provoked into the fight by Tamashiro. Or it might have been the other way around. But either way, there’s fault on both sides. Even if he wasn’t the aggressor, Sho shouldn’t have brought a knife to school.”

Aizawa sighs. “We’re going to hold an emergency district-wide council session. You’re both invited to attend, of course, and weigh in on the matter of how to address this.”  

Izuku looks reluctant. Katsuki can’t say he blames him. Things had finally started to settle down for him. Back when the settlers from 11 first showed up, Izuku was getting dog-piled on a daily basis with arguments and even threats. He hadn’t even let Katsuki give an earful to the ones stupid enough to do the latter, as badly as he had wanted to knock a few skulls together for their insolence. The best he could do was give them his most murderous glares, which shut most of the morons up pretty quickly. 

But a week later, they both go to the meeting. The attendance is incredibly high. The nearly 200 valley farmers all sit on one side of the room, while the rest sit on the other. At the front of the room, however, there’s a group of students who have organized some kind of protest. They sit together as friends, all of them from both 11 and 12. Seeing this, Izuku has the first traces of hopefulness that Katsuki has seen in his eyes all week—even longer than that, really. Katsuki gives him a nudge with his elbow, and Izuku looks at him and smiles. It’s not as sunshine-bright as his usual one, but Katsuki would take whatever he could get. 

The first order of business is the matter of discipline. The district council has taken the recommendation of the school to suspend Tamashiro for the beginning of second term. Sho, the boy with the knife, is expelled. Arrangements have been made to send him to District 13 to finish out his last year of secondary school. In the meantime, during the summer break, he will labour in the valley, where construction for the new wind turbine farm is getting built by the District 11 settlers. 

There is an uproar from Sho’s family. They don't want their boy out in the valley, among the interlopers. Someone might decide to take revenge on him. And anyway, knife or not, he was not the instigator of the fight. It was Tamashiro who was picking on Sho first for not having a Quirk, and he didn’t mean to injure Katsuki; it was just an accident. 

One of the teachers speaks up to say it was too soon to bring all the kids together in one school. And many from 11 agree; it’s too much of a burden for the kids from the valley to walk the distance to the schoolhouse all the way in 12’s Victor’s Village, much less not be allowed to work during the harvest come the fall. This causes yet another debate to boil up about how child labour is not allowed in District 12. 

“The children need to learn without the constant threat of violence,” someone calls out. 

“It’s the Twelve kids who brought the violence!” 

And on and on it goes. They’re talking everything into circles and going nowhere. 

“Say something,” Katsuki urges Izuku. 

But Izuku shakes his head. “I can’t, Kacchan. You were hurt. And…I’ve started something here that I don’t know how to—“ 

“Yes, you do,” Katsuki says. Izuku just shakes his head again. Katsuki lets out a growl of frustration and rises sharply to his feet. “Oi!” When this doesn’t work, he takes a deep breath in through the nose, and tries again. “OIII! Everybody shut the hell up!” 

The room goes completely silent, and hundreds of eyes land on Katsuki at once. It’s so, so much worse than having a class of twenty or so kids staring at him expectantly during music class. He rarely speaks to anyone, much less a crowd this size. His palms start to sweat. He really doesn’t need to lose control of his Quirk right now. That certainly won’t help his argument. 

“In case all of you didn’t notice, District Twelve doesn’t fuckin’ exist anymore,” Katsuki begins. 

Everyone is gaping at him. Katsuki gathers up his courage, and continues. 

“Every single one of you here that calls yourselves District Twelve, seem to have forgotten that we were all made citizens of District Thirteen at one point. You all used to be refugees, too, forced outta your homes. And you still may as well be refugees now, because our district is gone!”

He steps out into the middle aisle so that he can properly turn to look upon all the faces in the crowd, and his hands fly into the air in exasperation, his voice raising in volume. “So get the fuck over yourselves! Who gives a fuck about ‘district pride’? Twelve ain’t much more than a refugee camp. Where the hell are all your kids gonna go when they grow up and there’s no jobs here? Right back to Thirteen? Or the Capitol? Maybe go beggin’ for a place to live in Ten or Eight or Seven?” 

He walks down the aisle towards the table at the front, with the council members and Mayor Aizawa all watching him, stunned. “I was a Seam kid. I remember what it was like to be looked down on by the townies. I remember how in school, everyone divided based on where they were raised. We only ever came together for the Reaping. How fucked up is that? Seam or townie, Quirk or no Quirk, Eleven or Twelve. None of it fucking matters!”

The silence in the room is intense. Katsuki stops for a moment to take a breath, and surges on before he can lose his nerve. 

“We’re barely a district right now. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can use that to our advantage the way the other districts can’t. We can make ourselves over completely from scratch. We can be whatever the hell we want. But we have to get better at this shit. We have to try harder. This idiotic fuckin’ in-fighting has to stop! That’s what we did before. That’s the arena. That’s how it all starts. And this is where it has to end.” 

For a moment, it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then, suddenly, a whoop of a cheer comes up from somewhere, and the room rises in applause. Katsuki feels himself shaking—partly with relief, and partly with an old anxiety.

Katsuki quickly finds his way back to his seat, feeling a few of the townsfolk brushing his arms or thumping his shoulder as he goes. He sees Izuku, who is clapping along with everyone else, and absolutely beaming. It’s like a burst of sunlight after weeks of dreary winter. A bright yellow dandelion cracking through the thawing, dead grass. He realizes it’s been weeks since he’s seen Izuku smile like that, and how badly he’s missed it, and wished for it to return. Izuku throws his arms around Katsuki when he gets back to him, and Katsuki finally takes a full breath. 

That night, Katsuki and Izuku lie awake in bed, too keyed up to sleep. 

“You were amazing, Kacchan,” Izuku says, “I haven’t seen that side of you in such a long time.” 

“I hate it,” Katsuki mutters, shaking his head, “It’s such a fuckin’ burden, bein’ someone who has to make those kinds of speeches. I was happy to leave it behind me.” 

“You still don’t understand what you have,” Izuku murmurs, “What you are. How you affect people…” 

Katsuki closes his eyes. “I don’t want people looking at me like that again.” 

Izuku is quiet for a time. “Do you think my being a townie is still a problem for the people here?” he asks suddenly. 

Katsuki shrugs his shoulders, keeping his eyes closed. “I’d say you’re a special case. You’re a victor, and—equally as fuckin’ detestable of a title—a war hero.”

“Ugh,” Izuku groans. 

“But, when they’re not all worked up about shit, I’m sure they see you just for who you are and what you do, not where you used to live,” Katsuki assures him. 

“I guess so. But it’s easy for someone like me to be…colour blind, I guess,” Izuku says grimly, “Take the tesserae, for instance. How townies didn’t have to take as much of it. I remember the talk in school between the other town kids. How we all never expected to be reaped. It was always a shock when a town kid’s name got picked from the bowl.” 

Katsuki remembers. It’s hard to imagine someone like Izuku taking part in such conversations, though. He stays quiet, not sure what to make of it, or what to say. 

“It’s easy for me to tell everyone to just accept these strangers into their backyard, but…what say do I really have?” Izuku goes on. 

“What do you mean?” Katsuki asks. 

“Everything that gave Twelve its character came from the Seam,” Izuku says, “The music, the dancing, our whole identity as the coal district. When we lost the mines, we lost our heritage, too. I can see how people would worry about losing it completely. And I can’t exactly be the caretaker of a heritage that privilege kept me apart from.” 

Katsuki opens his eyes, rolling his head to the side to look at Izuku in the darkness. He’s outlined softly by the moonlight coming through the window. He looks a thousand years old. “Y’know, you’re supposed to be the optimistic one outta the two of us,” Katsuki mutters, “I already did all the talkin’ today. Don’t make me have to take that on, too.” 

“This has shaken me up, Kacchan, I can’t help it,” Izuku says, “You got injured—and yes, I know it wasn’t serious, but it could have been. And while I care if things are done well, or right, or for the good of others, nothing comes close to my need to keep you safe. I’d leave this place tomorrow and never come back if that’s what it took to make sure of it. I really should have gotten out of this whole council thing altogether ages ago. I don’t want to do anything but bake and paint and make love to you for the rest of my life.” 

Katsuki snorts, despite himself. “Oh? So sex with me is on the bottom rung, huh? I’m hurt, Izuku.” 

Izuku smiles sheepishly. “Well, I was just trying to be responsible. If I really had it my way, we’d never leave this bed.” 

“Sounds perfect,” Katsuki rolls over, mindful of his stitches, and drapes an arm across Izuku’s chest. “I ain’t goin’ back to school for the second term, by the way. Not ‘cause of what happened; I’d already made my mind up about it awhile ago.”

“Really?” Izuku asks, sadly. “Why?”

“I fuckin’ hate teaching, ‘Zu.” 

“What were you thinking about doing instead? Will you still do the archery classes?” 

“One of the graduating kids could take over for me,” Katsuki says, “Or not. I dunno. I might still do that. I haven’t decided. But that ain’t important right now,” Katsuki presses a kiss to Izuku’s collarbone. “You need to cheer up so we can enjoy our summer break.” 

Izuku lets out a shaky little breath as Katsuki starts to trail kisses up his neck. “Promise me you won’t jump in front of any more knives?”

“I promise.” 

Turns out the issues with Quirks weren’t just occurring in 12, but across all the other districts. Over the coming months, nationwide Quirk regulation laws are put into place by President Takami. Everyone is required to register their Quirk with the government. Public displays of Quirks are against the law, unless used in cases of self-defence. Quirk counselling is now provided in schools.

Katsuki doesn’t go back to teaching music class at the start of second term, but he does enlist the help of Jirou to make a recording of all the songs he can think of. He writes out the lyrics and makes a songbook. The school uses the recording in lieu of Katsuki, and eventually Katsuki agrees to have copies made and sold. He wouldn’t have even remotely considered it if it hadn’t been for his talk with Izuku about the heritage of District 12. And this was one way of preserving that heritage, that doesn’t involve Katsuki having to perform live in front of any cameras, which was the biggest condition he made before agreeing to the copies being produced. He’s done performing for Panem, but a recording of his voice singing some ballads, love songs, mountain airs, and sleepy coal miner tunes seems harmless enough. Plus it brings in a good bit of revenue that’s nothing to sneeze at, either. Between sales of Izuku’s art and Katsuki’s album, they might just be rich again, though Katsuki couldn’t really care one way or the other. 

With less time at the school, Katsuki uses his know-how from his days at the medicine factory and his own knowledge from watching his mother, and takes on making ointments and tinctures like Mitsuki used to do, since most people in town still preferred that to seeing a doctor or purchasing the pricey medicines from the factory, since Katsuki still deals in trade instead of coins. And he still takes in the off patient here and there, though he’s loathe to call them that. But ‘clients’ sounds even worse. People still have to go all the way to District 8, or even the Capitol in more serious cases that are beyond Katsuki’s skill. District 12 still didn’t have an official district doctor, and Katsuki really hopes that the townsfolk haven’t all just decided he’s the man for the job. 

His mother had been training to be a doctor back when she was in District 13, and she picked up a lot of stuff from being from a family of apothecaries, as well as being the unofficial resident healer for the Seam, so Katsuki had learned through exposure—he had even helped his mother deliver a few babies, from women who had gone into labour prematurely and unexpectedly, and couldn’t reach the district doctor in time—but that didn’t mean he could replace someone with proper medical training. Unfortunately, that kind of expertise was already a rarity in the districts before the war, and a lot of people who had the know-how were needed out on the battlefield, and ultimately lost their lives in the process. There weren’t many doctors to go around these days. 

Farmhouses out in the valley are built, hastily but well, out of notched-together logs, with a thick glue made of mud and straw. Eventually, the wind farm being built will supply their electricity, but for now they have one lodge with a common room for refrigeration, televisions, and laundry facilities, that is powered by solar panels. The log cabins are spread far apart—every family who came measured out ten hectares of land that they wanted. Izuku drew up a map, which is placed in a protective case just on the other side of the southern fence of District 12, with each farm family’s name and location indicated. 

Izuku takes on another art show, this time taking place with the artist colony in District 10. A much shorter trip than the one to 4, but Katsuki goes with him all the same—he’s never letting Izuku go to another art show, or anywhere, alone ever again. Eri and Kota might only be teenagers, but they’ve proven that they can handle the bakery on their own; and Toshinori promises to look out for them, leaving Katsuki and Izuku free to leave for the weekend. 

When they were first told about the colony in District 10, Katsuki had wondered if it would be a place that Izuku would rather be than back home. But now that Katsuki has tagged along for an art show, and seen the colony for himself, he knows that what Izuku had told Katsuki back then to assure him still holds true. The Capitolites here all have the signifiers of everything Katsuki associates, to this day, with the Capitol. Fake hair colours, implanted gems, and a constant stream of promotional ideas and marketing suggestions. It’s all in service to Izuku’s work, Katsuki tries to remind himself, but when one of the members of the colony had suggested that Izuku get a tattoo to commemorate each of his art shows, it reminded Katsuki how truly ignorant the Capitolites are of how people from the districts view body enhancements. They would never truly be equals. 

Then there’s the quiet, inexpressive ranchers and the soft-spoken people from 10’s dusty town. Katsuki likes them, but they are so wildly in contrast to the Capitolites who settled into the art colony that it makes the difficulties with 12 blending in with the 11 folks look overblown by comparison, and it makes him feel kind of embarrassed about the whole affair. How come 12 had such a hard time looking out for each other compared to the other districts? Maybe comparing themselves to this weird little alliance in District 10 wasn’t too fair, though. The locals to 10 were docile, while the Capitolites were eccentric. The issue with the 11 settlers and 12 locals is they were all stubborn and proud. Katsuki just wished their similarities would have drawn them together instead of causing such division. But that’s what the Capitol intended, of course. Division everywhere. 

He supposes he shouldn’t have such thoughts anymore. He’s got his own implanted prejudices to shake. 

Anyway, Izuku does well at the art show. Katsuki can’t say he knows much about art, and while he might have a personal bias when it comes to Izuku’s work, he thinks that there’s something in it that makes his art really stand apart from the rest. His paintings are all about something, meanwhile one of the other artists here mounted giant sparkling purple and blue pinwheels on the shop roofs overnight and called it an art installation, whatever the hell that means. 

Izuku sells ten paintings total, which is hard to argue against. Katsuki doesn’t know—and still doesn’t really care—what this means in terms of actual money, but it’s left Izuku pretty tapped out. He tells Katsuki he can count on it being a few years before he can think about doing another show, which Katsuki has to admit he’s relieved to hear. Although he didn’t entirely hate it here. He had enjoyed visiting the barns and pens, feeding the chickens, and even folk dancing around the bonfire with Izuku the previous night. He just can’t wait to go home. 

They eat breakfast in the common room of the art colony the following morning, where Izuku is pulled into conversations while trying to get eggs and ham from the trays at the buffet table on one side of the room. Katsuki also finds himself surrounded by people wanting conversation, which is a bit of a surprise considering how aloof he was to everyone (except Izuku) at the show last night. But weirdly enough, nobody babbles his ear off about his Games, the rebellion, or even his music record, but about politics. 

“Don’t you think the nukes would be better off in one of the smaller districts, one without any real history of inciting violence?” 

Katsuki suddenly focuses more on the faces of the people talking to him. Both of them are artists, with the remnants of their Capitol pedigree intact. 

“What, like here in Ten?” Katsuki asks. District 10 is one of the more historically docile districts, one of the last to join the rebellion. Its inhabitants are far-flung, solitary, and very deliberative. 

“Or Twelve,” one of the artists says, a woman with two different coloured irises. It reminds Katsuki of Todoroki, but Katsuki has a feeling her’s aren’t natural heterochromia. 

Katsuki huffs. District 12 made a semi-official announcement about being a ‘nuclear-free district’ recently. “Why Twelve?” 

“Wouldn’t take long to transport them from Thirteen,” the other artist says, a man with long hair that changes colours every time the light hits it, “And you all seem hesitant to use them. I’d personally feel safer.” 

Katsuki fights back the urge to bark out a sarcastic laugh or shoot the idiot a hateful scowl by taking a long swig of his mimosa, draining it to the last drop before brusquely excusing himself from the conversation altogether to go back to the drink table and get himself another. 

Why does everyone think in such black-and-white terms? Weapons don’t just equal power, they equal everything that power corrupts—trust, cooperation, humanity, and safety. Even with District 2 going independent and annexing District 1, there’s still countless discussions amongst the remaining allied districts about what to do about the nuclear weapons in 13, virtually moving the nukes everywhere across Panem like pawns in a game that nobody wants to start. And Katsuki is so sick of games. 

Katsuki doesn’t bring up this conversation to Izuku on the train ride home later. It’s a far-fetched notion, anyway, never likely to gain any traction. 

District 12, the nuclear powerhouse of Panem? Yeah, right. 

A proper bakery is finally constructed, leaving Izuku to no longer have to run his business out of the temporary schoolhouse, leaving the kitchen there just for his home economics classes. Katsuki will miss the near-constant smell of baking bread, but it will be a more efficient system for Izuku, and he won’t have to contend with drop-in customers at the schoolhouse. Eri and Kota, who both turned 15 back in December, decide to forgo additional education at the schoolhouse and start working full-time at the bakery. Izuku tries to convince them otherwise, but their minds are made up—the bakery is where they both want to be. 

With construction on the villages slowing down, and most of the focus being put on building a new, proper school on top of where the old one used to be, and Eri and Kota able to look after the bakery themselves most days, it leaves Katsuki and Izuku some more time to pursue other projects. They’re able to take semi-regular trips out to the lake house and work on the planned additions there, starting by adding a loft bedroom. It has a removable pane of plastic in the ceiling, allowing them to stargaze at all times of the year. 

Izuku also has more time to invest in his duties for the planning subcommittee. Which means Katsuki and Izuku finally get to take those camping trips Izuku had talked about, venturing through the woods and into the hills above the lake, farther than they’ve ever gone before. 

They discover some swamps, and even a couple more hot springs. Every once and a while, they come across eerie signs of previous civilizations. The interesting thing about a buried civilization is what nature allows to remain, once it has reclaimed it. Plastic stuff, mostly. A naked, almost faceless little lump of arms and legs that must have once been a doll. Cups, bowls, and some bulky items with no function that either of them are familiar with. The broken concrete remains of an old city near a rock quarry. Most of this they leave undisturbed, though they collect any rare bits of metal they find, where they can be put to use back in 12. 

They’ve been provided some old maps by Mayor Aizawa that they use to estimate where they are, which is a fairly difficult task considering major landmarks—lakes and rivers, especially—have vanished entirely off of the oldest of maps. When the country used to be known as Japan, the land masses were made up of several islands. But with all the floods followed by the massive falling of the sea levels and shifting of tectonic plates, what was now known as Panem is mostly a single landmass. Katsuki and Izuku rely on distinct curves and gaps of the hills to get a rough idea of their location. 

They come across a small stream, and evidence of a road that also used to parallel the stream. Izuku shows Katsuki where he thinks they are on the map—what used to be a small river that ran directly down from a copper mine. They follow the stream, and it’s early evening when they come across clear signs of what they’re looking for. Metal carts, a rusty waterwheel, crumbled concrete foundations of several small structures. After some exploring, they find an entrance into the hill, with a few collapsed wooden beams lying around it. They peer inside, and find a wide, shallow room, all lined with concrete, with a steel door on the far end of the room. 

Moving inside, they find racks of metal shelves that likely once held food and other supplies. They’re bare now, but still look sturdy enough. There’s a padlock on the steel door which requires about five percent of One For All for Izuku to snap off its hinges. The door opens into darkness, with a metal staircase heading down into the depths of the hill. In the lower level are several rooms filled with dozens of low metal-frame beds, also in decent shape. There’s also a filing cabinet containing some papers of maps, documents, and small bills of some kind of currency that Katsuki doesn’t recognize. There’s a diagram of the adjoining mine, of which only the main shaft is in the hill. The various levels of the mine—which brought up copper, nickel and a little tungsten—are far, far below the earth, just like the coal mine in 12. 

There’s some other papers that mention a number of incidents, including a nuclear catastrophe. One letter talks about stores of anti-radiation treatments running low, and a manufacturing plant being abandoned. Izuku turns this letter over several times. 

“We might just be the first people in a hundred years to come out here,” Izuku says with quiet awe. 

Katsuki doesn’t doubt it. They are entirely—and blissfully—alone out here. It’s quiet, apart from the animal sounds. They’re actually louder out here, after generations of never having to learn to hush at the sound of human footsteps. It makes for easy pickings, hunting-wise. Katsuki has been keeping them well-fed on rabbit during this week-long excursion. He could have easily gotten them a deer—they were in abundance out here, and he’s started to get back into shooting with his right hand again, which provides him the accuracy he needs for bigger game—but it would just be more hassle than it’s worth to lug a carcass of that size around. 

Katsuki tries to imagine what it would have been like for people back then, being stuck in this bunker and still dying from radiation. He wonders where it all went wrong for them, and why. He wonders if they’re headed right back in that direction. District 13’s plans for the disarmament of the nuclear weapons continues to be too vague, too slow, too inconclusive. As for District 2, they are as secretive as ever. But this blackout isolation couldn’t last forever; they would either capitulate, or eventually annex all of the districts. Maybe Mayor—or rather President, Katsuki supposes he would be called now—Shirakumo would get himself some sort of hold on all of Panem’s nuclear weapons. Sometime in the near—but hopefully distant—future. 

“If all hell breaks loose, we could use this place to escape the fray,” Katsuki suggests, “If people start throwin’ nukes around, we can hole up here. Live off the land.” 

“True, but what if the mines are still functional?” Izuku says. 

Katsuki shrugs. “Everyone who came back to Twelve wasn't interested in bein’ miners again,” Katsuki tells him, “The ones that were all went to One and Two.”   

“I think it’s still worth checking to see if it’s viable,” Izuku says, “We could take some rock samples back for testing, to see if there’s any minerals present. Even trace amounts would make reopening the mine worth discussing. There’s only so much we can rake in from wind power and medicine sales, after all.” 

Katsuki looks down the dark stairwell with a frown. Development at the mines would mean giving up their private claim on the bunker. Katsuki had already been mapping out a plan in his head to start making some jaunts back out here to stock the place up with dried and canned goods, but of course Izuku just has to be a damn pragmatist as always. 

“I fuckin’ hate bein’ underground,” Katsuki grumbles. 

“Me too. We don’t have anything with us to go poking around today, anyway,” Izuku says, “Besides, I have to talk to the council about it.” 

Katsuki doesn’t want Izuku to talk to the council about it, but he knows it wouldn’t be reasonable for him to argue against it. They can’t keep the knowledge of this bunker to themselves, as much as Katsuki would like to. 

But when they get back to 12 and Izuku shares the information about the mine and the bunker with the district council, there’s little interest in either. Which is just fine by Katsuki; at least as far as the bunker is concerned. Although Izuku still insists upon gathering rock samples, so on their next ‘camping trip’, they borrow a truck and make their way back out to the mine. 

What took eight days on foot takes about eight hours in the truck to reach the crest of the hill where they found the old mine camp, even with both of them learning how to drive the truck as they go. Toshinori gave them a brief lesson before they set out, but Izuku never quite got the hang of putting the clutch all the way down before braking, resulting in a jerky ride on top of the already uneven, bumpy roads. Katsuki—who picked up on the mechanics much more quickly—handles a majority of the driving for the journey (and was only a little bit smug when Izuku mumbled something along the lines of ‘Kacchan is good at everything’). 

They make camp near the front of the mine entrance, and start by checking the beams. They are reinforced heavily with steel bars, so even though the wood is soft and crumbling away, the supports still seem to be good. Inside is more good news. The ladder that goes down to the main shaft is also made of steel, and it’s riveted into the stone. Izuku goes first, carefully walking down to the first level, while Katsuki aims a flashlight at his feet. Then Katsuki follows him down. 

The walls are dry, which they both know from years of field trips to the coal mines is another good sign. It means the water table is still far below them. They peer down the shaft to the next level, seeing more dry ground below. 

On the second level, a shudder runs through Katsuki. Barely any natural light makes it down the main shaft now, and he’s entombed in a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time—or maybe it isn’t that long at all. 

They light a candle to test the oxygen, and the candle burns freely. Izuku gives Katsuki a once over, the flickering candlelight illuminating the concern on his face.  

“You okay?” Izuku asks carefully. 

Barely, Katsuki wants to say. “Yeah,” Katsuki says instead. 

“Should we go down one more, or just take some samples from here?” 

Katsuki looks down the shaft into the inky blackness. “It smells a little damp.” 

“Why don’t I just go, and you shine the light for me?” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

Katsuki follows Izuku down. The walls are slick with water, and so is the floor. They take out their small picks and make careful taps against the rock to loosen some chips. When they’re done, Izuku follows Katsuki back up the ladder. As they climb, Katsuki is struck by a sudden onslaught of memories that he closes his eyes against.  

When they reach the top level, Katsuki has to force himself not to run out of the mine, but he can’t help himself from taking large gulps of air. 

Izuku’s face is strained. He drops his pick and bag of rocks to the ground. Katsuki turns to look at him, and freezes at the faraway look in Izuku’s eyes as he bends at the knees and puts his hands over his face. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” Izuku says, his voice thin. 

Oh, fuck. It’s been a while since this has happened. There is a routine, but Katsuki knows that Izuku has to find it himself. He usually stands behind a chair and grips the back of it, his knuckles a precise distance apart. If it’s really bad, Katsuki will hum or sing to draw Izuku out of his catatonic state and back into the present. 

“Shit, shit,” Izuku mutters. 

Okay, this is good. Even if it sounds bad. Izuku is lucid enough to talk, even if it’s only to swear—Katsuki has been a bad influence on him in that regard. Katsuki moves a little closer on quiet, careful feet, watching and waiting as Izuku takes heavy breaths lined with tears. 

“Shit!” Izuku sobs. 

Katsuki kneels down into a crouch next to him. “When did it start?” 

Izuku moves his hands away from his face and looks over at Katsuki with a devastated expression. “Pretty much as soon as we got down there.“

Katsuki’s shoulders sag. “Baby.” 

“I know. But I had control of it, until we started coming back up. Something about…the image of your boots right above me, as we climbed the ladder—it was like the sewers. Everything went a little—sideways.” 

Izuku sits down on the grass. Katsuki moves closer to him, reaching out to feel his pulse. It’s rapid with terror. He’s starting to shake, which is the usual sign that the flashback is passing. 

“Damn it,” Izuku sighs softly, “How long has it been?” 

“Dunno. A year? Maybe a little more,” Katsuki says, “No one said they were ever gonna go away completely. That’s still a long run.” 

“Why the hell does one fucked up year get to fuck up all the rest of the years of my life?” Izuku says with sudden anger. 

Katsuki blinks. “Did I ever tell you how fuckin’ hot it is when you swear?” 

Izuku gives Katsuki a pointed look. “Don’t try to wheedle me into a good mood, Kacchan.” 

“I’m not wheedling,” Katsuki says. But, okay—clearly Izuku isn’t in the state of mind for jokes right now. “I wasn’t doin’ so great in there myself, if that helps any. You want to talk about it?” 

“I want to yell,” Izuku says, “Or throw things. Hurl boulders at people and things that don’t even exist anymore.” 

“Then yell,” Katsuki tells him, “It’ll help. I’ll do it with you. We’ll scream our fuckin’ heads off.” 

Izuku looks unconvinced, but also seems to be trying to hold back a smile. “What good will that do but just make a whole bunch of noise?” 

“Just trust me.”

Katsuki helps Izuku to his feet and they move over to the edge of the hill. Then Katsuki gestures to Izuku to go ahead. Izuku still looks uncertain, but takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets out a shaky holler. When he’s finished, Katsuki goes next, yelling even louder and longer, then giving Izuku a look that challenges him to beat it. And just like that, the competition is on. 

They scream and scream. Back and forth, then together. They make the hills shudder with it, reintroducing fear into the hearts of all the placid deer grazing in the grass in the valley below. There’s a catharsis in it that swells up from a deep place within Katsuki. They don’t stop until their throats feel raw. 

Afterward, Izuku’s voice is deeply hoarse. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

Katsuki pulls Izuku into a kiss. They’re both breathless when he pulls away. “Y’know, if those rock samples come back with anythin’ and they reopen the mine here, we won’t have this kinda privacy,” Katsuki says, “We could just…toss that bag of rocks away, and forget about the whole thing. Tell ’em the mine caved in and we barely made it out with our lives.”  

“We could,” Izuku says slowly. Then his hands press into Katsuki’s chest. “Or…we can take advantage of this privacy while we have it. And you can take me back to the truck.” 

Katsuki grins. He sweeps Izuku up into his arms, and while he might not have One For All, he still gets them to the truck in record time, tossing a laughing Izuku up into the truck bed. 

In the end, Izuku does end up having the rocks they collected sent out for testing, but they come back inconclusive. Since there isn’t much interest from the district council regarding the mine and the bunker, anyway, Izuku decides not to press the issue further. He and Katsuki do end up taking a couple more trips out there to leave some canned goods on the shelves, however. Just in case. 

At the end of August, the new school house is finished being built, just in time for the beginning of second term. Izuku tries to convince Eri and Kota to go back to complete their formal education, now that there is a proper brick and mortar building for them to attend. But it’s in vain. The two kids stubbornly dig in their heels and insist upon staying on as full-timers at the bakery. 

Feeling like he isn’t busy enough, and in an attempt to prove to the brats that he and Izuku could look after the bakery handily on their own, Katsuki starts to assist with prep in the mornings. Between him, Izuku, Eri, and Kota, it’s a total breeze. Eri works the counter and handles any drop-in customers they get upon opening, and maintains the front of the shop, keeping the display case filled with baked goods. Back in the kitchen, Katsuki, Izuku, and Kota prep dough and batter and churn out pastries, cakes, biscuits, cookies, tarts, and pies until the afternoon, with Kota and Izuku handling any specialty orders that come in. 

After that, the shop is left to Eri and Kota. Kota mans the counter while Eri runs deliveries in town, if they have any. It leaves Izuku some time to come home earlier and work on paintings. Katsuki teaches archery classes at the new school, which has a proper designated area for it now that isn’t just Izuku’s old backyard. As for Izuku’s old house, it remains vacant after being reverted from a schoolhouse back into a normal residence again. There’s an abundance of dwellings now, from the townhouses and the homes in the villages, so there’s nobody to claim it for the time being. 

The kids flourish in the new school, and when the second term comes to a close at the end of July, everyone is in high spirits, eager to enjoy their summer break. It’s a far cry from the tension that was choking the air two summers ago, when they were only a few months into adjusting to the settlers from District 11 claiming land in the valley beyond the fence. They’ve come a long way since then, and now the 11 settlers were integrated amicably amongst the residents of 12. Katsuki can hardly believe it’s been two years since they were all gathered in the Justice Building, split down the middle, segregated into their different groups. It was even harder to believe that Izuku had celebrated his twenty-third birthday earlier in the month, and Katsuki had celebrated his own back in April. 

Twenty-three. The age sticks out to Katsuki more than previous years, because it’s the age that Mitsuki was when she gave birth to Katsuki. It had seemed old to him when he was a child, but now being that age himself, he can’t fathom having a newborn. Not that he could, obviously, but still. He and Izuku had never discussed the idea of children—hell, they still hadn’t even talked about marriage—but Katsuki does wonder if it’s something Izuku thinks about. In a way, even though they were teenagers close to being young adults themselves, most of the time it felt like Kota and Eri were their children. Izuku always did refer to them as ‘the kids’ in a way that felt oddly domestic, even though it was mostly just for the sake of convenience. Though he always said it with an affectionate inflection in his voice, the same way he would say ‘Kacchan’.

Of course, Eri didn’t need any adoptive parents; her mother, Hana, had taken her own life when Eri was five, after battling for years with debilitating chronic headaches that left her bed-ridden more often than not. Her maternal grandparents ran the sweetshop in town, and had been killed in the firebombings, but she still had her father, Mayor Aizawa. Kota, on the other hand, had lost both of his parents in the firebombing. His cousin, a young woman named Shino, had looked after him in District 13, but when the war ended he came back to 12 on his own while Shino went to find work in the Capitol, before eventually moving to District 1. Now that 1 has been annexed by 2, and all communications with the outside districts have been cut off, Kota has lost contact with his last living relative, the same way Katsuki could no longer get in touch with Kirishima and Mina in District 2—a sore spot Katsuki tries not to dwell on if he can help it, though it washes over him from time to time, like random bouts of nausea or acid reflux that he refuses to call heartache. 

Anyway, the Kota brat doesn’t have anyone else. And Katsuki and Izuku both know what it feels like to be orphans. Katsuki would say that perhaps he and Izuku, without even really thinking about it, had taken the boy under their wing. But that wasn’t really the case. Kota had kicked down the door and forced his way in from the beginning. 

Much like he did, quite literally, back in December. 

The kid had flown into their house like the devil was on his heels. And that really wasn’t all that far off of a description, because just seconds later, Mayor Aizawa was rapping angrily on the door, demanding to be let in. Kota hid behind Izuku while Katsuki let Aizawa into the house, followed by a very tearful Eri begging her father to calm down.

If Katsuki and Izuku were the unofficial adoptive parents of Kota, then they hadn’t exactly been doing the best job at keeping their ‘son’ out of trouble. 

Because the little punk went and got Eri pregnant. 

How in the hell the two of them had found the time to do that, well, Katsuki doesn’t even want to know. He just hopes the damn thing wasn’t conceived in the fucking bakery. Izuku and Katsuki (moreso Katsuki, because Izuku was too much of a softie) had drilled the importance of food safety into the kid’s skulls from the moment their apprenticeship began. Apparently they should have also given them a talk about using protection, too. 

But there were bigger concerns than when and where the baby got in Eri’s belly. Like making sure Aizawa didn’t flay Kota on their living room rug and ultimately kill the father of Eri’s unborn child, for one thing. It took a lot of intense negotiations, but when the dust finally settled, the vacancy of Izuku’s old house was filled. Just as soon as Aizawa dragged Kota by the ear off to the Justice Building and made him marry his daughter, that is.

Just like that, after one very hasty toasting ceremony, they had new neighbours. Once all the melodrama wore off, Kota and Eri are over the moon with happiness. Turns out they had been madly in love with each other for years, and Katsuki had complete blinders on to the whole thing. Izuku, having worked so closely alongside the kids all this time, had been witness to their budding romance. And while he does voice his concerns to Katsuki that the two of them are awfully young to be starting a family, he’s nothing but elated and supportive for the pair of young lovers. 

Eri has continued to work at the shop throughout her pregnancy, though Kota took over the deliveries when she really started showing, and walking became more difficult. Now she was just a month away from her due date, and looking ready to pop. Katsuki grows more and more anxious the closer the day comes. They still don’t have a professionally-trained doctor in 12. Some of the farmers who came from 11 have experience birthing horses, pigs, and cows, and otherwise there’s one woman who also lives in the valley farms who was essentially the unofficial midwife for their district, birthing as many human babies as she did farm animals. Eri has been going to her for routine check-ups, and she’ll be called into town once Eri starts going into labour. And unless that baby decides to arrive ahead of schedule, they’ve got some time yet before that happens. She’s due in September, and it’s now only early August. 

Katsuki prepares for Eri’s due date in the only way he knows how—hunting and foraging. He sets out in the wee hours of the morning, into relatively unfamiliar hunting grounds, but an area that he and Izuku have explored in recent years. He finds a bunch of raspberry vines and strips them of their leaves—his mother had given raspberry leaf tea to pregnant women before; it apparently helped with relaxing the uterine muscles and slowing down bleeding. He stuffs his game bag full. He forages some other herbs, and then checks his snare lines and comes away with two fat rabbits. 

He makes it back home just after dawn, and finds Izuku nestled in the porch swing with his pad of watercolour paper, trying to capture the pale yellow sunrise. Katsuki can tell that Izuku is in that state of rapt attention he goes into when Katsuki’s one and only true rival for Izuku’s attention visits him: his muse. 

It’s a calm, quiet, clear morning. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Katsuki sits down next to Izuku on the porch swing, and watches him paint for a while before dropping a kiss onto Izuku’s shoulder, waiting strategically for the moment he’s dipping his brush back into his paints so as not to disturb any of his brushstrokes—he’s learned that lesson the hard way. 

Just then, there’s a soft, muffled, but deep sound. And for a moment, the entire world seems to flash white, quick as a blink and mildly disorienting. Katsuki looks up in puzzlement at the sky, blinking rapidly as his eyes readjust to the light. 

Izuku is looking up now, too, his concentration broken. Then he suddenly drops his paintbrush, and it smacks onto his page before clattering down to the porch, leaving a splatter in the centre of his painting. 

In the distance, a distinct, dark cloud rises into the sky. A mushroom cloud. 

In the direction of District 13.

Chapter Text

xvii.

They watch the sign of man-made calamity fade from the sky in solemn silence. 

Once the mushroom cloud has dissipated, Katsuki looks at Izuku, who is still watching the sky with a blank look on his face. 

“Kacchan, if it comes to it…” Izuku looks over to Katsuki, and now his expression is strained. “Do we stay or do we go?”

Katsuki stands up from the porch swing with a sigh. “C’mon, let’s…head inside, see if the news has anything to say.” 

Toshinori comes over, looking grim, and watches the television with Katsuki and Izuku. It takes an hour before President Takami comes on to make an announcement about what appears to be an accident in District 13. He urges everyone in 13 to flee, and orders everyone else to stay at least 250 kilometers away. Roughly the distance between 13 and District 12. 

“We should put somethin’ up tonight,” Katsuki says suddenly, “A beacon or somethin’, so that anyone escapin’ from Thirteen on foot can find us. We’re the closest.” 

This instantly energizes Izuku, who sits upright on the couch. “Kacchan, you’re right!”

For the rest of the day, Izuku, Katsuki, and a few others from town work on constructing a light array on top of the Justice Building—a tall antenna with bright, blinking lights and some orange flags to be seen from a distance. 

In the afternoon, Eri and Kota close the bakery early and they all gather at Katsuki and Izuku’s house together to keep watching the television—everyone in the district is glued to it, quiet and waiting. The news updates are slow, with nothing but silence from 13 and terse, empty updates from the district representatives and President Takami. The television reporters can do nothing but call on Capitol experts in nuclear technology and speculate on what could have led to this incident. 

Of course, most of District 13 is still below the earth and, in its lower levels, its citizens could survive a nuclear bomb—although emerging into the fallout would be problematic. They have protective gear, at least those inside. But in the three years since the rebellion, District 13 has not remained fully underground. In a clear space on a river, there is a town of over a thousand people, including an unknown number of the three to four hundred people from District 12 who remained there after the war. Depending on the size of the bomb, where it discharged, how close to the surface it was, and the direction of the wind…these people could have survived. 

And then, someone nobody expects comes on the screen. The feed goes live to President Shirakumo, sitting behind his desk in District 2. He tells Panem that in light of the crisis in 13, District 2 will be mobilizing the troops from their Public Safety Commission. Medical units with medicines and radiation suits will be sent out as soon as possible to give aid to the citizens of District 13. Military forces will be flown in or sent by train to District 8, where there are some better roads that run to 13. In the open space between the northern border of 12 and the southern border of 13, there will be a camp set up for any refugees from 13. He asks for the generosity and cooperation of District 12 in these challenging times, and tells them they can expect several trains of PSC forces to arrive in 12 within the week. Shirakumo says he has personally tried to make contact with the new President of District 13, but all communications are fried and nothing has been heard. But it is too early to give up hope. 

The special broadcast ends, and cuts back to some generic, silly Capitol news story. 

Katsuki frowns. Maybe it’s just some kind of deep-seated reservation he needs to work through, but there’s something about President Shirakumo that rubs him the wrong way. Something about his charismatic, gentlemanly demeanor feels a bit slanted in a way Katsuki can’t quite place. Maybe it’s just his general distrust of any politicians. Or maybe there’s something else at work here. 

At dusk, restless and depressed, Katsuki and Izuku take some plastic glow flares they found in the common stores and walk north-east from town to look for any signs of life. It’s too soon to expect anyone by foot, and if there were any working cars or anything, they likely would have headed for 8, where the roads are better. They climb up into a tall tree and stare out into the darkness, but nobody comes. 

This continues on for the next four nights, and on the final night they leave a trail of flares behind them as they make their way back to town. But then, they hear something—the sound of footsteps under the trees, just as they’re approaching the glow of the houses north of the railroad station. 

“...Midoriya-sensei?” 

Izuku and Katsuki whirl around as they watch a figure stumbling towards them. 

“Oh my goodness,” Izuku gasps, “Sho?” 

Sho ran all the way from District 13, ahead of a small group of survivors making their way down more slowly, in as straight a line as they could, towards home. He’s dehydrated, hungry, and sick, and so will the rest of the group be when they arrive after him. 

Izuku and some of the others load up some trucks and drive out slowly into the darkness with supplies. Katsuki isn’t thrilled about the idea of Izuku going off on his own, but he had no choice but to stay behind in 12. For one thing, he has to keep an eye on Eri, who is heavily pregnant and due to burst at any moment, and for another, he now has Sho to look after. Thankfully, that alone gives him plenty to distract himself from Izuku’s absence, as he gets Sho settled in one of the guest bedrooms, and Sho’s parents come over for a tearful reunion with their son. After Sho eats and drinks the little amount Katsuki is able to get into him, he falls dead asleep for a while, but his dreams bother him, and eventually he wakes back up. Toshinori, Eri, and Kota, and Sho’s parents all stay at Katsuki’s overnight, and in the morning, Katsuki questions Sho about what happened in 13. 

“We weren’t attacked from the sky,” Sho explains, “No one saw a bomb, or aircrafts. There’s a plant nearby that got built, where they’ve been disarming the nukes. When we first saw the light, and heard the big boom, we thought it was from there. But…Thirteen was—gone. All the entrances to the underground had collapsed, like the bomb went off below the surface.”

Katsuki frowns, and looks over at Toshinori. “Could someone have planted a bomb and set a timer?” 

Toshinori shrugs. “It’s possible,” he says, “There were internal conflicts in Thirteen. People have been concerned that the disarming process was being conducted too quickly.” 

“Too quickly for who?” 

“Scientists, for some reasons, and politicians for others.”  

Katsuki looks back at Sho. “D’you know how they were doin’ it? Disarmin’ the bombs?” 

“Not really. It’s all pretty advanced stuff,” Sho admits, “Something about gettin’ the core outta the missiles? They were doing a bunch of tests with it.” 

“How many survived the bomb?” 

“Everyone from town,” says Sho, “It was bright, loud, and scary…but we have concrete houses, so, all the buildings survived. A lot of people went to Eight, since it’s easy to follow the train tracks. But most who are from Twelve headed back this way.” 

Sho starts to rub at his eyes again, so after getting a little more water and some broth into him, Katsuki leaves him to get some more rest. Katsuki and Toshinori head out onto the porch. It’s a nice night, with a low moon and the stars shining brightly. But even the sweet night air does little to settle Katsuki’s nerves. Beside him, Toshinori lets out a long sigh. 

“It’s amazing, all the ways we’ve found to kill ourselves, without even trying,” he says, a chill in his voice.  

“All those years District Thirteen kept themselves intact all on their own, and then this happens,” Katsuki mutters, “D’you think it really was an accident?” 

“Hard to say,” Toshinori says, “If they had been under attack, they would have gotten some warning and been able to head down to the lower levels. Maybe something went off during a transfer to the processing plant. Accident or no, it’s going to shake out the same way. Many of the survivors will be sick, and many of them will die sooner than they should.” 

Katsuki didn’t need Toshinori to tell him that. He thinks about Sho, lying in the guest room inside, his parents at his bedside, which they haven’t left since their son returned. He was just fourteen years old. So young, so much more of his life to live, in a world that he should have been safe in. A world where the sun could rise on a day without a reaping. But apparently not on a day without an atomic bomb. 

“So, have you and Young Midoriya talked about marriage yet?” 

Katsuki whirls to look at Toshinori, incredulous by the abrupt change of topics. “No. And the timin’ ain’t exactly great right now, all things considered.” 

“Given the circumstances, I’d say that life is too short. If you keep waiting for the perfect moment, it’ll pass you by before you know it. And I won’t be around forever, you know.” 

“That doesn’t hafta be for a long time yet, Toshi,” Katsuki says. Then he frowns down at the glass of liquor in Toshinori’s hand. Grains and hops are readily available to him now, so Toshinori has become his own industry of alcohol production. Beer, whisky, rye. The blackberry wine he makes was actually pretty good. But that doesn’t mean Katsuki doesn’t still worry. “If you would cool it with the damn drinkin’, at least. I’ve got half a mind to shove your ass on the next train to the Capitol so they can stick a new liver in you.” 

Toshinori doesn’t even acknowledge that remark with a shrug. “I had to do things and make decisions that took away any right I have for personal happiness,” he says, “I owe a lot of dead people more than I can ever repay. But your debts are so much smaller, kid.” 

Katsuki shakes his head in disbelief and looks away sharply. “What the fuck happened to you choosin’ to live? About finding the ‘life of a victor’? Who the hell says you have to lose the right to personal happiness?” 

“Well, you can lose the capacity,” Toshinori says, “I lived alone for a long, long time, kiddo.” 

“Until Izuku and I came along,” Katsuki says quietly. 

Toshinori nods. “And I may not show it, but it’s…a comfort to me. Maybe it’s my selfish way to live vicariously through the two of you, but…I would like the chance to see it, before my time here is up: the two of you, finally sealing the deal. Can’t believe you let Young Kota and Eri beat you two to the punch.” 

Katsuki’s cheeks burn. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“And not to be morbid, but…one of you is going to outlast the other, and I sure as hell won’t be around to hold together the one who ends up alone. I’d hate for either of you to be left with any regrets.”

Katsuki looks back at Toshinori, eyes wide. “I—” 

“I know. You don’t think about these things at twenty-three,” Toshinori says, “But, well, maybe you should.” 

In the first light of morning, the trucks start returning. Over two hundred of their people are loaded into the beds. Most are familiar, though some are spouses or friends from other districts, some children who were born over the last three years, who have never seen 12. It’s a crazy, grim, sleepy, stressful, tearful, joyful family reunion. The morning is spent securing medical exams and then rooms. There are options everywhere, thankfully. There is space in many of the houses in the new villages, which were originally adapted or designed for multi-family use. There’s an empty townhouse, and a couple of empty houses on the north side. More permanent arrangements will be worked out later. 

By the time Katsuki is able to reconnect with Izuku, it is mid-afternoon. When they see each other, Katsuki throws himself at Izuku and Izuku wraps his arms around him. For a while, they simply stand there holding each other, before the exhaustion of the last few days catches up to them and they head home, hand-in-hand, and crash into bed together in a weary, heavy tangle of limbs. 

Back when District 13 was deliberately bombed to make it look like it had been completely obliterated, the railroad tracks between 12 and 13 were also destroyed. Down the tracks from the train station, just past the old fence boundaries of District 12, is a railway switch. This allowed trains to veer towards 13, instead of continuing on to 12. For a long way, the line can still be followed until the tracks abruptly end in the middle of the woods. 

When the PSC medical unit arrives, this is where they go, setting up a field camp at the abrupt end of the railroad tracks, in case they are needed for survivors inside 13’s so far inaccessible levels. Meanwhile, the military and other volunteers are cautiously approaching the ruins from the direction of 8, measuring radioactive levels. 

President Shirakumo arrives by hovercraft to take a tour of Districts 8 and 12, with special praise for 12’s ability to bring in the newcomers so efficiently and comfortably. The press starts to come to a somewhat different conclusion about what occurred in 13, warning everyone of battling factions within 13, and fanatics who wanted to operate independently of the rest of Panem. There’s talk of potential self-sabotage, that the so-called fanatics might have nuked their own district; the interior of 13 is capable of withstanding such an attack, after all… 

Amid all of this mess, Eri goes into labour. When Katsuki calls for the midwife from District 11, she is preoccupied with another woman who went into labour the night before who lives out in the valley farms with her. She promises to come over straight away once the baby is delivered to assist with Eri, but in the meantime, Katsuki is on his own. Great. 

The only one worth keeping around is Sho’s mother—everyone else is completely useless. Izuku is beside himself with worry, Kota looks ready to pass out, and Toshinori accidentally got a quick and unexpected look at Eri with her legs up in stirrups, purple-faced and profusely sweating, stammered out apologies and rushed out of the house. He wasn’t likely to return until the excitement was over. 

“Everybody get the fuck out!” Katsuki snaps, shoving everyone out of the room except for Sho’s mother, who takes over as breathing partner for Eri since Kota was absolutely horrendous at it, being barely able to breathe himself. 

Katsuki gets some raspberry leaf tea into Eri and then feels around on her stomach, trying to determine the position of the baby’s head. It is not in the spot Katsuki expects it to be. Only one of the babies he had helped his mother deliver had been in this position, and it had not been an easy delivery. According to Mitsuki, her own labour had been the same way. You were so eager to get here, you decided to come out feet first, she had told him…

It’s two hours later when Katsuki finally gets to step outside into the slightly less humid summer air. Izuku and Kota are waiting, anxious but patient, on the porch swing. Izuku smiles crookedly when he sees Katsuki, getting up out of his seat. His smile drops a little, his eyes drawn to Katsuki’s arm, which still has a bit of blood on it. Katsuki hastily swipes it away.

“Everything okay? How is Eri?” 

“She’s fine. The baby was breech,” Katsuki explains, “Tried to turn it around, but when that didn’t work, we had to deliver feet first. It was difficult, but everything’s okay.” Katsuki looks over at Kota, who looks a little sick, and knocks his chin towards the door. “C’mon, you. Go and meet your kid.” 

They all head inside to see Eri, who is laying in bed with a tightly wrapped bundle next to her on the pillows. Eri looks exhausted, but happy, and she brightens even further when Kota comes into the room and rushes to her side. Katsuki and Izuku hang by the door as Sho’s mother shows Kota how to hold his new baby, how to support the head. Kota’s eyes start to swim with tears, and he brushes a fingertip over the newborn’s tiny button nose. The baby stirs in the blankets and seeks out Kota’s finger, and tries to suckle on it. Sho’s mother starts to explain the breastfeeding process to Eri, and Katsuki and Izuku quietly retreat from the room as Sho’s mother helps Eri sit up in bed and Kota passes their baby to her. 

Back out on the porch, Izuku has tears rolling down his cheeks. Katsuki looks at him silently for a time, a million questions rolling around in his mind. Did he catch a look in Izuku’s eyes when he saw the baby? A tiny, tiny look that was akin to regret? Or was it just Katsuki’s own fears and insecurities that he was projecting on to him? While Kota might have dropped into their lives by happenstance, and never been officially dubbed as their adopted child, would Izuku want something like that one day? Would resentment start to grow within him for being with Katsuki, who could never give him that? 

Katsuki thinks back to what Toshinori said, about how one day, one of them was going to wind up alone. That one of them would inevitably outlive the other. If Katsuki was the one to go first, he hates to think of Izuku being all alone. Surely Kota and Eri and whatever army of kids they might end up having would be around to keep him company. But would it be enough? Even if they did adopt a child with any kind of intention, would that be enough? Or would Izuku want something that was his true flesh and blood? 

Again, it was foolish to think of these kinds of things when the two of them haven’t even talked about marriage. And that’s all Toshinori had been talking about; how fleeting life is, and how Katsuki shouldn’t wait around for his happy ending. That if he let the inconveniences of life and its turmoils get in his way, then life would pass him by before he knew it.

Katsuki bumps Izuku’s hip with his own. “You good?” 

Izuku nods, wiping at his face. “Yes, I’m just…so happy. For Eri, and for Kota. And…” He looks at Katsuki, eyes glittering with tears and a bright smile on his face. “Things have just been…so unstable, nationally, lately. This…feels like such a blessing, in the midst of all of that. It makes me feel hopeful.”

“Let’s have a big party,” Katsuki says suddenly, “Celebrate the baby, distract people from this whole fuckin’ mess.” 

Izuku brightens. “That’s a great idea! Let’s do it.” 

A week later, they invite an unreasonable number of people to the house. Izuku bakes a large, beautifully decorated cake, and makes candy apples (Eri’s favourite; Izuku had become a whiz at making them when she craved them constantly during pregnancy). Katsuki gets enough beer and wine together in the hopes that people will drink, get tired and stumble home before it gets to be very late. When they’re all gone, Katsuki might just bring a bottle of Toshinori’s blackberry wine to his and Izuku’s room and see what happens. 

In the meantime, he hops up to sit on the dining hutch—since all the chairs and other seating surfaces are in use—and watches Izuku talk and laugh with their guests. Old friends, like Tsu and Togata; Seam friends, the ones he built houses and a district with; and friends from the valley. When Toshinori arrives, late but greeted by cheers (as he always brings the interesting booze), Izuku gets up to talk to him, smiling and happy. Toshinori’s smile is soft as he listens to Izuku ramble on. Katsuki feels his heart squeeze watching the two of them. 

Little kids run around the dining room, eating snacks and horsing around. Someone—there’s always someone—brings out the fiddle and someone—there’s always someone—gets Katsuki to pull out his guitar and sing. This time it’s Izuku, so it doesn’t take nearly as much convincing as it usually does. 

There’s a knock on the door later that evening. Some people—especially those with kids—have left already, and the rest are getting close. Someone walks into the living room, looking harried and confused by her surroundings. She’s easy to recognize with her unmistakable shock of bright, bubblegum pink hair. 

“Mina?” Izuku exclaims, rushing over to her. Mina stumbles straight for him and plants a firm kiss on his cheek. Then she lingers, and Katsuki can see she is whispering something to him. Izuku’s expression freezes, and then he looks up and locks eyes with Katsuki, who raises a questioning brow at him. 

Izuku leads Mina into the sitting room and leaves her on one of the empty couches, and then takes Katsuki into the kitchen. At the sink, Izuku turns on the water and starts to absently wash out a glass. Katsuki joins him at the sink, leaning against the counter. 

Over the rush of the water, Izuku says, “She flew in on a hovercraft arranged by President Takami. President Shirakumo announced an emergency order to suspend certain district exceptions—temporarily—so they can bring nuclear weapons to Twelve from District Two.” 

Katsuki’s eyes go wide. “What? Why?” 

“It’s apparently in case they have to launch from here.” 

“Why would they need to launch anything?” 

“Someone is convinced that the silence from Thirteen means that it was taken over by the ‘fanatics’ and they now have control of their arsenal,” Izuku mutters grimly, then he adds on sarcastically, “Because obviously the more complicated explanation is always the most likely.” 

Katsuki takes the empty glass from Izuku, pours a beer and takes it out to the sitting room to hand to Mina, who accepts it eagerly. He sits down next to her on the couch. After she takes a hearty gulp of the golden beverage, she sets her glass down and then throws her arms around Katsuki. 

“Oh, Kat, it’s been years,” Mina sighs, “Ei and I have missed you all so much.” 

Katsuki’s heart leaps. “Did Kirishima come with you?” 

Mina pulls away and sadly shakes her head. “It was hard enough getting me out here. Keigo—er, the president was able to arrange for me to come out here since I’m his secretary of communications. I’m meant to do a story about the bombing in Thirteen, get some on-the-ground coverage, conduct interviews at the refugee camp…the stuff Shirakumo beat the president to the punch doing.” 

Katsuki hadn’t been certain of Mina’s job security with the isolation in District 2. Being a citizen of a sovereign region, how could she continue her work under the president of another country? The legalities of such a thing go right over Katsuki’s head, but it looks like Mina’s loyalties still lie with President Takami, not Shirakumo. 

“D’you know anythin’ about what really happened in Thirteen?” Katsuki asks her. 

Mina’s expression is solemn. “I can’t say for sure,” she says, “All I can tell you is what Ei told me to say, and that’s that Shirakumo is reaching the limits of his power back in Two. And that he’s got bigger ambitions.” 

Katsuki’s heart thuds thick in his ears. He had found it awfully strange, this abrupt turnabout from Shirakumo, after radio silence from him and the rest of 1 and 2 for the last three years. Why did he suddenly reappear again, right after the disaster in 13? How come he got out here, brought out his troops and military, all before President Takami could even lift a finger? What did it all mean? What was Shirakumo trying to accomplish? 

It’s a restless night. After everyone else leaves, Izuku takes a long walk by himself. Katsuki is sitting in the kitchen nursing a coffee with Mina when Izuku returns, looking grimly determined. 

“I’m going out,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki sets down his mug. “Out where?” 

“To the tracks,” Izuku tells him, “I’ve got an idea.”

Uh-oh. Katsuki’s gut twists at that very dangerous sentence. “And what’s that?”

“I’m gonna try and stop the train.” 

Katsuki gets up out of his seat and at the same time, he and Mina both exclaim, “What?” 

“I can’t just sit here,” Izuku says, “I can’t.”

“And just how the fuck are you plannin’ on stoppin’ a train, Izuku?” Katsuki demands.

“With Blackwhip,” Izuku says, “Wait for the train to come by, and slow it down with some tendrils.” 

Katsuki scrubs a hand down his face. “And if that manages to work somehow, you’ll just…what? Ask them nicely not to bring the nukes here?” 

Izuku shrugs. “That’s the plan,” he says, “Might not work—in fact, I know it won’t work, but…it’s worth a shot. At the very least, they might agree to having the train redirected to Two’s camp. I don’t like that much better, but at least Twelve itself wont be…violated.”

“I’m comin’ with you,” Katsuki says resolutely.

Izuku’s mouth opens on an automatic rejection, but Katsuki is giving him his most stubborn look back. Izuku smiles. “Okay. I’ll be glad to have you with me.” 

As Katsuki gathers his bow and arrows, Mina follows him around the house, wringing her wrists, which is making it incredibly hard for him to think. “Kat, what should I do?”

“Go find Toshi and tell him where we’re goin’,” Katsuki tells her, “He’ll…know what to do. Even if it’s just to cover for us.” 

Katsuki and Izuku head over to the garage by the train station, take a truck, and head down the small service road that runs alongside the tracks. As they drive along, Katsuki’s finger drums rhythmically on the wheel as he stares out the windshield, lost in thought. They follow the tracks out beyond the old fence and to the point in the track where the switch is, and it’s then that a thought comes to Katsuki.

Izuku looks at him in puzzlement as he continues to drive past the switch. “Kacchan, what—?”

“A few kilometres ahead, there’s the warning signal array. For indicatin’ trouble ahead on the tracks. If we trigger that, it should at least get the train to slow down.”

Izuku perks up. “Kacchan, that’s so smart! And way better than my Blackwhip idea.” 

Katsuki can’t hold back his smirk. “Not nearly as badass, though,” he says, “You might still get a chance to whip it out, if they decide to ignore the signal. But if it’ll keep your ass outta trouble, well, it’s like you said. Worth a shot.” 

They make it to the warning signal array, and Izuku gets out of the truck and forces the signal bar up. Katsuki parks the truck near the tracks at the split, close enough to draw attention, but not to cause a major accident, and they sit out on the grass as the sun rises behind them. 

The rising light erases the shadows on Izuku’s face. Katsuki notices the complicated pattern in which Izuku’s hair grows, the strands pushing out in all different directions. The early light softens the roughening texture of his skin, and there’s a world-weariness that slightly dims the light of his forest-green eyes, the soft curves of his features turning angular. He’s not a boy anymore. Katsuki is struck by the futility of the loss of innocence, and the rapid streak of time moving ceaselessly forward. 

The whistle of the train pulls him from this reverie. Hopefully the train is acknowledging the warning sign and is intending to slow down. Katsuki and Izuku jump up and head over to stand on the bed of the truck to wave down the train. It’s a small one, not a high-speed passenger train, with only a few cars behind the engine. It comes to a halt just before the switch, as Izuku intended. They jump down from the truck bed and approach the front of the train. There’s two men inside, an engineer and the train’s conductor, who peer down curiously at Katsuki and Izuku. 

“What’s going on?” the conductor asks, “Hey, are you…?”

“Is this the train transporting weapons from Two?” Izuku asks.

“You’re Izuku Midoriya,” the engineer says with awe. “And Katsuki Bakugou! What’s going on? Is there a problem with the tracks?”

“No, but you’re on the border of District Twelve, so you don’t have to come any further,” Izuku says. 

The men both laugh uneasily. “Well, we can’t exactly unload our supplies here, out in the middle of nowhere,” the conductor says. 

Izuku crosses his arms. “Your orders are contrary to the laws of District Twelve. We are an anti-nuclear district. You can’t come any further.” 

“Son, please remove yourself so we can continue.” 

“I can’t do that,” Izuku retorts, “And you can’t bring the weapons into town.”

“They’re perfectly harmless,” the engineer says, “The guidance systems that control them are—” 

“We don’t give a fuck,” Katsuki speaks up, “You ain’t bringin’ those nukes into our—” 

The engineers both look distracted suddenly, looking off in the distance at something over Katsuki and Izuku’s heads. “What in the hell…?” 

Katsuki and Izuku turn around and squint into the sunlight. There’s a dark mass moving towards them. As it moves closer, Katsuki sees it’s a massive crowd. Toshinori and Mayor Aizawa are in the first row, leading a crowd made up of people from 12, the valley farmers from 11, and even some of the refugees from the 13 camp. Several people have armed themselves with the bows that Katsuki has handmade himself over the years for use at the school. Behind the crowd of walkers, three trucks drive slowly alongside the tracks. 

Aizawa detaches himself from the group and goes over to talk to the men on the train, while the crowd moves over to sit on or near the train tracks. Katsuki looks over to Izuku, and sees that he’s grinning. And just like that, he looks like a young boy again. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, “I’ve got an idea.” 

For three hours, the hundreds of people from 11, 12, and 13, eventually begin to sing songs and light a bonfire, and bring in food from the accompanying trucks, as they continue to block the tracks. Finally, Toshinori brings word to Katsuki that the emergency order has been suspended. For now, the train can proceed no further. 

“Young Ashido has broadcast the entire peaceful protest live,” Toshinori says. 

Well, now it makes sense why President Takami pulled his presidential strings on the back end to get Mina to 12. Katsuki has a feeling that Takami probably could have easily usurped Shirakumo’s emergency order himself, but must have let it slip through the cracks. As though he was curious to see how it would play out. Had he anticipated Katsuki or Izuku to make a move? That seemed like a big gamble to take, especially when it came to the transport of nuclear weaponry. 

Katsuki supposes he ought to be glad he’s got President Takami on his side. It was certainly a relief not having the most powerful man in the country intent on killing him, anymore. But Katsuki is also tired of the fact he still has to choose any sides at all. 

He glances over to where Izuku is in an intense-looking conversation with a couple of nuclear engineers who were among the 13 refugees, as well as the crew from the train.  

“Izuku has an idea,” Katsuki says. 

Toshinori sighs. He knows as well as Katsuki does how dangerous of a sentence that is. “You two really need to learn to rest on your laurels.” 

Katsuki looks back at Toshinori and smirks. “I know you don’t actually mean that.” 

“Tell that to my blood pressure, kid.” 

Izuku joins them, and the same wide grin from earlier is back on his face. Toshinori folds his arms across his chest. “Well, Young Midoriya? Are you going to fill us in on this grand plan of yours?” 

“I’ve gotten them to agree to us relocating the weapons outside of Twelve,” Izuku says excitedly, “I told them about the bunker and the mine Kacchan and I found, and they said we can take them there,” Then Izuku’s voice drops down low. “Then we can use a controlled explosion to collapse the entrances.” He looks at Katsuki, and winks. 

Katsuki’s eyes go wide, struck with surprise at the genius of Izuku’s plan, but he also feels a twinge of regret. He and Izuku had been squirreling the bunker away for themselves in case of the onset of another nuclear war. He certainly never thought about bringing the weapons they were looking to avoid into the bunker that was meant to protect them from them. 

“I took a look inside the train car,” Izuku goes on, “And I counted the boxes. Sixteen total. It’s very possible that it’s Two’s entire stash. Two could still reclaim them, if they wanted to put in the work. But in the meantime we could challenge it, legally, for a number of years. There’s a whole bunch of district sovereignty laws they’ll have to look into. And it sounds like Thirteen was closer to figuring out how to neutralize the nuclear cores than we first thought. One of the engineers was telling me just now about some kind of substance that renders the cores harmless. So, eventually, we could dig up the missiles themselves, and—” 

“So, wait, then what the hell went wrong in Thirteen?” Katsuki asks, frowning. 

“They still don’t know for sure,” Izuku replies, “But they don’t think it was ‘fanatics’. It could have been a computer glitch, or some flaw in transport or storage.” 

“The latest aerial photos show a surface explosion somewhere just below the main entrance to Thirteen,” Toshinori says, “I’ve talked with a few of the Thirteen refugees myself. More than one person suspects Two itself, and its president.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Katsuki mutters, “All the more reason to get these weapons the fuck away from Twelve. Can we load ‘em onto the trucks people brought here and get ‘em out to the bunker that way?” 

Izuku nods. “Yes, I did a count of the boxes and the engineers from Thirteen told me what the estimated weight of each one should roughly be. We should be well within the truck’s capacity if we can divide them up between two trucks. It’ll just be a slow ride.” 

“How far away is this bunker of yours?” asks Toshinori. 

“Four hundred and fifty kilometres, give or take,” Izuku says. 

“Well, let’s mosey,” Katsuki says. 

It’s easier said than done. The train gets moved out of the way of the regularly-scheduled commuter trains. The protesters are thanked, and sent home. Then begins the process of unloading the missiles. The dozen radiation suits on the train are divided up among the people from 13, Katsuki, and Izuku. The sixteen crates of missiles are packed tightly onto two truck beds, strapped down, and the gaps in between the crates are filled with sheeting, pillows, and any other foamy materials they can scavenge. The train engineers are transported in the third truck back to town, while Katsuki and Izuku get in the two trucks with the missiles. Katsuki is giving his truck bed a final once-over to ensure the boxes are snug when Izuku comes over to him. 

“Kacchan, do you remember that old rock quarry we found one day? The one with all the crumbled concrete buildings nearby?” 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, “What about it?” 

“Do you still remember the way?” 

Katsuki slowly turns to look at Izuku. “…We ain’t takin’ ‘em to the bunker,” Katsuki murmurs, voice soft and flat with sudden realization, “Are we?”

Izuku presses his lips together, clearly trying to hold back a smile, and shakes his head. 

Katsuki grins. “Deku…” 

“We’ll still have to cave in the mine and the bunker,” Izuku says, “It’ll still have to look like that’s where we stored them. And it’ll be a long walk back from the rock quarry. So, it’s not ideal, definitely not a perfect plan…but this way, we’ll be the only ones who truly know where they went.”

Izuku is trying to be discreet, but Katsuki can’t help but start laughing. He pulls Izuku in sharply by the waist and crushes their lips together, still grinning through the kiss. He can feel Izuku smiling, too. “So much for keepin’ your ass outta trouble,” he says, “But y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ that you and I deserved a nice, long vacation.”

“Me too,” Izuku says with a chuckle. “So, are you ready?” 

“Fuck yeah. More than ready,” Katsuki says, “Let’s go.” 

It’s a long, slow journey to the rock quarry, driving gently over every bump in the road that Katsuki can barely make out in the darkness as he squints out of the windshield. They park both of the trucks full of nuclear missiles deep inside of a cavern within the old rock quarry. The trucks and the entrance of the cave are covered with varying sizes of rocks, blasted away from other caverns within the quarry with a few careful, strategically-pointed explosions using Katsuki’s Quirk. It’s the first time since the City Circle that he’s used Explosion. It feels strange yet familiar to feel his Quirk sparking to life under his skin again, though it’s not a wholly unwelcome feeling. Still, their conspiratorial glee is hedged with anxiety. Were they really doing the right thing, the safe thing? Would there be consequences? 

It’s a long two week trip back to the valley, where they stop at the bunker and, after taking a well-earned rest on the beds in the lower level, and helping themselves to some of the canned goods they had brought piecemeal to the bunker over time, Katsuki collapses the entrances with more explosions. They had no idea what they would be walking back into once they finally made it back to District 12, many days later than they had been expected to arrive. Naturally, President Shirakumo demanded that the missiles be returned to 2, but with the judgment of his emergency order still ongoing, 12 was able to ignore him. 

Sometime later, President Shirakumo came to the table to renegotiate with the Capitol, only to find himself suddenly abandoned by District 1. Perhaps President Takami had been negotiating with District 1 under the table all this time, because now District 1 has combined with the Capitol into a singular district. This move didn’t increase the Capitol’s own influence or power significantly, and it solved in a single blow the lingering questions of how to ease the Capitolites into district citizenship, as well as the chronic unemployment the citizens in the Capitol have been struggling with post-war. Now those who have no employment in the government or government-run industries such as schools, media, and libraries, or work as shop owners, can go to District 1 and join the gold mines in the mountains, the small manufacturing plants, or the smaller artisan groups who craft things like jewelry, fine wine, or decorative furniture. 

Meanwhile, the economics and industry in District 11 has picked up in recent years with two opposite but equally effective developments. They built a food processing plant so that their fruits and vegetables can be canned and jarred there, rather than shipped off to 8 for processing. It saves time and money; and provides employment. Secondly, a craft farm industry started after some of the large, automated farms broke up into smaller ones. From these, the farmers perfected their own strains of tomatoes, varieties of apples, and certain brands started gaining their own followings. A line of preserves mixing peaches, blackberries and lavender. Honey and fruit meads—which Katsuki prefers to beer or harder alcohol. There’s also all kinds of different sauces, and pickled everything. With these developments, District 11 flourishes, and some of the valley farmers return back to their homeland to reap the spoils. Others, who have grown accustomed to the calm, quiet life in the outskirt valley of 12 and have grown their roots in over the years, choose to stay behind. 

District 2 continues to dig in its heels, maintaining its isolation. President Shirakumo’s demands for 12 to release District 2’s missiles back into his custody continue, a request which Mayor Aizawa continues to ignore. The fallout of the nuclear explosion in 13—the investigations of its occurrence still ongoing—was loss followed by loss, like autumn leaves falling, one after another. They all knew it would come, but they weren’t sure how exactly it would strike, or who. 

Sho was among the first to die, with his parents, Katsuki, and Izuku at his side. Katsuki adds Sho’s name and face to the memory book, as well as to his mental list of people whose death is an ultimate result of his own foolish actions. If he had never broken up that fight on the schoolyard all those years ago, then Sho never would have been sent off to District 13, he would have never been caught up in the blast of the nuclear bomb, never been exposed to its radiation, and never would have died with his mother weeping over him.

The radiation exposure took many of the people who came back from 13, stalking them all like a reaper the likes of which they haven’t experienced since the Hunger Games. Some who were resistant to the radiation illnesses, or with treatable cancers, did survive. Some even went on to have children, though nervously, anxiously so. But there were as many miscarriages. So many lives, changed by a single moment. A moment which is suspected more and more of not being accidental, as the mystery behind the disaster in 13 continues to unfold.

President Shirakumo was accused of jumping on the tragedy in 13 to establish a military outpost for District 2 in District 12. Whether or not this was true or not, it still eroded even his most steadfast support. Shirakumo was quickly voted out of office in the next election held in 2. The blackout isolation was lifted, District 2 rejoined Panem, and Kirishima was elected the new mayor of District 2. 

A year later, Shirakumo was arrested. Turns out, Shirakumo had a very peculiar Quirk called Warp Gate. It was a long-range Quirk which allowed him to open portals to any location, as long as he knew its exact coordinates. As investigations about the atomic explosion in District 13 continued, information came forward about buried security footage being uncovered. After this long-lost security footage from District 13 was thoroughly examined, it was discovered that a black shadow appeared near the main entrance to Thirteen, seconds before the bomb detonated. After drawn-out interrogations and trials, it was determined that Shirakumo had one of his PSC troops warped to the main entrance of Thirteen where they placed a timed bomb, and then was warped back out. Thirty seconds later, the bomb detonated.

All of this was done in Shirakumo’s pursuit of expanding District 2’s military to different outposts across Panem, and shifting all of 13’s nuclear weapons to be under the control of District 2. And District 12 was only the beginning of Shirakumo’s plan. He had never anticipated for his nukes to be swindled away under his nose, however, or for District 1 to ally with the Capitol and leave him high and dry. Katsuki imagines that both President Takami and Izuku figure heavily into whatever revenge fantasies that Oboro Shirakumo harbours to this day, where he rots in jail for the rest of his life in the Capitol, convicted of political espionage, obstruction of justice, and the drawn-out second degree murders of the hundreds of people lost to the radiation poisoning caused by the atomic bomb he planted. 

Everyone feels inclined, once Shirakumo’s sentence and incarceration are finally confirmed after an arduous and intensive four-year long trial, to celebrate. This all happens to coincide with the Harvest Festival, so everyone treats it like an unofficial national holiday of sorts. The valley farmers host the festival, organizing competitions like races, darts, and tug of war. Ribbons are passed out for the largest or prettiest gourds, and the best-tasting preserves, home-brewed wine and beer. There’s an enormous, spectacular feast, and a giant bonfire they dance around until the sun goes down. 

Katsuki and Izuku walk home in the darkness, hand-in-hand, with Izuku still humming to himself. In the moonlight, Katsuki can see the flush on Izuku’s neck and cheeks from the drinking and exertion of the evening. Katsuki feels particularly giddy and lightheaded himself. 

Suddenly, Izuku starts chuckling to himself. “What’s funny?” Katsuki asks. 

“I was just thinking about the last time we had a big bonfire here,” Izuku says, “Do you remember back when I told you about that dream I had from that night? Where I danced around the fire, and kept reaching out for someone, but they were missing?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You absolutely did not take the hint.” 

Katsuki looks at Izuku incredulously. “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Izuku laughs. “I was trying to tell you that I wished I’d gotten to dance with you that night,” he says, “But you totally shut me down, telling me I ought to discuss my dream with Dr. Yoshida.”

Katsuki blinks. “Oh,” he says, stupidly. Izuku continues to laugh, and Katsuki bristles. “I can’t exactly shoot you down if you’re bein’ cryptic! You shoulda just told me outright. Use plain words, dammit.” 

“Hey, do you remember the harvest dances they used to do at the school?” Izuku asks, totally ignoring him. 

Katsuki huffs. “I never went to any of ‘em, but yeah.” 

“I went once,” Izuku says, “Tsu set me up with one of her friends. Remember Pony Tsunotori?” 

“The girl who everyone said had horse legs?” 

“She had hyperextended knees, but yes,” Izuku says, “That’s who I went with. It didn’t go particularly well, though.” 

“Why, she crush your toes with her hooves?” Katsuki asks, unable to bite back his sneer. It’s not exactly fair of him to be jealous. It’s not like he had anything to worry about, for one thing. And he had never even had an interest in the harvest dances. Tsunotori wasn’t even around for Katsuki to direct this jealousy towards, anyway. She had been among the many souls who never made it out of the District 12 firebombings. Katsuki shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, especially when it was because of him that she hadn’t been one of the people dancing around the bonfire tonight. 

“Don’t be mean, Kacchan,” Izuku chides him gently, “She was a perfectly fine dancer. But I think I probably projected pretty hard that I would have rather been there with someone else.” 

Katsuki scoffs. “Well, ya never asked me.” 

“Would you have gone if I did?” 

Katsuki winces. “Well, no, probably not, but…” 

Izuku chuckles. “I think I knew that, then. But, I should have asked, anyway.” 

“Woulda been quite the thing—a townie with a Seam boy.” 

“It’s one of the reasons why I should have asked,” Izuku says, “Maybe things would have turned out a lot different for us if I did.” 

“Well, let’s just pretend that you eventually would have,” Katsuki says, “Did tonight measure up to how you pictured it in your head? If you had asked? And I said yes?” 

Izuku smiles. “Not at all,” he says, “Tonight was even better. And the best part is, when I walk you home, I don’t have to part ways with you at the door.”

Izuku’s thumb starts to stroke along Katsuki’s knuckles with a purpose. They are barely inside the house when Izuku starts kissing him, and the reckless and joyful heat that’s been building up slowly between them all night reaches a crescendo as Izuku presses Katsuki’s back up against the door and they trade wet, sloppy kisses back and forth that taste like the blackberry wine they’ve been drinking all night. Katsuki laughs breathily against Izuku’s mouth when his fingers travel up and under his shirt, tickling at his waist, then he moans when they roam further down. 

“Someone’s impatient,” Katsuki murmurs in Izuku’s ear. 

“Someone’s irresistible,” Izuku says against his neck. 

Katsuki snorts. “I reek like a campfire.”

“Kacchan always smells like a campfire,” Izuku says, “And I love it.” 

The phone suddenly rings, startling them both, and Izuku’s hands fly off of Katsuki. Katsuki hooks his fingers into the waistband of Izuku’s pants and holds him in place. 

“Don’t you dare,” Katsuki warns. 

“It might be important.” 

“More important than this?” Katsuki grunts, stuffing his hand down Izuku’s pants, fingers running through a patch of dark curls before grasping at the heated flesh beneath, already stiff in his palm, which twitches when Katsuki squeezes his hand, causing Izuku’s breath to catch and his whole body to shiver. “Than me?”

They wait, watching each other in the darkness, while the telephone rings on and on. Eventually the caller finally gives up and the ringing stops. Katsuki grins and starts to strip off Izuku’s clothes, piece by piece. 

They’re lying on the living room floor, thoroughly disheveled and panting for breath, when the phone rings again. Katsuki barks out a laugh as Izuku jumps up to answer it and trips over his discarded pants. Katsuki gets up and snakes his arms around Izuku’s waist from behind, peppering kisses along the top of Izuku’s shoulder and towards his neck as Izuku greets the caller. 

“Hey, good to hear from you,” Izuku says, “Yeah, it's been a while. I know, he can be kinda tricky to, uh, pin down…”

Katsuki shoots Izuku a look, and nips him on the  ear when Izuku waggles his eyebrows at him. Izuku grins cheekily, and cups his hand over the receiver. "It's Kirishima,” he mouths. 

Katsuki's eyebrows shoot up. Okay, awkward. And wow, Izuku was really making innuendos like that to Kirishima of all people? If his best friend wasn’t currently on the line, Katsuki would already be halfway to dragging Izuku back to the floor for this display of possessiveness that was…weirdly kind of attractive. He watches on as Izuku uncovers the phone and goes back to talking, "Sorry, I meant to call and wish you a happy birthday earlier this month, but—”

Katsuki suddenly plucks the receiver out of Izuku’s hand and presses it to his ear. “The fuck are you doin’ callin’ at this hour, Mayor Shitty Hair?” 

“Katnip! Good to hear your voice, man,” Kirishima crows, “Y’know, communication lines went back up in Two after Shirakumo got voted outta office, right? You can call me now, like, whenever you want.”

“I call you all the time, moron,” Katsuki snaps, “Just not in the middle of the night.” 

Kirishima chuckles. “I still kinda forget everyone’s on different time zones,” he admits, “Anyway, I wanted to call to let you guys know about the war museum that recently opened up here. They’re planning to do some kind of opening ceremony for it, including an art show. I wanted to get the jump on anyone else who might ring you guys up about it, kinda give you a heads up in case you wanna, y’know…pass on it.” 

Izuku hasn’t done another art show in five years, but in that time he has accumulated a number of very impressive pieces. He had been considering calling up his art dealer to schedule another show again, but had never gotten around to doing it. But, maybe it was time.

“Hey, ‘Zu, you up for doin’ another art show? In Two?” Katsuki asks. 

“Oh. Uh, I guess so. My studio is getting a little bit crowded, after all,” Izuku says, “And it would be the perfect excuse to go see the kids!” 

Kirishima must hear Izuku, because he laughs, then bellows out, “Yeah, man! You gotta come and meet the kiddos already!” His voice always grows exponentially warmer whenever his kids come up. The first time Katsuki and Kirishima talked on the phone—for the first time in three years—they were basically all Kirishima could talk about for the first hour. “They’re way cuter in person, trust me. Those photos I sent don’t do ‘em justice.” 

“Fine, fine, we’ll come,” Katsuki says. 

It was certainly not by Katsuki’s design to ever visit District 2 again. He had hoped that Kirishima would bring his family down to visit 12, but it just never materialized. And he can’t think of any place he would rather go do an art show less than a war museum that’s entire purpose was to memorialize the years of Katsuki’s life that Katsuki only wanted to forget. Katsuki considers not going with Izuku. It would be the perfect chance to have another shot at proving his capacity to manage his anxiety, letting Izuku go by himself. But while Kirishima wouldn’t put pressure on Katsuki to come himself, it has been a long time, and he knows Kirishima is eager to show off his kids. And there’s no way Katsuki could ever let Izuku go off to do an art show by himself ever again—it had gone very poorly the last time they tried that. 

In the intervening years, there’s been only minor alterations to District 2, a new building here or there, but the architecture here is so timeless and solid, there’s been no reason to make any real changes. Kirishima’s mother, brothers and sister all still live in the house in the Victor’s Village, while Kirishima and Mina moved out to a house in the country with their kids. Katsuki and Izuku are put up in a guest house belonging to one of the district officials, and they have the whole place to themselves. Izuku immediately starts going through his paintings and making final decisions about what to show. 

As usual, he always has to bring at least one of his early paintings about the Games—for show and not for sale. This time, it’s the one of Katsuki up in the tree from the night before the tracker jacker incident in the first arena, his red eyes glinting in the shadows of the foliage. It’s in the perspective of Izuku, looking up at Katsuki from the bottom of the tree. Katsuki can see his own anger, bewilderment, pain, and fear captured in his eyes. It’s one Izuku is still particularly proud of, apparently—he still enjoys how he captured the light on the leaves, and how he got the perspective just right. It was one of the first that looked even remotely as he had imagined it in his head. Once he painted it, he knew he was on to something.

Katsuki decides to enlist the help of Hakamada, who relocated from District 8 out to District 2 once it came out of isolation two years ago, to get he and Izuku dressed up for the art show. Hakamada has visited 12 here and there, typically during New Years, for the last couple of years, but he’s been very preoccupied with his work as a fashion designer. He’s even produced some of Mitsuki’s designs from her sketchbooks, creating an entire line of her pieces that he can barely keep in stock. Katsuki bought a little something of everything from the line; some for himself, duplicates for Izuku, and everything in a women’s cut was gifted to Eri. 

For tonight, Hakamada dresses Katsuki and Izuku up to look like older, less-flawless versions of their tribute selves. In their everyday lives, they are busy doing grown-up work. This is a holiday, where they put on fancy clothes and let other people cook them dinner, and soak up the admiration of a crowd. Tonight, Katsuki feels 18 again—both the good and the bad of it.

It’s been ten years. Ten years since the 74th Hunger Games. 

It really isn’t that much time at all, but in those ten years, all the war trials are finally over, the districts are largely up and operational and everyone is ready to erect more formal memorials and educational programs about what they all went through. In District 12, this has taken the form of a few more stately obelisks. There’s one in the meadow, commemorating the lives lost in the firebombing. There’s another one in what used to be the town square, with a memorial to all the District 12 tributes lost in seventy-two out of the seventy-five Hunger Games. 

The war museum in District 2 is part of the ten-year anniversary celebrations. It’s a pristine new building on the outskirts of town, featuring large, graphical representations of the rebellion—at least, District 2’s part in it. There’s some great pictures of Kirishima, in what Katsuki assumes to be the battle after the Nut fell. There’s a still shot of Katsuki, taken from the back. He’s in his Mockingjay costume, staring down the train tracks. There’s some informational and interactive stations telling stories about the nightlock berries, the Victory Tour, and the Quell. The resurrection of District 13—which is now the radioactive wasteland it was always rumoured to be. There’s one section of the room with displays labelled ‘One For All vs All For One’, ‘The Legacy of Yoichi Shigaraki’, and 'Katsuki Bakugou: Rising'. 

Katsuki avoids all of them. Izuku places his easels in front of this section of the museum, hiding them all from view. It’s not like either of them can truly avoid what they did that day, however. Everyone knows it—and they’ll know it long after they’re dead. 

Izuku’s paintings have a bit of a memorial quality to them, as well. There’s the ruined town square as it looked when he first returned to 12, flat and gray. Toshinori sitting on his porch, watching over his geese—he had given Katsuki and Izuku a real scare a few years back, having gotten so yellow and sick that he barely fought them when they shoved him on the train to get the liver treatments in the Capitol that ended up saving his life. Though he was still with them today, Izuku had felt compelled after that to capture his likeness on canvas. There’s some other paintings of sights around District 12, and then there’s Katsuki’s favourite, even though it’s also one he isn’t able to look at for very long. It’s of his mother, curled up in an armchair, looking over an album with Katsuki’s baby photos, her expression soft and serene. 

Katsuki helps Izuku arrange and rearrange the paintings, and they’re both quiet as the memories around them press in. A violinist arrives to play songs in the corner. A caterer arrives with finger food and delicacies. Kirishima and Mina are among the first to arrive, looking put-together in their evening wear. Kirishima’s hair has grown longer in the back, long enough to pull into a low ponytail, and he’s traded in his eccentric spikes for a slicked back look. His wide red eyes have the same boyish twinkle they always did, and his sharp-tooth grin is unchanged; though he’s gotten a few smile lines. Mina has gone full-on old-school Capitol—her long hair has streaks of purple amongst the bubblegum pink, and she’s wearing a skin-tight acid green dress that’s cut above the knees. The thin, pointed horns that sprouted from her head when her Quirk re-manifested have grown longer over the last few years.

People are almost as happy to greet Kirishima as they are Katsuki and Izuku. He is shaking hands, talking and laughing with the guests around him. Kirishima locks eyes with Katsuki from across the room, and his face brightens even more. He takes Mina by the hand and leads them through the thick crowd, hurrying over to Katsuki and Izuku. 

“Wow! You two look great!” Kirishima cries, “We all look awfully grown-up tonight, huh?” 

“Twenty-eight years old. We’re practically elderly,” Katsuki says. 

Kirishima laughs, and swoops Katsuki into an embrace. It’s been five years since he’s gotten crushed by these arms. It only registers in that moment just how much he’s missed Kirishima all this time. Katsuki holds him back, patting his hand in the middle of Kirishima’s back. 

“Been too long, man,” Kirishima murmurs. 

“I know,” Katsuki says. 

They manage to talk as a group for a little while. It’s clear that Kirishima and Mina are still happy together—maybe happier than ever before, even. Guess marriage will do that. Katsuki and Izuku are going to see their new house tomorrow, and the kids, who Kirishima’s mother is watching tonight, are dying to finally meet them. Eventually, Kirishima is pulled off by some other government officials and has to excuse himself, taking Mina by the hand and heading off. 

It isn’t long before some of the other party-goers find them and pull them into more conversations, most of them about as vapid as to be expected from these types of things, but considering the time and the location of this particular show, the topic of their Games, the rebellion, and the war are even more frequent topics than they had been at prior art shows. Izuku is able to dodge through most of the attempts to start such discussions with a tight laugh and a subtle segue into something art-related, while Katsuki quietly stews in annoyance and sips his drink. 

“I wish you two would come back to the Capitol. We miss you there!” A woman says while she squeezes at Katsuki’s arm. Katsuki has to seriously restrain himself from biting her like a feral dog. “We could have such a great interview—your side of the One For All story, maybe an inside scoop about All Might…”

Katsuki bristles at the mention of Toshinori and takes a deep breath to retort, but Izuku swiftly steps in. “We’re a little isolated in Twelve, so we don’t really have the inside scoop on anything,” He looks over at Katsuki briefly. “Let’s go get another drink.” 

Izuku pulls Katsuki over to the corner next to the violinist. “What?” Katsuki says. 

“Steam was coming out of your ears.” 

“Can ya fuckin’ blame me? What the hell do they mean about Toshi? Toshi is Toshi. He drinks too much, and we’re always roundin’ up his damn geese whenever they invade the garden,” Izuku merely shrugs, and Katsuki rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait to get home where people are fuckin’ normal.” 

Katsuki suddenly becomes aware of the violinist standing right next to them, looking sheepish, and Katsuki shoots him a glare. “Any song requests?” the violinist asks. 

“No,” Katsuki says brusquely. 

“I know some valley songs from Twelve, if you’d like to hear them.” 

“Sure,” Izuku says politely. 

The first one is one that Katsuki’s father sang all the time, about dead miners, which flows into Katsuki and plays into his emotions, and the second one is a love song that Katsuki has always secretly associated with Izuku, so it pulls a tiny smile from him, despite himself.

“Oh, I like this one!” Izuku says. 

“You should. It’s Green-Eyed Boy,” Katsuki says. He elbows Izuku in the ribs a little, and sings a line quietly to remind him. “You know: The fire still burns in the old rock chimney, and I still burn for that green-eyed boy…” 

“Your voice is lovely,” says the violinist. 

Katsuki ignores him, but Izuku—who is looking adorably flushed now—says, “Isn’t it? It’s the first thing I ever noticed about him.” 

The violinist gently laughs. “Yes, I know,” he says, “Everyone knows.” 

Izuku rubs the side of his neck. “Oh, right. I suppose they would…”

Katsuki turns away. “How ‘bout that drink, huh?”

That’s when he finally notices the cameraman nearby pointing his lens towards them. No doubt they’ve captured this little moment, and Katsuki’s singing, yet again. Scowling, Katsuki grabs Izuku by the arm and drags him over to the bar. 

That night, Katsuki is extra affectionate with Izuku. Although, maybe ‘affectionate’ is the wrong word for it. He is demanding of his kisses, he bites at his cheeks, ears, and throat, he sucks blooming red marks into his skin, he goes down on him, and pins him into the mattress. There’s a stress and anger in it that feels wrong emotionally, even if it feels so right in a bunch of other ways. And Izuku matches Katsuki’s energy, dragging his teeth across Katsuki’s lips and his nails down his arms. 

Katsuki suddenly pulls away from Izuku, and a request tumbles out. “Use Blackwhip on me.” 

Izuku blinks rapidly. “What?” 

“Use it to—” Katsuki cuts himself off, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “To…tie me up.”

Izuku’s eyes bulge out. “What?” 

Katsuki groans in frustration. “Am I gonna have to fuckin’ spell it out for you, or what?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to,” Izuku says steadily, “You always give me grief about using One For All unnecessarily. So why do you want me to do this, all of a sudden?” 

Katsuki groans again, louder this time, and drops his forehead down onto Izuku’s chest. “It’s just…the fuckin’ Capitol people. Fawnin’ over us like we were part of the exhibits, pryin’ with all their intrusive questions, touchin’ us uninvited…I need to feel—somethin’ else,” There’s a pleading, desperate edge to his tone now. “Not them, and their hands. I thought I wanted control for myself, but…I think I just…I don’t know. I need control, but I need you to have control, too. I don’t know.” 

“Okay,” Izuku murmurs thoughtfully. Katsuki looks up, and can see those forest-green eyes are already visualizing how to work out this predicament of Katsuki’s. “Okay, Kacchan. I think I understand,” Izuku gently rolls them over, putting Katsuki onto his back. Then he takes one of Katsuki’s hands in both of his own. “You want to let go, but also feel like it’s your choice to do so,” Izuku says, “And…you want me to be the one to take you there. Right?” 

Katsuki nods, his chest already rising and falling rapidly as his other hand grips at the sheets. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “Yeah, that’s what I want.” 

Izuku smiles warmly, and leans down to kiss the tips of Katsuki’s fingers. “Whatever you need.” 

Izuku sits back and takes a deep breath. After a moment, he rolls his shoulders, and lets a few small tendrils of Blackwhip unfurl from his arm, glowing faintly in the dim light. The dark, sinewy ribbons twist and coil around Katsuki’s wrist, holding him in place but not entirely restraining him. Katsuki watches another tendril slither across to wrap around his other wrist, and then he looks over to Izuku to see him watching Katsuki carefully, waiting for any signs of hesitation. 

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much,” Izuku says. It’s not a question, or a request, but a gentle command. 

Katsuki feels a shiver slide down his back, and he nods again. “You too,” Katsuki murmurs, “If…if you feel like you can’t control it, if One For All starts to take over, then…lemme know.” 

Izuku nods. “I will,” he promises, “But don’t worry about that now.” 

The tendrils around Katsuki’s wrists move upwards, pulling Katsuki’s arms above his head and pinning them down into the mattress. Katsuki exhales sharply, his muscles tensing briefly before he lets them relax. Izuku leans down, brushing the pad of his thumb over Katsuki’s lips. 

Izuku’s voice drops into a low, soothing murmur. “Just let me take care of you, okay, Kacchan?” 

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Katsuki should have asked Izuku to do this ages ago. But then again, this was a kind of intimacy that could only come from years of trust. Already Katsuki feels his body going limp and pliant under Izuku’s attention, and all he’s done so far is talk to him and touch his lips. Katsuki’s fingers curl and uncurl, and Blackwhip tightens around his wrists. Izuku runs a hand down Katsuki’s bare chest, making him squirm, and he lets out a shuddery sigh. 

“No one else gets to touch you like this,” Izuku whispers, “No one else but me.” 

Katsuki’s head falls back against the sheets, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Fuck…” 

“No one is watching, no one is telling us what to do,” Izuku goes on, “It’s just me and you right now, Kacchan. It’s just us.” 

Katsuki’s chest heaves, and finally the tension in his body begins to ebb, his muscles going slack as he lets Izuku take the weight from him. The Blackwhip tendrils move with a rhythmic pulse, firm enough to hold but gentle in their pressure. They feel almost like a steady heartbeat that Katsuki can feel against his skin.

“Izuku, tighter,” Katsuki mutters, his voice low but insistent. 

Another tendril wraps around Katsuki’s torso, pinning him even deeper into the bed. The motion is slow and deliberate, giving Katsuki time to push back, if he suddenly changed his mind. But instead Katsuki leans into it, his back curling up off the bed. Izuku presses a kiss into Katsuki’s hair, and then his forehead, his cheek. He cups Katsuki’s face, delicately rubbing his thumb along Katsuki’s cheekbone with a touch so soft it didn’t match the intensity of the restraints on his body. 

“You don’t have to hold yourself together,” Izuku says, “I can do that for you. You can fall right apart if you want to. I’ll put you back together.”

Katsuki chews on his bottom lip. “Don’t be soft about it,” he forces out, “I don’t need you treatin’ me like I’m fragile.” 

Izuku pulls away just enough so Katsuki can see his face, his expression calm but firm. “I’m not,” Izuku says, “I’m treating you like you’re mine.” 

Then Izuku leans down again, brushing his lips over Katsuki’s collarbone, and down the middle of his chest. Katsuki’s head tilts back, his lips parting on a sigh as Izuku’s mouth travels lower, his touch leaving sparks of heat and electricity in their wake. Izuku’s lips hover over Katsuki’s skin, brushing against it without fully pressing down; a deliberate tease. 

Katsuki makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and his muscles flex against the binds of Blackwhip. The tendrils respond instinctively, adjusting their grip; holding Katsuki firmly, but never harshly—just enough to remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere; not unless Izuku willed it. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Izuku tells him, and there’s an unmistakable edge to his tone now, something dark and commanding that Katsuki can’t help but respond to. “I told you I would take care of you, didn’t I? Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah,” Katsuki gasps. 

Izuku’s hands slide down Katsuki’s sides, his calloused fingertips grazing the curves of his hips. His touch is maddeningly slow and far too gentle. Katsuki groans, and knocks his head back against the pillows in anguish. 

Izuku shakes his head. “Always so impatient,” Izuku tuts, looking up at Katsuki with green eyes that seem to glow in the darkness with a predatory glint. “But that’s not how this works, Kacchan. You asked for this, remember?” 

“I know what I fuckin’ asked for,” Katsuki snaps, but the usual venom in his tone is tempered by the tremor in his voice. “Don’t make me regret it, Deku.” 

Without warning, more Blackwhip tendrils snake out from Izuku’s body and dip beneath the waistband of Katsuki’s underwear, and peel them down his legs in a single, smooth motion that makes Katsuki gasp. Katsuki watches as one of the tendrils tosses the garment to the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes, abandoned quickly after they had gotten back to their room. Katsuki blinks in disbelief for a moment and then looks back at Izuku. 

“You’ve got…quite the command on those things,” Katsuki says. 

Izuku smiles. “They’re especially well-behaved around you,” he says, “Blackwhip seems to have as much of a soft spot for you as I do.” 

One of the tendrils sifts through Katsuki’s hair and then rubs across his cheek, as though proving Izuku’s point. 

Katsuki lifts an eyebrow. “And when did I say I want them to behave?” 

Izuku grins. “They won’t,” he says mischievously, “But you will.” 

“I’m already behaving,” Katsuki argues. 

“You keep squirming,” Izuku notes, “Always trying to fight, even now.” 

“I’m not,” Katsuki insists, pouting, “Not my fault you’re takin’ your sweet fuckin’ time.” 

“But I don’t want to rush this,” Izuku says softly, lips brushing against Katsuki’s skin. “You hardly ever ask me for anything, even though I would give you whatever you wanted. So just be good and let me worship you for a while.” 

Heat shoots straight down to Katsuki’s core at the words, but he scoffs indignantly and quickly looks away even as a vibrant blush fills his face. “Worship? More like torture,” Then Katsuki feels his stomach turn to ice as he realises his words, and he looks quickly back to Izuku, his eyes wide and regretful. “Fuck, that’s—shit. Wrong choice of words.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “It’s okay, Kacchan,” he says calmly, “You’re right. I’ve got every intention of torturing you. But only in a way you’ll like. Trust me—I’d know the difference better than anybody.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “Oh, are we making jokes about our trauma now? I guess I haven’t gotten to that part in my sessions with Dr. Yoshida.” 

Izuku closes his eyes for a moment, looking slightly pained. “Kacchan, I’m going to politely request that you never, ever bring up Dr. Yoshida in the bedroom again.” 

Katsuki snorts. “Right. Mood killer,” he says. He stretches out his arms and legs, and grins. “Please, continue with the torture.” 

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

The room falls quiet except for the sounds of Katsuki’s soft groans, the tension in the room palpable and electric as Izuku’s hands roam all over—gentle but firm, teasing yet purposeful—and Katsuki feels himself slowly unravelling under his caress, every nerve in his body alight with sensation. Katsuki strains against the tendrils of Black Whip locked around his wrist, not to fight them, but to feel their tightness around him, his back arching off the mattress as Izuku paints his tongue over the lines of his stomach. 

“I like you like this,” Izuku murmurs, “And I like it even more that you only act cute like this around me.” 

Izuku was a talker—he always had been, and that didn’t stop in the bedroom. And Izuku was always generous in his praise, too. It was nothing Katsuki wasn’t used to, even if he didn’t believe half of the shit Izuku said about him. But this was different, this was a new side of Izuku that Katsuki has never seen before. Izuku had always been possessive, too, but it had always been fairly subdued. But it was like he was finally able to unleash it at its true, full capacity. It was electrifying to know that, even after all this time, Izuku still found ways to surprise him. 

He doesn’t care anymore about the people from the Capitol who had gotten under his skin; all he cares about is Izuku’s touch, and the way Blackwhip holds him. His mind is blissfully blank, and his world is narrowed down to the feeling of Izuku’s hands on him, the warmth of Izuku’s body pressed flush against his own, and the deep ache in his gut when Izuku finally, finally pushes inside of him, only after he’s made Katsuki beg for it. He feels utterly and completely out of his mind and out of control in all the best ways. Izuku curates Katsuki’s pleasure as he sees fit, no matter how Katsuki demands for Izuku to go faster, deeper, harder. Izuku sets the pace for both of them, until Katsuki is in complete shambles beneath him, nearly in tears with frustration as he’s brought to the edge again and again only for Izuku to deny him at the very last minute. 

Eventually tears really do start to leak out, and the sight of them nearly shatters Izuku’s resolve, but before he can drop the persona Katsuki shakes his head frantically. 

“I’m fine,” Katsuki gasps out, “You’re just—such a bastard.” 

Izuku’s concerned expression fades into relief, and then fondness. He wipes away one of Katsuki’s tears. “Kacchan is even a pretty crier.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbles, though he scrubs his cheek into Izuku’s hand, seeking out his touch. “Fuckin’ tease.” 

“I’m not teasing you,” Izuku says. He leans down and kisses Katsuki on the cheek, right by the corner of his eye. His lips brush the wetness from his eyelashes. 

“This coming from the guy who hasn’t let me finish three times in a row,” Katsuki grouses, “What would you call that?”

Izuku leans back and grins. “Torture.” 

But Izuku doesn’t drag out said torture for too much longer. And as much as Katsuki had complained, he has to admit the denial had intensified his eventual, true climax to such a degree that it had his vision turning to white stars. 

After, Katsuki lays on his stomach, still shuddering from the occasional aftershock while Izuku rubs up and down his back in soothing patterns, pressing kisses to the back of his head. 

“Feeling better, Kacchan?” 

“Mmh,” is all Katsuki can manage as a response. He’s still riding out the nice, floaty afterglow, and his body feels like a limp noodle that’s also as heavy as lead. 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Izuku murmurs, “I really had no idea they would have those big displays up. I mean, I guess I should have assumed there would be something, what with it being the tenth anniversary since our first Games and all, but…” 

Katsuki turns his head around to face Izuku, resting his cheek back down on his folded arms. “Not your fault. I just…wish everyone could forget me, or that I could…reinvent myself, like you did.” 

“I didn’t reinvent myself,” Izuku says, “I just kept doing the things I wanted to do. But, I think that maybe we ought to put a pin in these shows for a while. Maybe even for good. I sold everything again, anyway.” 

“Yeah? Even—”

“Not the one of Auntie, no,” Izuku says quickly, “I could never. But it didn’t hurt that there was a bidding war between the museum and a private collector for the one of Toshinori, and a couple of others. I ended up giving them to the museum. I think the collector was from the Capitol and that just…felt wrong to me.” 

Katsuki hums, sleepy yet thoughtful. “You shouldn’t have to give up the art shows.” 

“As long as I don’t have to give up the actual art, I’ll be fine,” Izuku says, “The shows were just a way to sell the pieces, and make up for the time it takes away from the bakery.” 

“Y’never give District Two enough credit for bein’ morbid,” Katsuki says, “The other shows weren’t as bad. I mean, I only went to th’ one in Ten, but…m’sure the one in Four was—bearable. But if y’don’t wanna do it anymore, I ain’t gonna stop you.” 

“I guess I don’t have to give them up altogether,” Izuku says thoughtfully, “And I can stand to be…choosier, about where I go for the shows. Curate our experience a little. Although, as irritating as tonight was, it certainly ended on a high note. Who knew Blackwhip could be so therapeutic.” 

Katsuki smirks tiredly. “Does that mean we can fire Dr. Yoshida? Or maybe he’d like to know ‘bout this recent discovery. Surely he’d find it a healthier coping mechanism for stress than drinkin’. He’ll be so proud of me.”

“Kacchan, I said not to bring up our head doctor in the bedroom!” 

“Figured it was fair game now, since you’ve turned my legs to jelly. Certainly not gettin’ a second round outta me anytime soon.” 

“Nope. It’s banned permanently,” Izuku says firmly, “And you better not tell him about this, either.”

“But don’t you want to tell him about all the great progress you’re makin’ with One For All?” Katsuki asks innocently. 

Izuku drops down to the sheets with a despairing groan, and Katsuki chuckles sleepily. 

“Don’t worry,” Katsuki mumbles, “Your secret’s safe.” 

Katsuki eyelids drag down heavily, unable to stay open any more. He feels Izuku brush a strand of hair from his forehead. 

“Kacchan?” 

“Mm?” 

“You haven’t been wearing your ring.”

This lifts a little bit of the drowsiness from Katsuki, and he blinks open one eye to look at Izuku. “Yeah,” he says, “S’in m’ pocket…”

“You haven’t taken it off for years. You’ve even got a tan line on your finger,” Izuku says, “Why did you take it off?” 

“Got too small,” Katsuki says through a yawn, “Guess my hands’ve grown...” 

“Oh. Well, do you…”

But Katsuki doesn’t hear the rest of what Izuku says, because his eyes fall closed again, and the warmth and exhaustion have him slipping off into a heavy, content sleep.

The following day, Katsuki and Izuku visit Kirishima and Mina outside the city limits at their house, which sits on an alpine meadow that backs onto a nice wood. It is noisy with the sound of their two young children. The oldest is the girl, Yumiko, who is five-years-old. She’s got bright yellow eyes and jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail, and her pointy grin is a mirror image of her father’s. Then there’s the three-year-old boy, Kenji, who has his father’s red eyes, and tufts of pale pink curls. Go figure, pink ended up being Mina’s natural hair colour when her Acid Quirk re-manifested—she was pleased not to have to do any more root touch-ups at the salon. 

Izuku is a hit with the children, of course. Kenji climbs all over him, and Yumiko makes him chase her around the yard. While Mina and Izuku entertain the kids outside, Kirishima shows Katsuki around the house, which Kirishima and Mina designed and helped to build. There’s a room for all of Kirishima’s things—his ‘den of manliness’, as he calls it—which has quite a collection of weapons, as well as some things he and his mother salvaged when they fled District 12. There’s a framed photo of Kirishima’s father, and his parent’s wedding photo. Baby pictures of his siblings, standing in front of the long-lost streets and houses of the Seam. 

Katsuki looks at a crossbow mounted on the wall, heavy with scopes and triggers. “Is this the one you got in Thirteen?” 

“Nah, I never got that one back, unfortunately,” Kirishima says, “But Kaminari gave me this one. How’re you managing shooting with your left hand? Maybe a crossbow might be easier for you.” 

“I can shoot with my right again,” Katsuki says. He jabs a thumb at the crossbow, “D’you use this much?”  

“Usually not, unless I’m huntin’ bear.” 

“Better not be doin’ that alone.” 

“Usually I go with my brother, if he’s free,” Kirishima says, “That’s good to hear that you can shoot with your dominant hand again, though. So you still hunt then?” 

Katsuki shrugs. “Not nearly as often these days. There ain’t much need for it. ‘Zu and Toshi like wild game durin’ the holidays, but otherwise, well…it’s just huntin’ for sport, which I can’t bring myself to do. We do a lot of fishing, though.” 

Kirishima looks vaguely disappointed by this news for a fleeting moment, but presses on. “I can’t wait to show Yumiko. She already loves goin’ on hikes up the mountain. She’ll be great. Kenji is early to say, though.” 

“Yeah. He’s awful quiet, for bein’ yours and Mina’s kid. He’s keen, though. You can see it in his eyes. Always watchin’ everyone and everything.” 

Kirishima seems pleased to hear this. “He’s gonna be a little genius, I’ll bet,” he says with pride, “What about your kiddo?” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Despite the fact that Kota and Eri’s daughter is very much not related to him by blood, Kirishima has been determined to tease Katsuki relentlessly about the fact she may as well be, ever since Katsuki first mentioned her. Maybe it wouldn’t have been something so easy for Kirishima to poke fun at him for, if Kota and Eri hadn't used the last characters from Katsuki and Izuku’s names when naming their kid. Bunch of sentimental saps.  

“Kiku is fine,” Katsuki mutters, “She turned five last month.”

“Has her Quirk factor manifested yet?” Kirishima asks, “Usually five is the age it does.”

“Not yet,” Katsuki says, “What about Yumiko?” 

Kirishima grins. “It’s called Acid Arrow! She can shoot hard, corrosive bolts outta her hands. We found out when she melted the new curtains Mina put in.” 

“Guess that’s one way of tellin’ ya she hated ‘em.” 

“We both hated ‘em. They were hot pink and black tiger stripes,” Kirishima says, voice dropping low, even though Mina is outside and well out of earshot, “I’ve never been more proud as a father.” 

“You should bring ‘em home,” Katsuki says impulsively, “Show ‘em where ya grew up. Kiku and Yumiko are the same age. They could…grow up together. Like we did.” 

Kirishima’s eyes soften. “Twelve is in the people,” he says, “That’s what you told me once.” 

“And I meant it,” Katsuki says, “You also told me you’d think about it. Comin’ home.” 

“I did,” Kirishima says, sighing. 

Katsuki’s logic starts to catch up with his impulsiveness, and he begins to backpedal. “But then again, you’re the mayor of Two now. And you’ve built this house…you’ve got roots here. Maybe ya weren’t plannin’ on gettin’ stuck here for all that time, but…” 

“I wasn’t,” Kirishima admits, “But…that doesn’t mean I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it. If anything, bein’ isolated from all of you for all those years, it made me think…life is so short. I went and got married and had a coupla kids, and it flew right by. And we’ve missed so much of each other’s lives. I’d hate to miss any more. But yer right, I’ve got my job here, and Mina is close to the Capitol for her broadcasting work. We love the house…I guess all I can say for now is, we’re thinkin’ about it, and…we promise to visit as much as we can, in the meantime.”

Katsuki nods. “I’ll hold ya to it.” 

“So,” Kirishima says, raising his eyebrows, his tone lilting. “You and Midoriya.” 

“Me and Izuku,” Katsuki says, “What about us?” 

“Quite the tan line on your finger,” Kirishima notes, “What happened to that ring he gave ya?” 

Suddenly, his conversation with Izuku from the previous night comes back to Katsuki, as well as the events. His ears are burning a little from the memories as he digs into his pocket to pull out the ring in question. “I’ve still got it,” He tucks it back into his pocket. “It’s gotten too small, though.” 

“Did you two ever…go to the Justice Building? Sign some papers? Maybe do a private little toasting ceremony?” Kirishima asks playfully.

“Nope.” 

Kirishima blinks. “...What the hell are you two waitin’ for, the world to end?” 

“More like the opposite,” Katsuki grumbles, “Never felt like the right timing.” 

Kirishima rubs at his face. “You two are hopeless,” he groans, “Oh, well. Guess that just means I didn’t hafta miss your wedding, too.”

“How’s this, I’ll marry Izuku when you move back to Twelve.” 

Kirishima knocks his head back and groans. “C’mon, man, no fair! Don’t ultimatum me!” 

That night, it’s Izuku who is the instigator, and while there’s no Blackwhip involved this time around, Katsuki is still breathing hard when Izuku rolls off, draws him into his arms, and kisses him on the forehead.  

“Shit,” Katsuki says, voice muffled in Izuku’s chest, “Not that I’m complainin’, but, what the hell’s gotten into you?” 

“How would you feel about going to the Capitol?” Izuku asks. 

Katsuki’s eyes pop open at this, and he sits up to properly look Izuku in the eye. “What?” And then his eyes narrow. “Izuku. Did you have sex with me just now in order to butter me up for this conversation?” 

Izuku swallows. “Maybe a little,” he admits.

Katsuki refuses to admit how unfairly hot that is, on principle, continuing to glare at Izuku instead of kissing him stupid. But he can feel his ears getting warm. “You fuckin’ scoundrel.”

“Sorry,” Izuku sighs, “I just knew it wouldn’t be an…easy topic. Thought you’d be more receptive if you were in a, uh, good mood. We haven’t been back there in eight years. But, I’ve just been thinking…about your ring.” 

Katsuki’s affronted scowl vanishes as he raises his eyebrows. “…Oh?”

“We could take it to a jeweller in the city, and have it resized so you can wear it again. Maybe you could even have some new gems put back in it.” 

Katsuki blinks. “Oh.” 

“We don’t have to, of course,” Izuku says quickly, “It was just a thought.” 

Katsuki lays his head back down on Izuku’s chest. He can feel the erratic beating of his heart, and has a feeling it has more to do with his request than their recent exertions. Yet another one of the many perks of One For All was it gave Izuku impeccable stamina. His refractory period wasn’t too shabby, either. “I guess we can’t exactly avoid it forever,” Katsuki mutters, “I mean, we could, but…maybe we shouldn’t.” 

“I know the timing isn’t great, considering how agitated we both got with the Capitol people at the museum, but…I was thinking, since we’re already in Two, it would be a short train ride to get to the Capitol,” Izuku explains, “And that might make it…easier. We wouldn’t have to sit on the train drowning in anxiety for hours, digging up a bunch of bad memories.”

Katsuki nods. “That’s a good idea. So, we’d go there in the morning?” 

“Yeah,” Izuku says, “Only if you’re okay with it.” 

“I’m not so sure I’ll ever be okay with it,” Katsuki admits, “But…I would like to get the ring resized. It feels…weird, not having it on. Do you…remember the pearl?” 

Izuku has to think about it for a moment, which makes Katsuki’s chest ache. Over the years, he’s managed to recollect a few trace memories of the Quarter Quell, but a lot of it is still missing. Things of such huge significance to Katsuki are only a whisper of a memory for Izuku, and Katsuki can’t deny that it still hurts to think of sometimes. 

“…Oh. The one that I gave you?” Izuku asks.

Katsuki sags a little with relief. “Yes. I kept it until the end of the war. It was with me all the time, but…I don’t know what happened to it after that. I never got it back after I got out of the hospital. I wish I had—it’s the one piece of the arenas I wish I still had.” 

“I never knew that,” Izuku murmurs, “What does that have to do with your ring, though?” 

“Well, for a while, in Thirteen, I had both. Two pieces of you to keep with me, when you weren’t there. And now that I don’t have the pearl, the ring is all I have left. I lost the pearl when it was in my pocket, so having the ring in my pocket, instead of bein’ able to wear it…” 

Izuku presses a kiss to Katsuki’s temple. “I would hate for you to lose it, too,” Izuku says, “I had thought about…getting you a completely new ring. A few times, actually.”

Katsuki’s heart lurches, and starts to pound anew. “...Yeah?” 

Katsuki feels Izuku’s chest rise and fall with a shaky breath. “Yeah. But…even though the first one I gave you came from a proposal that we agreed doesn’t count…it’s still…special. It was with you through the rebellion, the war…when I couldn’t be. It’s irreplaceable.” 

Katsuki sighs. “Well, I guess there’s nothin’ for it, then," he says, "We’re goin' back." 

Chapter Text

xviii.

Several people vied for the honour to offer them a place to stay in the Capitol—Midnight, Dr. Yoshida, even President Takami—but in the end, they accepted the invitation of Kota’s cousin, Shino, to use her apartment. Turns out she’s good friends with Ragdoll, who lives in the same building, just a few floors above, and will stay with her while Katsuki and Izuku use her apartment. 

Apart from the District 1 flags everywhere, the Capitol is remarkably similar to the last time Katsuki saw it. The destroyed buildings in the outer blocks have been rebuilt exactly, as far as he can tell. The collective style of the citizens is a little less flamboyant now, but that’s the only real change. They still crowd around Katsuki and Izuku as they arrive, pressing in on each other to get a look at the two of them as they disembark from the train. Fortunately, Shino is waiting for them at the station entrance with a car ready, and they hastily pile into the back seat and are whisked away, just like the old days. 

Katsuki has never been in the Capitol during autumn, so that’s a bit different. There is a pleasant golden coloured tint to the streets, like he’s looking at the world through a bottle of honey. He’s just grateful they haven’t come back in the summer, when it would be too much like when they were there for the Games; or the winter, when it would have been too much like being there during the war. 

Shino’s apartment, by Capitol standards, is a fairly modest place—one story, one bedroom, and two baths. It’s in the inner blocks of the Capitol, about four blocks from the president’s mansion. They’re unable to avoid the open windows, and the view from the dining room that looks right out on the City Circle. 

“What’s the Training Centre being used for these days?” Izuku asks. 

Shino looks from Izuku to Katsuki, as if suddenly realizing that these landmarks—just a background to her everyday life—are monuments of dread to them. Katsuki internally squirms, hating being pitied. There was nothing to be done about it; they were just buildings. Not their fault that they belonged to a time in Katsuki’s life that looms so largely and darkly over everything that came before and after. 

“It started out as a place for the rebels who were too injured to go home right away after the war,” Shino explains, “With the hospital facility already there, it just made sense. Would you…like to see it? Take a tour?” 

“No,” Katsuki and Izuku say at once, in unison. 

The next day, Midnight arrives in her own car to escort them to the jeweller's. She’s dressed the most modestly that Katsuki has ever seen her, outside of the drab grey jumpsuits everyone had to wear in District 13. She’s wearing her black hair tied back in a sensible ponytail, with pointy red eyeglasses and a deep blue sweater dress paired with knee-high boots. She’s still talking about the same things she talked about ten years ago, namely how she’s still moving among the people who mean something in the Capitol. But at least she’s ditched the erotic getups. 

At the jeweller’s, Katsuki and Izuku browse through the store for a while, looking over the glittery gems and shimmery silver chains, before Katsuki has his ring size taken before he reluctantly hands over his band to be resized. They look through a selection of gemstones, and select a small carnelian and emerald stone to be placed in the band, as well. They’re told it will take three days for the ring to be resized—normally it would take much longer, but since Katsuki and Izuku are ‘special customers’, the jeweller is pushing back his other orders to give them priority. 

Katsuki supposes the price of celebrity can pay off sometimes. It would have been dreadful to be stuck in the Capitol for weeks. The thought of being here even for three days still weirds Katsuki out. 

“There’s quite a lot of scuffs and scratches on the band,” the jeweller says, while he examines the ring under a magnifying glass, making sure the selected gemstones will fit. “Would you like me to polish it? I can buff those right out, make it look like new again.” 

“Absolutely not,” Katsuki says instantly, “Leave it exactly as it is.”

The jeweller seems a little puzzled by this for a moment, but then he shrugs. “Suit yourself.” 

After they leave the jewelry shop, Izuku turns to Katsuki with a rather bemused expression. “Do you want to see where I lived when I was in the Capitol?” 

For a moment Katsuki thinks Izuku must mean the cell he had been kept in during his weeks of torture, and his face must register his disbelief, because Izuku laughs a little. 

“After I got out of the hospital, I mean,” Izuku clarifies, “Where Dr. Yoshida did all the work on my head. Perhaps he’s there today, and we can visit him.” 

Katsuki suppresses the urge to wrinkle his nose. “I guess we oughta find some way to kill time while we’re here.” 

“Maybe we can do some shopping,” Izuku suggests, “Back home everything is traded or ordered from catalogs. It’d be nice to spoil you. Maybe Wild, Wild Pussycats is still in business. I can get you some fur underwear.” 

Katsuki snorts, and smacks Izuku on the arm. “Pervert.” 

Izuku grins. “Well, since we have to be here…we might as well have some fun, right?” 

After they do some window shopping in town, they meet up with Dr. Yoshida, who insists on taking them to the theatre to see a play. Outside the theatre, they’re cornered by someone writing an original play about the rebellion who does not stop talking about it until Shino pulls up to take them back to her apartment, where she invites them to a dinner party at Ragdoll’s. 

This is a bit of another chore, as most of Ragdoll’s friends and colleagues are also old stylists from the Games, who are more or less interesting, enthusiastic, and kind individually, but as a group are just exhausting. Jirou and Kaminari drop in, which is a nice surprise, though they arrive late into the evening so they don’t get much time to spend with them. They announce that they’ve just gotten married the weekend before. 

“What!” Izuku cries, “I didn’t even know you two were engaged!” 

Jirou laughs, waving her hand through the air. “We weren’t,” she says, “We just decided, what the hell, right? Why bother with an engagement when we could just go to the Justice Building and sign the papers to make it legit. I didn’t really care to have some big, fancy wedding, anyway.” 

“And not all of us wanna waste our time bein’ engaged for, like, a million years,” Kaminari jeers, jabbing Katsuki in the ribs with an elbow. Katsuki swats him away. “Seriously, you guys, what gives?” 

“Oh, leave them alone, Denki,” Jirou sighs. 

“What? C’mon, babe, you were just tellin’ me the other day how—”

Jirou claps a hand hastily over Kaminari’s mouth. “Ignore him!” she exclaims. She gives Katsuki and Izuku a sheepish smile. “Don’t worry about it, you guys. All this idiot cares about is having an excuse to party and drink his face off.” 

Kaminari pushes his wife’s hand away, clapping a hand to his chest with feigned hurt. “That’s totally not true! I simply want to bask in the light of our dear friend’s love!”

“You are so full of it.”

In bed that night, Katsuki is both thoroughly exhausted and yet completely sleepless, staring up at the dark ceiling with his mind racing. Normally when people cracked jokes about Katsuki and Izuku getting engaged or married, Katsuki didn’t let it get to him. But there had been so much talk of it lately, in such a short amount of time, that now it was quite literally keeping him up at night.  

“Kacchan?” Izuku’s small voice suddenly cuts through the darkness. He had been so silent and still, Katsuki had assumed he was asleep. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’ve been thinking…” 

Katsuki’s heart automatically starts pounding. “...Oh?”

“About that guy outside the theatre, who was going off about that idea he had, for a play about the rebellion?” 

Katsuki’s heart rate instantly settles down. “Oh.” 

“It got me thinking about the memory book,” Izuku goes on, “It’s been a few years since we’ve touched it. I think there’s even more stuff we could write about the people in the book. It was hard not to be brief, back when we first started. But I think there is more to be said. That book will probably end up in the Capitol library or something one day, reproduced, kept for posterity. It’ll tell our tale for us long after we’re gone, hopefully. If we expand on it, we could explain not only who the people in it were, but put in context how and why they died. The people who end up reading it one day will be so removed from it all, so disconnected from us. For some of the ones in that book, we’re the last vessels of their memory, and that’s…a sacred trust. To forget them would dishonour the memories of the dead.” 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says slowly, “You’re right.”

“But maybe, instead of expanding on the memory book, what if…you wrote it all out? From beginning to end.” 

Katsuki turns his head to look at Izuku. “Me?” 

“Yeah. So people don’t forget the real story.” 

That sounds like a lot of work. “I dunno if I’m the right person for that,” Katsuki says. 

“Who else would you suggest? You’d never get a straight story out of Toshinori.” 

“What about you? It’s your idea, after all.” 

“I could help with it, sure, but there’s an awful lot I don’t know. And even what I do remember can’t always be trusted. And you’re the better writer, anyway,” Izuku says, “When you told me that thing about the pearl, how it was the one piece of the arenas you wish you still had, it just made me realize…that’s the sort of thing I’d like to read about.” 

Katsuki looks back up at the ceiling. “I’ll think about it.” 

As much as Katsuki hates to admit it, he’s actually kind of been enjoying the Capitol, in its own right. He and Izuku have kept themselves busy exploring the city. They avoid the City Circle as much as possible, but they walk the avenues to look at all the fancy shops; check out the markets to browse the booths of fruits and vegetables, fabrics, knick-knacks and jewelry; check out old paintings and statues in the museum, visit Midnight in her fancy townhouse, and go out to dinner with Jirou and Kaminari to celebrate their nuptials. Izuku also recommends they get eye exams done, since there were only licensed optometrists here in the Capitol or in District 8. 

“What the hell for?” Katsuki asks on their way there. 

Izuku shrugs. “Well, it’s something to do, for one thing. And for another, we’ve never gotten eye tests done, and we’re not getting any younger. If one of us did end up needing glasses, then we might as well check things out now to see if that’ll be a possibility.” 

Katsuki looks at Izuku suspiciously. He had that shifting lilt to his tone, the kind that was a dead giveaway he wasn’t telling Katsuki the whole of it. “You’re not tellin’ me something,” Katsuki accuses. 

Izuku presses his lips together. “Well, it’s just…I’ve kind of noticed that…I think that maybe…you might need them.” 

“What!” 

Izuku waves his hands around. “D-don’t be mad! It’s—it’s just a part of growing up! For some people, anyway. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki scowls. “I’m not fuckin’ embarrassed, and I don’t need damn glasses. My shots used to be sloppy as shit, sure, but that’s because my arm was messed up, not my eyes. And I can shoot a rabbit clean through the eye now. Left or right-handed.” 

Izuku nods emphatically. “I-I know. Kacchan is still an amazing hunter! It’s just…well…I’ve noticed that you tend to squint whenever there’s text on the television? Or, um, when we were at the art show in Two, I noticed that you had to get pretty close to the signs to read the names of the pieces, and exhibits. So…” 

Katsuki can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I have perfect fucking vision, Izuku.” 

Just then, they reach the optometrist’s office, and come to a stop outside the doors. Izuku looks sheepishly at Katsuki, and shrugs. “Still…it wouldn’t hurt to at least check.” 

Katsuki scoffs loudly, storming up to the door and swinging it open, standing aside to let Izuku walk in. “Just you watch. My eyes are gonna see a hell of a lot better than yours.” 

Izuku sighs as he steps through the threshold. “Not everything has to be a competition, Kacchan,” he says, “But, if it’ll get you to take an eye exam…” 

“If anyone needs glasses it’s you, nerd!” 

But one eye examination later, Izuku—who is barely containing his smugness—and an extremely dismayed and utterly infuriated Katsuki are standing in an eyewear store, with a brand-new prescription written up for Katsuki. Izuku, with his perfect 20/20 vision, scans out the wall of eyeglasses excitedly before selecting a pair. “I think this style might suit you,” he says, handing them to Katsuki. 

Katsuki snatches the glasses from Izuku and, not bothering to try them on, stomps over to the clerk behind the counter and slaps them down along with his prescription information. “Hey. Put lenses in these stupid things,” he demands. 

The clerk takes the glasses and hurries off into the back room to install the prescribed lenses into the frames, and Izuku and Katsuki wait in a sitting area in the corner of the glasses shop. Katsuki is sunk low in his seat, knee jittering with impatience and annoyance. Izuku watches him carefully. “We could…browse some of the other frames while we wait?” Izuku suggests, “You didn’t even bother to try the other ones on. What if you don’t like them?” 

“I’ll hate ‘em no matter what,” Katsuki grouses. 

Izuku leans over and pats Katsuki on the knee. “They’re just for reading and driving. You don’t even have to wear them full-time. Just when you think you’ll need them. Oh, they’ll probably be good for when you’re crocheting, too. It’ll make it so much easier to see the stitches properly, won’t it?” 

Katsuki merely gives a low grunt in response, glaring off at nothing. Eventually Izuku gets up from his seat and goes off to browse the glasses by himself, leaving Katsuki to grouch. After a few minutes, he returns to his seat, but Katsuki is looking out the shop window people-watching, and doesn’t acknowledge him. 

“Kacchan, what do you think of these ones?” 

Katsuki lets out a terse, irritated sigh and looks away from the window and over to Izuku, but the frown is wiped quickly off his face at what he sees. Izuku is wearing the most garish pair of glasses that Katsuki thinks he’s ever seen in his life. They were clear aquamarine blue frames bedazzled with multi-colour gemstones, with glittery spikes coming off of the corners. Despite himself, Katsuki bursts out a loud snort of a laugh, and shakes his head. 

“You look like a peacock,” he says. 

“These ones are even better,” Izuku says. He pulls off the blue bedazzled frames and slips on another pair in his hands. The lenses are shaped to look like butterfly wings. “But I think these are my favourite.” The second pair gets replaced by a third, which have long strings of pearls dangling from the bottom of the frames. They clatter together noisily with the slightest movement of Izuku’s head. He shakes his head around exaggeratedly in order to make the pearls flop around and smack into the lenses. 

“Very practical,” Katsuki says. 

“Yeah, these ones are definitely the winner.” 

Katsuki snickers, and knocks at Izuku’s leg with his foot, which turns into them trading small kicks back and forth until the clerk comes back out with Katsuki’s glasses. Somewhat appeased by Izuku’s antics, Katsuki decides to humour him a little and try the glasses on, refusing to admit when the world around him becomes instantly sharper in a way Katsuki has never experienced it before, even when he was younger. Katsuki refuses the offered mirror, and the clerk and Izuku both assure him that the frames compliment his features nicely. The clerk offers him a protective case, which Katsuki puts the glasses straight into the moment it’s handed to him, and then they leave the shop. And even though Katsuki is admittedly curious to see all the details he can make out on Izuku’s face with them, the glasses remain in their case. If Katsuki could have it his way, that’s where they would remain, forever collecting dust. 

Finally, it’s time to head back to the jewelry store to pick up the ring. As promised, the scuffs and marks across the silver band have been untouched, though the metal has been gently cleaned, which Katsuki allows. The gemstones in the band—real ones now, instead of fakes to conceal vials of Quirk-reviving antidote serum—glisten in the shop lights, pretty and perfect. Izuku uses some of the money he earned at the art show in District 2 to pay for the resizing and the gemstones, although Katsuki has a feeling the jeweller has charged them significantly less than his usual prices. Katsuki takes the ring box from the man and tucks it away in his coat pocket. 

The jeweller and Izuku both give Katsuki a curious look. “Aren’t you going to try it on? Make sure it fits?” the jeweller asks. 

“Not right now,” Katsuki says. 

Unlike the glasses, Izuku doesn’t try to fight him on it, staying quiet at his side.

After a brief stop back at Shino’s apartment to pack their bags, Katsuki and Izuku head straight for the train station to make their way home at last. Izuku sits next to Katsuki, looking very relaxed to be on the train with Panem flying past them and the Capitol disappearing from sight. This trip is one they’ve taken freely—for once. Another step, another painful part of the past behind them.

“It was all so long ago,” Izuku says quietly, “Longer than it feels, really.” 

Katsuki knows what he means. In the instant Izuku says it, Katsuki can feel it all again, as fresh and raw as ever. The cold surface of the Cornucopia, the searing pain from the burn on his leg, the fear pressing in all around him. He closes his eyes against the memories welling up. Shit. He’d kept so busy while they were in the city, that it all seemed to be just catching up to him now. 

“Ten years since we first kissed,” Izuku goes on. Katsuki opens his eyes and looks at Izuku to see him watching Katsuki, a little concerned. He’s clearly trying to lighten the mood a little. “That’s also an anniversary.” 

Katsuki nudges him a little with his shoulder. “We’re gettin’ old,” he mutters. 

“Or maybe we were just so young, when it all happened,” Izuku says softly.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, “We really were.” 

Izuku looks at Katsuki. “Are you going to try your ring on?” he asks, “We’d better make sure it fits, so we won’t have to go right back.” 

Katsuki digs into his coat pocket, and pulls out the ring box, flicking it open with his thumb. For a moment, he looks down at the band, sitting securely within the black velvet, with the orange and green gems glinting in the light. Then he looks to Izuku and holds out the ring box. 

“…Wanna do the honours?” 

Izuku looks from Katsuki to the ring box, and then slowly takes it from Katsuki’s hand with careful fingers. “Okay.” 

Katsuki shifts in his seat, twisting his torso to face Izuku, and holds out his left hand while Izuku pulls the ring from the box. Izuku sets the ring box aside and then gently takes Katsuki by the wrist, keeping his hand steady as he slowly slides the ring onto his third finger. The metal is cold, heavy, and familiar against Katsuki’s skin. It’s the perfect fit. 

The two of them stare down at the ring for a time, and then back up at each other. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku says slowly, “I’ve been thinking…” 

Katsuki smiles. This time, he’s pretty sure they’re both thinking the same thing. Their feelings are one. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, “Me, too.” 

When they arrive home late that night, Katsuki and Izuku sit on the rug in front of the hearth, and build a fire together. Then they toast a piece of bread, and share it between them.

Without the official paperwork, technically they aren’t legally married. But nobody in 12 ever really feels married until after the toasting, anyway. And besides, did the legality even really matter? There is no open-endedness, no assumption of an eventual retreat. They don’t need anything more than this to feel perfectly joined. They would have been together for the rest of their lives, no matter what. The legal stuff would just put a public seal on the whole thing, which would be satisfying in its own right, Katsuki supposes. But it could wait. They’ve waited this long, after all. 

“How do you feel?” Izuku asks. 

“I don’t really feel any more like your husband than I already did yesterday,” Katsuki admits, “As for the paperwork, once we get to that—how’s that gonna work? Am I…Katsuki Midoriya now? Or are you Izuku Bakugou?” 

Izuku smiles. “You don’t have to change your name.” 

“I guess our names don’t really belong to us, anyway,” Katsuki says, suddenly frowning, “Although, I guess Deku and Dynamight were the stage names. I’m not so sure about our real ones.” 

“I was never really Deku to them,” Izuku says, “Only to you.”

The frown slips away from Katsuki’s face, replaced with a small smile. “The same way I’m only Kacchan to you?” 

Izuku beams. “Exactly.” 

Katsuki leans back on his elbows. “What about you? Feel any different?” 

Izuku shrugs. “Not really. You’re right. It’s no different to how I’ve felt for years. Maybe actual paperwork will really…cement it all, but…this is nice. To have just a private toasting, where only the two of us know about it. I’m happy to keep it entirely to ourselves for a while. Once we file paperwork, the Capitol will be notified, because of the house. So there will be some fuss then, most likely. If we want to do a proper wedding with everyone, we’ll have to keep it low-key. Make sure the Capitol and the cameras stay out of our hair. If they get even a sniff of a major event, they’ll be here before we can sneeze. Too many people invested in the love story for them not to.” 

“That’s your fault,” Katsuki tells him. 

Izuku chuckles. “You played your part pretty well, too, from what I can remember.” 

“Only ‘cause you kept one-uppin’ me,” Katsuki says. 

“You know, love isn’t a competition, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki grins. “Maybe it ain’t,” he says, “But I’m still winning.” 

“Is that so?” Izuku’s expression is suddenly sly, and he moves to bracket Katsuki between his arms. “And will there be two winners again?” 

“Well,” Katsuki says with a smirk, reaching up to loop his arms around Izuku’s neck, and pull him close. “I guess that depends on whether or not this counts as our wedding night.” 

Izuku laughs against Katsuki’s lips. “Oh, it definitely counts.” 

They don't tell anyone about the toasting ceremony, not even Toshinori. It feels good to have something that is entirely their own, that nobody else in the world knows about except for them. Katsuki doesn't think they're giving it away too badly; they're really not acting all that differently. They've already been together for so long, that any additional affection witnessed by others would likely just get chalked up to them being in a particularly favourable mood, and not much else. Regardless, if anyone does have any suspicions, Katsuki never hears about it. 

Life goes on as usual. Izuku continues his work with the district council and the bakery, with Katsuki helping out with the first-of-the-morning baking, before the shop is open. Some days, when Katsuki is finding sleep particularly elusive, he will go to the bakery as dawn is breaking and start the ovens before Izuku is even out of bed. He enjoys the busywork, especially when his mind is occupied and restless. He starts simple, with the things he knows how to do without even thinking about it, mixing flour, butter, and water for the drop biscuits which remain a staple of the district, best served nice and hot. He sets the dough aside, and then mixes more dough for leavened bread. He's got three big bowls done and covered with damp cloths when Izuku arrives. Katsuki has his nose in one of Izuku's recipe binders, where he has written out instructions for Eri and Kota about everything they serve at the bakery. Izuku comes up beside him and presses a kiss to Katsuki's cheek. 

"You've been productive this morning," Izuku comments, smiling softly. "Kota will be happy." 

"Only because that brat is allergic to work," Katsuki grunts out, turning the page. "Kid shoulda been here fifteen minutes ago to start the ovens." 

"I usually do that; I always get here before him," Izuku says, "They have to get Kiku ready for school, after all. Do you have your glasses with you?" 

At that, Katsuki looks up from the binder and frowns at Izuku. "I don't need those stupid things to bake.”

"No, but you need them for reading, right? You've been squinting at that page since I walked in. Plus you're holding the book right up to your face," Izuku says. 

Katsuki bristles a little. He snaps the binder closed and shoves it into Izuku's chest. "I was just trying to decipher your awful chicken-scratch. This shit is barely legible."

Izuku sets the binder aside. "You haven't put those glasses on once since we got back from the Capitol," he says, "I don't know why you're so against them. If you keep on straining your eyes without them, your eyesight will just get worse, and then you'll need them full-time." 

Katsuki looks away. "I'm not against them, it's just that I've never had to wear shit like that before," he mutters, "I forget I even have them and just keep doin' what I always have." 

"Well, it might be good to get into the habit of having them on hand, at least," Izuku suggests, "Where did you put the case, anyway?"

Katsuki has to give it some thought. He's pretty sure he left them in the bag he packed when they went to District 2, then the Capitol. Eventually he looks back to Izuku and offers him a shrug. "Bathroom drawer, I think," he lies. 

If Izuku sees right through him—which he very likely does, because Katsuki is an awful liar, and nobody knows that better than Izuku—he doesn't comment on it, though he does raise his eyebrow a little. "You know, they really did look good on you," Izuku tells him, "For the two seconds you tried them on in the glasses shop, anyway. They make you look...distinguished." 

Katsuki wrinkles his nose. 

"Okay, wrong word choice," Izuku says, chuckling, "What did you tell me once? That I would 'still look pretty cute with glasses'? Well, it goes both ways." 

Katsuki looks away again. "That ain't much better," he grumbles, "A grown man can't be cute." 

"Kacchan, you call me cute all the time." 

"Well, you're the exception to the rule," Katsuki says. He reaches over with a finger still caked in flour, and pokes Izuku in the cheek. "Seein' as you're pushin' thirty and still have baby fat." 

Izuku pouts, but of course that doesn't exactly help his case, because it's adorable. Katsuki drags Izuku in by the belt loops of his trousers and placates him with kisses until they hear the bell jingle at the front of the shop, signalling Kota and Eri have arrived. Izuku springs away from Katsuki, flushed all the way down his neck. Katsuki grabs an apron and whips it across the room at Kota, who lets out a squawk and covers his face as he enters the kitchen. 

“You’re late, brat! Get a move on!” 

Izuku hastily, inconspicuously dusts the flour marks left behind on his hips while Kota is tying on his apron and grumbling to himself. 

That was the first time Izuku brought up the stupid glasses, and unfortunately for Katsuki, it wasn’t the last. In fact, Izuku becomes downright relentless about it. Katsuki can't work on memory book pages, crochet, watch television, read a book, or get behind the wheel without Izuku asking him about the damn things. He ends up having little choice but to fish the case out of their empty luggage, where it has remained untouched since their return from the Capitol weeks ago. He eventually does put them on, keeping them near the couch so he can wear them while they watch television. And it turns out they are pretty handy for crocheting, though he is loathe to admit it.

It doesn’t help matters when Toshinori looks at him with a faraway look in his eye whenever he happens to be around when Katsuki is wearing them. Katsuki never calls him out on it, but one day while Katsuki is wearing them to work on polishing his arrowheads, Toshinori finally speaks up. 

“Do you ever look like your dad.” 

Katsuki pauses in his work and looks up. That’s the first Katsuki’s ever heard such a thing. “I don’t look a thing like him.” 

Toshinori shrugs a little. “It’s in your mannerisms. The way you frown when you’re concentrating on something. Or how your shoulders tense up when you’re thinking too hard. You’re his boy, alright. The glasses help a bit—he had a similar pair, after all. Thin, dark, rectangular. Is that why you picked them out?” 

Katsuki exhales slowly. “No. I didn’t pick them,” He sets aside his arrow head and cloth, and is quiet for a beat before he looks back up at Toshinori. “You never talk about him.” Toshinori hasn’t told Katsuki more about Masaru since the day he added to Masaru’s pages in the memory book. 

Toshinori smiles a little, small and sad. “Still hurts, even now.” 

Katsuki can only nod. He of all people gets how that feels. 

Though Toshinori’s words bring a small semblance of comfort, Katsuki still determinedly continues to go without the glasses as much as possible. Izuku catches him in the kitchen one night, struggling to read by lantern light, and wordlessly hands Katsuki the glasses. Katsuki takes them from him, wearing them just long enough to finish the page he was reading before closing the book and pulling the glasses back off. When he looks up, he finds Izuku is watching him with a rather intense look in his eyes. 

"What?" Katsuki says, unable to keep the tension out of his voice. 

"Your hair looks like it could use a trim," Izuku says quietly, "Want me to cut it for you?" 

It had kind of been getting into his eyes lately. Maybe that was the real cause for all this supposed 'squinting' he's been doing. It's not his eyes that are the problem; his hair is just in the way. "Sure." 

Even though they're on the hydro grid, out of a force of habit (and, honestly, personal preference) all the lights are off in the house, safe for a few lanterns that cast long, flickering shadows against the walls. Katsuki wets his hair at the sink, and then Izuku gets Katsuki to sit in a chair in the middle of the kitchen. Izuku stands behind him, combing through the ash blond strands with his fingers and gathering up small sections to carefully trim the ends with a pair of heavy silver hair-cutting scissors (a birthday gift Katsuki received from Hakamada last year). The only sound is the rhythmic snick, snick of the scissor blades as they snip away at the overgrown ends of Katsuki's hair. 

Izuku traces the curve of Katsuki's ear with his thumb as he brushes away some loose strands, and Katsuki can't help but shiver under the touch, but he says nothing. Izuku pauses for a moment, but makes no comment either, and continues working. 

Katsuki lets Izuku tilt his chin this way and that, lets him press a steadying palm to the top of his head, holding him in place as he cleans up the nape of his neck. Izuku's fingers drift along, mostly focused on the task at hand, though there are moments where it seems like they linger just a little longer than necessary. 

Izuku comes around to the front, bending at the knees and meticulously manipulating the pieces of hair that frame Katsuki's face, ensuring they were cut evenly. He doesn't make eye contact with Katsuki, absorbed in his task. Katsuki looks over Izuku's shoulder, watching the shadows dance across the far wall, until suddenly he feels Izuku cup his face in both hands. Katsuki hadn't even noticed he had set the scissors down. Katsuki's gaze flickers to meet Izuku's, and he finds that same peculiar, intense look in those forest-green eyes. 

"Kacchan," Izuku says slowly, "You know you're beautiful, right?" 

Katsuki blinks, and his mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. But even if a question had begun to form on his lips, Izuku wouldn't have given him a chance to ask it, anyway. Izuku leans in, pressing his lips firmly to Katsuki's before moving to the raised, jagged scar on his right cheek. One of many scars that had made him ugly, but the one Katsuki associates the most with that ugliness. It’s the scar he received the same moment he lost his mother, the same day her and her beauty had been taken from the world. And in the wake of that loss, her supposed ‘spitting image’ had been marred, his face slashed open with the debris from the explosion that killed her. Katsuki swallows, his chest feeling tight all of a sudden. His fingers twitch where they rest on his knees. 

Izuku pulls away. "You're beautiful. And...your scars are beautiful." 

Katsuki looks away. "That's just what people say when they feel sorry for—" 

But Izuku grabs him by the jaw, and forces him to look at him. "No. Maybe some people, but not me," he says, "Your scars...you—" 

Katsuki tries to pull his chin free, but Izuku has him in an iron grip. He rolls his eyes instead. "Earned them, yeah, whatever, I know—" 

"Fuck earning anything," Izuku says tightly, looking suddenly frustrated, "Especially with anything to do with the war. You survived. That's what makes them beautiful. You think I'm bullshitting you? I've got them, too. I know that it can be difficult sometimes, in all the vain, pointless ways you can think of—" 

"That's not what—I don't care about—" Katsuki begins, but then he falters, because he does care, even though that feels so stupid. Vain and pointless, just like Izuku said. He presses his lips together, not trusting himself to speak. His heart is starting to pound. 

"Then what?" Izuku asks, looking desperate now, "Why is it whenever I tell you, you don't believe me? You're beautiful, Kacchan, you—" 

Katsuki reaches up and clamps his fingers over Izuku's mouth, cutting off his words. "No, I'm not." 

Izuku seizes Katsuki's arm so fiercely Katsuki nearly yells out from how it startles him. He pushes Katsuki's hand away from his mouth. "But you are. You always have been. You're the most—" 

"Stop it, Izuku," Katsuki says, voice strained, "Just stop. Look, you...you don't have to—maybe you thought that before, and back then maybe I was, but—those were different people and a different time. I know I don't look the same, and I know you don't see me the same, and that's fine. You won't offend me by bein' honest. In fact, I'd prefer the honesty, instead of you tellin' me shit that just ain't true." 

Izuku's eyes are wide with bewilderment. "What on earth has made you think I don't see you the same?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "That I've been lying to you all this time?" 

Katsuki is incapable of meeting his gaze, but when he tries to look away, Izuku takes hold of his face yet again. "Izuku—" 

"Tell me," Izuku begs, "Please, Kacchan. Talk to me."

Katsuki closes his eyes. It's the only reprieve he can get. "There's nothing to say." 

"Does this have something to do with the glasses?" 

Katsuki goes rigid, and he opens his eyes. Izuku exhales through his nose, leaning in closer to press their foreheads together. It pins Katsuki against the back of the chair, keeping him in place. "You need them, but refuse to wear them. And every time I try and tell you that you look good, you ignore it, or dismiss it somehow."

"It's not...just about the stupid glasses," Katsuki mutters haltingly. 

Izuku looks up. "Yeah. You’re right. You dismiss all my compliments, not just the ones I’ve made about the glasses. But they do have something to do with it," he says, "And...it's the scars, too. And—something else. Something you're not telling me." 

"Because there's no point," Katsuki insists, "It's...in the past. Nothin' to be done about it. What’s said was said. No fixin’ ugly." 

Izuku's eyebrows shoot up. "What? Ugly? And that was…something that I said?" he asks incredulously, "But when would I have—" But then Izuku's face quickly turns ashen, as a grim realization fills his eyes. "Oh..." 

Katsuki's heart is beating erratically now, and Izuku is so close to him that he's sure he can feel it. "It's fine, Izuku," Katsuki says quickly, "You weren't yourself. Even if you meant it, it was just, well…the hijacking made you voice things that otherwise you would've been too nice to admit out loud." 

Izuku looks ready to be sick. "No," he whispers, "No, no, I...that's not—" 

"It's really fine," Katsuki assures him, "I told you, I'd rather hear the truth." 

"But it's not true," Izuku says, "That was...oh, Kacchan. It's the farthest thing from the truth! Back then, I was...I was trying to...close the door on you. I tried so many times. I tried to convince myself that what All For One told me about you had to be true. Because that was easier than everything else that contradicted it, everything that made my brain feel like it was going to crack open. All those horrible things I said to you, they weren't true. Just the opposite. I remember thinking, there's no way he could be a mutt. He's too lovely. But then I thought, but maybe that's the point. Maybe you were created that way on purpose, to tempt me, to lure me. You were never ugly, Kacchan. I just...tried to tell myself you were. Tried to believe the poison that was fed to me. That's what was ugly. Not you. Never you. But once all those knots inside of me started to come undone, once I could see you—really see you—not as a threat, but as you truly were...it got so hard to keep that door closed. Impossible. And when I got to come home, and I saw you again...I knew. It wasn't over for me. It never was. I knew, just like before, I was a goner. That I always was. That I always will be. Always. You're still the most beautiful person I've ever seen." 

By the time Izuku is finished, he's out of breath, and somehow, so is Katsuki. He has no words. Izuku leans in, kissing Katsuki's lips, his cheeks, his nose, along his jaw, down his neck, making Katsuki feel even more breathless. 

"What’re you doing?" Katsuki asks. 

Izuku pulls away, and Katsuki sees that same intense look in his eyes again. This one blazes even hotter than the ones from before, and makes Katsuki shiver. "Making sure it sticks." 

"Izuku—" 

Izuku's hands slide down, fingertips ghosting over the ridges of Katsuki's collarbones. His large, warm palms spread heat over Katsuki's shoulders, down the planes of his chest, slow and steady. Then his hands trail lower still, tracing over the contours of his abdomen. Then Izuku kneels in front of him, sliding his hands down Katsuki's thighs. He looks up at him with such open, unshaken devotion that Katsuki has to try and look away again, but of course Izuku still won't allow him to, reaching up to grab his chin and force their eyes to meet. Katsuki makes a noise in his throat, something strangled and soft, wanting to argue against him, but he can't quite make himself do it.

"You don't have to believe it right away," Izuku tells him, "But I'll keep telling you, until you do."

Another involuntary shiver rolls through Katsuki as Izuku’s fingertips drag over the lines of Katsuki’s body, as though trying to commit every inch of him to his memory. As though he were trying to leech all of Katsuki’s self-loathing and doubt from his very pores and carry it all for himself so Katsuki wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. So that Katsuki really might start to believe it for himself, when Izuku tells him all those flowery words. 

The worst part is, Katsuki wants to believe it. But the contrary evidence is just too abundantly clear, every time Katsuki sees his reflection. He used to avoid mirrors, because seeing his mother looking back at him was just too painful. But now, he finds himself searching for her within his features, and watching with each passing day as he sees less and less of her when he looks into a mirror. 

You really are her spitting image. 

All For One had told him that before Katsuki’s cheek got split open by the whip that tore apart Kirishima’s back. Before Izuku was taken into the Capitol’s clutches. Before all the countless sleepless nights underground in District 13 which paled Katsuki’s skin and saddled his eyes with deep purple eye bags. Before he was made into a fire mutt when his mother was killed. Before All For One crushed and deformed his arm and stabbed him through the gut.

The boy who had been the spitting image of his beautiful mother had burned to death the same day she did. Now he was an ugly fire mutt, and somehow, against all odds, Izuku had found a way to love him again anyway. It was more than Katsuki deserved. He didn’t need anything else. He had never been a vain person, anyway. He didn’t need to be someone that others considered ‘beautiful’. 

Izuku lifts the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, kissing along Katsuki’s bare stomach, and Katsuki can’t help but arch the small of his back, can’t help but move into the touch. 

“D-Deku—“ Katsuki gasps, his voice rough and unsteady. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but Izuku merely hums in response. His shirt is pulled completely over his head, and then Izuku returns to his ministrations over Katsuki’s chest. Rubbing his hands over his pecs and abs, making Katsuki’s stomach flutter as he swirls a tongue around his nipple. “Deku—”

Izuku’s lips graze over Katsuki’s ribs, teeth scraping just enough to make Katsuki suck in a sharp breath. “You’re perfect,” Izuku sighs against his skin, “So perfect. Pretty. And mine. My Kacchan.” 

“St-stop…” It comes out far weaker than Katsuki wants it to. It sounds more like please than don’t. Or maybe the other way around. Not please stop, but don’t stop. 

Izuku does pull away, but his eyes are dark, filled with something heavy Katsuki has never seen there before. Not even when he had asked Izuku to use Black Whip to tie him up. “Why?” 

Katsuki doesn’t have an answer. Or at least not one he wants to say out loud. 

Izuku rubs his hands soothingly up and down Katsuki’s thighs. “Because…I don’t think you really want me to stop,” Izuku murmurs. He tilts his head at him. “Do you, Kacchan?” 

Katsuki swallows around his tight throat. His whole body is burning, but not from shame, or agitation, or anything else that would usually make him want to crawl out of his own skin. This is different. 

Izuku’s firm grip on his legs is grounding, something solid in the haze that is threatening to swallow Katsuki whole. “I meant it, you know,” Izuku says, “I’m going to keep on saying it, until you believe it for yourself. You don’t see what I do. But I’m going to make you.” 

Katsuki has always thought of his own body in terms of its usefulness. Strength. Endurance. Power. How hard he could hit, how fast he could move, how much damage he could take and still keep going. 

Izuku’s touch isn’t looking for weaknesses. His hands don’t roam in search of wounds that need patching up, of scars that need to be hidden away. He’s not a soldier, or a weapon. He’s just a person. 

And he belongs to Izuku. Wholly and completely. 

Katsuki lets out a long, shaky breath, and some of the tension finally leaks out of him. His weight shifts in the chair, and he leans into the steady warmth of Izuku’s touch. When Izuku hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, Katsuki doesn’t recoil, he doesn’t squirm. He lifts his hips, helping Izuku to pull away the fabric. And this time, as more and more of his skin is revealed as Izuku drags down his pant legs, Katsuki doesn’t look away. He chews on his bottom lip as he watches Izuku toss the pants aside, and then he wraps his fingers around Katsuki’s bare ankle. At first, Katsuki thinks Izuku is trying to coax Katsuki’s legs apart, but instead, he lifts Katsuki’s leg into the air. Then, he presses his lips to the inside of Katsuki’s ankle. 

Katsuki’s entire body jolts from the unexpected contact. “Wh-what the hell’re y—?” An embarrassing sound that borders dangerously close to being classified as a squeak pulls from his throat when Izuku starts to pepper kisses up the side of his calf, making him jump again.

“Just being thorough,” Izuku says between kisses, “Try to stay still, Kacchan. I don’t want to miss a single bit of you.”

Despite his frayed nerves, this pulls a breathless laugh out of Katsuki as he shakes his head in disbelief.  

Izuku makes a contented hum as he continues to kiss up Katsuki’s leg. “I love your laugh,” he says softly, “All the different versions of it. But especially that one. The one you only do around me. I like to think it’s your real one. It’s so soft. So sweet. It brings out your dimples. And it makes me feel as big as a mountain when I hear it, knowing, I did that. I made Kacchan laugh. Really laugh.” 

Every warm press of Izuku’s lips to Katsuki’s skin is slow, intentional, and claiming. Not desperate, not rushed, but thorough. Like Izuku has all the time in the world to prove to Katsuki that every word he’s saying is true.

And Izuku really does take his time. Not an inch of Katsuki's flesh goes unkissed. The inside of his thighs and his hips are bitten while Izuku tells him how soft and smooth his skin is. He's stroked and licked and sucked while being told how good he tastes, how sweet he sounds. The sounds he's making are utterly helpless, something he would never let anyone else hear in a million years.

"Izuku," Katsuki breathes, and his voice comes out wrecked. "Fuck, baby—"

"That's it, sweetheart," Izuku murmurs against his skin. "That's it. So beautiful. I love you. I love you like all-fire.”

A sharp and visceral pang keeps shooting through Katsuki's chest, something that's too raw to give a name. His throat is tight, and his vision is blurring at the edges. He can feel the curve of Izuku's lips as he smiles when he presses his mouth to Katsuki's. Katsuki can taste himself on Izuku's tongue, and it makes him delirious with want. 

"I love you," Izuku says again in a hush of breath, "Let me show you how much."

Suddenly, Katsuki is being hoisted up and out of the chair and into Izuku's arms. Izuku's mouth finds Katsuki's collarbone, open and wet, his tongue tracing over the sharp edge of bone before his teeth press down, just enough to sting. Katsuki groans, gripping the back of Izuku's neck as Izuku carries him from the kitchen and into the living room, where he carefully spreads him across the couch. Izuku is still fully clothed while Katsuki is completely naked, and maybe Katsuki is weird for thinking that's hot, but it is somehow. His mind and body are traitorous in their responses. He should want to fight, to push back, to say something sharp and cutting to prove he still has some control over himself, but he doesn't. He's already dizzy with need, aching for the way Izuku's body presses against his, and every touch makes Katsuki feel like he's being worshipped. That he's something worth that kind of devotion. He's as helpless to it as a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, the way in which Izuku loves him and makes Katsuki actually believe in it. 

And if he can make Katsuki believe in that, then maybe he could learn to believe in everything else, too. Maybe someday he might actually be able to see himself through Izuku's eyes, even just a little bit. It might take a long time. It certainly wouldn't happen tonight. 

But this was as good a start as any. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs against his lips, “I’ve got an idea.” 

“Uh-oh,” Katsuki says. That’s always been a dangerous sentence.

Izuku huffs out a laugh, and the warmth of it fans across Katsuki’s face. “I was just thinking…how good you would look, if you were wearing nothing but your glasses.” 

Katsuki nearly chokes on his own breath. “Wh-what the hell is with you and those fucking glasses?” he splutters. 

Izuku draws away, just enough so that Katsuki can see the pleading look in his big green eyes. “Would you wear them, Kacchan? Please?” 

Katsuki narrows his eyes, and tries to ignore the heat licking its way up the back of his neck. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Izuku grins, and it’s downright filthy. Like a predator about to pounce on its prey. Oh, Katsuki is so terribly fucked. “I’m not hearing a no…” 

Katsuki should say no. He should call Izuku a pervert and a menace. Maybe throw something at him. He should do something that isn’t just laying here buck naked with his heart hammering away in his chest as heat curls low in his gut. “They’re just reading glasses,” Katsuki says, lamely, “No point in wearin’ ‘em for this.”

Izuku hums, settling his hands on either side of Katsuki, holding up his weight above him. “But I want you to watch me,” he says. 

“I can see you just fine like this, idiot.”

“But I want you to really see me,” Izuku tells him, “I said I wanted to be thorough. That means I don’t want you missing a single detail, either. I thought Kacchan liked watching me?” 

Fuck. Izuku isn’t wrong. No matter who takes the initiative, Katsuki did like to watch. He loved the sight of Izuku in the thralls of pleasure, loved watching him come undone, loved being the one to take him there. And, admittedly, he liked Izuku watching him like that, too. Tonight he was feeling deeply vulnerable, downright besieged under Izuku’s gaze, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still like it… 

Katsuki chews on his lip, unable to bring himself to admit to it, but not wanting to deny it, either. 

“Put them on for me, Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice dipping low and thick with desire. It’s not a question this time, but a command. “Just for a little while.” 

Katsuki licks his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. And he knows there’s no way he would ever be able to deny him. “Fine,” he forces out, “Fuck, fine, go and get ‘em then, since you wanna be so damn stubborn about it.” 

Izuku beams, and scrambles quickly off of the couch and back into the kitchen to procure the glasses, where Katsuki left them on the kitchen table. He returns in seconds, looking like a little kid about to open up his New Years’ present. Katsuki is already naked, so he’s not sure how much more unwrapping Izuku has left to do. But he’s got no doubt he was about to find out. 

Returning to the couch, Izuku crouches down and hands the glasses over to Katsuki, who pushes himself up onto his elbows and takes them from him with a tight sigh of impatience. He pushes them on, and then looks up at Izuku, lifting an eyebrow inquisitively. Izuku looks like he’s stuck in some sort of dreamlike daze. 

“Kacchan should wear nothing but glasses more often,” Izuku murmurs. 

For the first time, Katsuki finally takes in the features of Izuku’s face from behind his lenses. It really was so much sharper, and the level of detail he was able to make out made him feel strangely infuriated on all that he had been missing out on all this time without even realizing it. He can make out freckles he’s never even been able to pick out with the naked eye before, and flecks of green in Izuku’s irises that he has no name for. He wants to know how many more freckles he’ll see in the summertime, and what colours he would see when the sunlight hits Izuku’s eyes, or what they will look like when they go completely dark with lust… 

He suddenly becomes aware that he’s been openly staring, and ducks his chin somewhat. It makes the glasses move down the bridge of his nose a little, and he involuntarily reaches up to push them back into place. Izuku makes a little sound in the back of his throat that’s caught between a groan and a whine before he surges forward and starts kissing Katsuki’s brains out. He slithers his way back onto the couch, pressing his weight into Katsuki. The friction of his clothes over Katsuki’s bare skin, and the weight of the glasses against his nose make Katsuki even more aware of the fact that they are all he has on. That he’s completely exposed, in more ways than just physical. 

“Fuck,” Izuku gasps between their mouths, “You have no idea what this is doing to me.” 

Katsuki snorts. “Oh, I think I have some idea,” he says, rolling his hips. He sighs right along with Izuku at the sensation that move illicits. “You keep on cussin’ like that and I’ll be right there with you.” 

Izuku snaps his hips, and Katsuki curses under his breath. “You already are,” Izuku says, amused. 

Katsuki laughs breathily. “I dunno if these stupid glasses are gonna stay on through this, ‘Zu.” With the way Izuku is looking at him—like he wants to eat Katsuki alive—Katsuki isn’t even confident that the couch will survive. Their bed frame was already on its last legs because Izuku forgot his own strength sometimes. It was never anything that was a threat to Katsuki’s safety, of course. In fact—and he’s not sure what this says about him, and he certainly isn’t about to try and unpack it with Dr. Yoshida—he kind of liked when Izuku handled him a little more roughly, though it was a rare thing. 

Izuku’s eyes flicker to neon teal as he grabs Katsuki tightly by the chin. “Keep them on.” 

Katsuki’s stomach backflips, and his heart slams against his ribs as Izuku crushes his lips with a deep, wet kiss. Looks like he was going to get that rougher side to Izuku tonight without even having to persuade him. Perhaps the stupid glasses were good for something, after all.

It’s not long before he has Katsuki completely melting, coaxing him open slowly and thoroughly with his fingers, not stopping until Katsuki is swatting at his arm impatiently and demanding he get a move on. But just as Izuku is reaching down to pull off his shirt, Katsuki grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“Wait. Leave it on,” Katsuki says. 

Izuku blinks. “You…don’t want me to take my shirt off?” 

“Yes—well, no, but—”  Katsuki falters. 

Izuku doesn’t press him on the matter, leaving his shirt alone and moving to undo his belt, instead. But once again, he’s only pulled his pants halfway down his hips before Katsuki stops him again. 

“That’s enough,” Katsuki says.

Izuku looks thoroughly confused now. “You don’t want my pants off, either?” 

Katsuki is starting to wish for the couch cushions to swallow him whole. “No,” he says tightly, “I mean, yes—”

“Yes, you want them off, or no, you want them on?” 

Katsuki knocks his head back against the cushions, exasperated. “Fuck, ‘Zu. You’re killin’ me. Just get on with it, for fuck’s sake.”

“…with all my clothes on?”

Katsuki squirms a little. “Yes.” 

Katsuki can practically see the cogs turning in Izuku’s eyes, and watches the exact moment when they click into place. Then, Izuku smiles, and it’s not exactly smug, but it’s triumphant in a way that almost makes Katsuki want to kick Izuku off of him. Almost.

“Kacchan wants to be all bare for me, while I’m not?” 

Katsuki glares defiantly even as his quickening pulse pounds thick in his ears. “Figured it’d be faster that way, but guess I was wrong.” 

“You like being on display for me,” Izuku says, and his voice is awed with revelation, as though he’s only just coming to this conclusion at this very moment. His green eyes are bright, like he’s just made a world-shattering, universe-altering discovery. “And why wouldn’t you? You’re absolutely gorgeous. And this way I really get to focus on you. See you like nobody else gets to. I’m so lucky. I must have done something really good in a past life, to get—”

Katsuki can not fucking take it anymore. “You’re not gonna get to do a fuckin’ thing if you don’t shut the hell up,” he snaps. He throws his legs around Izuku’s hips, his knees digging incessantly into his sides. “C’mon, already.”

Izuku grips at Katsuki’s knees, staring him down. “I want to hear you say it.”

Katsuki clenches his jaw. He hates how Izuku can see him, see right through him, how easy it is for him to pull confessions right out of the depths of Katsuki’s soul. And he also really, really loves it. And Izuku, damn him, would probably get Katsuki to fess up to that someday, too. 

Katsuki turns up his chin, and grins at Izuku, wicked and sharp. “Keep your eyes on me, Deku, you dweeb.” 

Izuku’s breath stutters for half of a second, but he quickly recovers and drops down to kiss Katsuki deep enough to bruise. “As if I could look anywhere else,” he rasps out when he manages to pry their mouths apart. 

By the time Izuku is done with him, Katsuki is utterly boneless and panting for breath as Izuku presses soft, lingering kisses to his sweaty skin. Then, he chuckles, tilting Katsuki’s chin up with gentle fingers. “The glasses stayed on the whole time,” he reports, smug and satisfied as he readjusts the frames where they had become somewhat askew on the bridge of Katsuki’s nose.

Katsuki scoffs. He pulls off the glasses and tosses them across the room.

A shimmering Blackwhip tendril shoots out of Izuku and snatches the glasses out of the air before they can hit the floor. The tendril slithers back over to them, and drops the glasses onto Katsuki’s chest. 

Katsuki glares down at the glasses. “Did I ever tell you that you’ve got too many damn Quirks?” Katsuki grumbles. 

The Blackwhip tendril flutters through his freshly-cut hair. Izuku props himself up on one elbow, plucking the glasses up and sliding them back onto Katsuki’s face. “But if I only had one, you’d want it to be Blackwhip, right?” 

Before Katsuki can shoot back a remark to that, the phone rings on the table above his head, and with a groan of effort he stretches his arm out towards the receiver. Izuku snatches his wrist. 

“Don’t you dare,” Izuku says. 

Katsuki smirks. “But it could be important.” 

Before Izuku can make a counter-argument about how post-sex cuddling was far more important than whoever was on the other end of the line, Katsuki plucks up the receiver and brings it to his ear. 

“Yeah, what?” Katsuki says. 

There’s a snickering laugh on the other end of the line. “Hello to you, too, Katnip. I pull you out of a cat nap or somethin’?” 

That would have been less awkward. Kirishima really needed to stop calling right after Katsuki and Izuku had sex. “What d’you want, Shitty Hair?” 

“I was just callin’ to see if you and Midoriya would be free towards the end of the month. Me and Mina were thinkin’ about goin’ on a little vacation, and finally bringin’ the kids down to Twelve.” 

Katsuki blinks, and sits up a little. His gaze flickers to Izuku, who is moping. He’s also drawing idle patterns on Katsuki’s stomach, which fucking tickles. Katsuki smacks Izuku’s hand away, and Izuku frowns at him. “Oh, shit. Yeah. We don’t have anythin’ goin’ on. Bring ‘em down.” 

“Great! I was—ahh, crap. Kenji is cryin’. Poor kid’s been teethin’.”

“Still?” 

“Yeah. Last of his molars erupted late. Little guy can’t sleep through the night anymore. Sorry to cut this short, man.” 

Katsuki eyes a very put-out looking Izuku somewhat warily. He was going to be in for it once he hung up. “Don’t sweat it,” he says, “If you crush some cloves in water, you can rub the paste on his gums. It’ll numb the toothache. S’what I did with Kiku.”

“Ooh, might be worth a shot. I’ve tried just about everythin’ else and nothin’ seems to soothe him. Thanks! Okay, well, see ya soon, man. Gotta g—“ 

Suddenly, Izuku takes the receiver out of Katsuki’s hand and hangs up. He still looks incredibly unimpressed. 

Katsuki decides to push his luck a little, tilting his head innocently to the side. “What? I can’t talk on the phone?” 

“I wasn’t finished with you,” Izuku mutters. 

“Oh? Thought you were all done havin’ your way with me.” 

“And when has one ever been enough for me?” 

Katsuki hums. “You’re right. With all those Quirks of yours, I guess that proves what a greedy, insatiable little bastard you are.” 

Teal sparks start jumping off of Izuku’s skin. “I could prove it in other ways.” 

He hoists Katsuki off of the couch and into his arms, zipping out of the living room and hopping the steps two at a time while Katsuki clings to his neck. 

“This seems like a very irresponsible use of your Quirk,” Katsuki says. 

“Never heard any complaints from you.” 

“I’m gonna tell on you to Dr. Yoshida.” 

“Kacchan!” 

A man of his word, Kirishima takes some time off of work to make the pilgrimage out to District 12 with Mina and their kids for an extended visit. 

Kirishima’s old house and the mines were long ago ground into dust and pushed into the earth to become the foundation for a new district that grew on the remains of the old one, so the only place that Kirishima is able to show Yumiko, the last connection he has to the place he had been born and raised in, is the woods. 

Katsuki and Kirishima take Yumiko and Kiku out into the woods one afternoon in late autumn. Kiku is thoughtful and watchful beyond her years, and Yumiko is bright and fascinating, with swift motions that Katsuki isn’t quite as capable of any more himself, if he ever was at such a young age. Yumiko is just that good. He hunts so rarely now that he can already tell he’s going to have blisters on his fingers by the end of the day, meanwhile Yumiko is able to fit an arrow to her bow (with a little help from her father) and just like that, she brings down a turkey with a set, determined look and a steady, defiant upturn of her chin. But she giggles and bounces up and down excitedly next to Kirishima as he patiently shows her how to pluck her kill. 

After that, Katsuki leads them all out to the lake house. It’s chilly, and he wants a fire. And a bit of a rest before they make the journey back into town, though he doesn’t admit that part out loud. Yumiko and Kiku admire Izuku’s mural inside of the lake house, while Kirishima looks over the addition of the modest bedroom with a skylight that Katsuki and Izuku had constructed a few years back. 

“Nice set-up you have here, Katnip,” Kirishima comments, “It kinda feels like…the Seam, but—nicer.”

There’s something about the lake house which feels frozen in time, and yet it also is the place which makes Katsuki feel the enormity of the years that have passed the most out of anywhere else. It is all at once a special place that only he and his father knew about, a lonely refuge Katsuki escaped to many times after he returned home after his first Games, a secret rendezvous where he and Kirishima had discussed the uprisings, and finally the peaceful oasis where he and Izuku have slipped away many times over the years to enjoy some simplicity and privacy. 

The last time Kirishima and Katsuki were here together had been in the middle of the war, when they had come back to 12 to film another propo. Back then, the time between their winter rendezvous after the Victory Tour, and that scorching summer day where they were both swallowed up by the ash and the grief of their destroyed home, with nothing but questions and pain between them, felt gargantuan. But now, that chasm has cracked even wider. They are so very different from the boys they were in both of those moments. Now they stand here as grown men, with separate lives and families, and their past seems so far away, and yet it is also all around them.

There is sadness there, with a dose of regret. For what might have been, Katsuki supposes. Not in regards to who he would have ended up with, necessarily—it was always going to be Izuku—but what his friendship with Kirishima could have been without all that time spent apart. Katsuki isn’t sure he ever knew how he really felt about Kirishima—any time he would have had to figure that out was wiped away by the Games and what came after—but it is undeniable that he and Kirishima were, for a little while, joined at the spine. Not the hip, as the old saying went, for they used to quite literally sit back-to-back in the woods, fused together. That’s not mere friendship. In some ways, it isn’t friendship, at all.

The same pain and circumstance that had made Katsuki push Izuku away, had drawn him and Kirishima together. They relied on one another for strength and survival. They had each other’s backs, both literally and intrinsically. When Kirishima was whipped, Katsuki felt the blows on his own skin, and it was like they had been drawn together again, when Katsuki had thought the Games had separated them. And they continued to stay united while in District 13; though Katsuki’s mind and heart were clearly elsewhere. And even while that fact slowly pulled Kirishima’s heart to pieces, he remained a steadfast, loyal friend. 

But Katsuki can’t help but think that it is very likely that they both needed to be separated to truly achieve the happiness that they have each attained. There’s something everlastingly sad about that. Katsuki doesn’t know why so many things that are supposedly good for you have to be so damn painful.

Kirishima looks over at Katsuki with a soft, reminiscent smile, and Katsuki knows he feels it, too. 

“It’d be a good place to retire,” Kirishima says, “I mean, that’s a hell of a ways off, yet, but—”

“Believe me, we’re already thinkin’ about it,” Katsuki replies. 

After they spend a little while warming up by the hearth, they make the trek back into town. Back home, Izuku is effusive in his praise at Yumiko’s prowess, regaling her with stories about how Katsuki and Kirishima had kept the district fed on fresh meat basically single-handedly, and how it was one of the many things he had admired about the both of them.

Izuku runs a bath for the girls, while Kirishima and Mina keep Katsuki company in the kitchen while he dresses and cooks the turkey for dinner. Kenji sits at the kitchen table, colouring in some simple sketches Izuku drew out for him.

“So, the ring is back,” Kirishima says, taking a swig of ginger beer. 

“And looking extra sparkly,” Mina chimes in. She holds out her hand and curls her fingers beckoningly at Katsuki, who rolls his eyes and then wipes his hands clean before he offers his left hand to Mina so she can take a proper look. “Please tell me if this means what I think it does?”

“Nothin’ legal yet, but yeah,” Katsuki says, “We did the toasting, anyway. In private.” 

Mina tilts her head, confused. “Toasting? Like, with champagne?” 

“No, with bread.” 

“Bread?” 

Katsuki looks at Kirishima, raising an eyebrow. “Did you two not do a toasting for your wedding?” 

“Nah, it was, uh…definitely a lot classier than I ever expected my weddin’ to ever be,” Kirishima admits, “Two doesn’t have nearly the same customs as Twelve.”

Mina looks between the two of them eagerly. “Wait, tell me about this bread-toasting thing!” 

Katsuki shrugs. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. You build a fire together, toast a piece of bread, and share it.”

“And that’s it? You don’t have a party?” Mina asks, “A ceremony with vows, a reception? Music? Dancing?” 

“Nobody in the Seam ever did anythin’ like that,” Kirishima tells her, “They’d just fill out the paperwork at the Justice Building, and do the toasting. Maybe a meal with some family and friends, if you could afford it. But it was usually the townies doin’ that.” 

Even the well-to-do townies would have seemed impoverished to someone like Mina, and perhaps if she had heard of 12’s wedding customs a few years ago, she would have something a little more condescending to say. But instead she just says, “It sounds so quaint and folksy!”, which isn’t that much better, but certainly an improvement. 

“So who else knows?” Kirishima asks. 

“Just Toshi,” Katsuki says, “We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while.”

“That’s so sweet,” Mina sighs, “You two are adorable. But you aren’t seriously thinking of just signing some documents and doing nothing else, right?” 

“I dunno,” Katsuki says, “I think ‘Zu might wanna do a party. He’s sorta hinted at it. But we both don’t want it to stir up any fuss in the Capitol. Last thing we need is a buncha cameras showin’ up unannounced.” 

“We have to have a party!” Mina cries, “I mean…you’re Katsuki and Izuku! This is all anyone has wanted for years. And Ei and I couldn’t have all our friends at our wedding, and Denki and Kyoka went off and just eloped without telling anybody…we need an actual, proper wedding!” 

“And we could totally keep the cameras off your back, man,” Kirishima says, “My wife is literally the secretary of communications. She can keep this thing under wraps for sure.” 

“The only person who should be allowed to have a camera at the wedding is Kyoka,” Mina says, already plotting it out. Her expression has taken on that all-business glimmer that she adopted back in the day for all the Mockingjay propos. It makes Katsuki shudder a little to see it in correlation to his and Izuku’s wedding. “She can make sure we get a video of the ceremony, and lots of pictures of the reception.”

This was all getting away from Katsuki very quickly, and before he can say anything about it, Yumiko and Kiku are running into the kitchen, in fresh clothes and squeaky clean after their baths. Yumiko demands to be picked up by Kirishima, and Kiku—who is normally pretty reserved—hugs Katsuki’s leg, giving his pants a shy tug; a wordless request to also be held. Probably Yumiko’s influence. Katsuki scoops Kiku up, and she automatically rests her little cheek on his shoulder. Bathtime always makes her drowsy. She’ll probably be nodding off over dinner, and after a bit of turkey, she would be out like a light for Kota and Eri, which they’ll be sure to appreciate—unless Kiku begs to sleepover again, which she often does. And with Yumiko here, that was even more of a possibility. 

Izuku walks into the room, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows from bathtime. Katsuki forces his eyes away from Izuku’s attractively-exposed forearms and gives him a general once-over. He looks a little bit frazzled, but happy. Kiku was an easy kid for them to babysit because she was so mild-mannered and generally knew how to entertain herself, but Yumiko was very high-energy and demanded a lot of attention. 

Izuku is immediately accosted with congratulations from Kirishima and Mina as soon as he enters, which he accepts graciously as he starts to lend a hand with the dinner prep. He keeps up a lively conversation with Mina about wedding plans—themes, colours, decorations, guests—that has Katsuki feeling immensely overwhelmed all over again. Seems like there was no getting away from turning this into a whole big event, after all. Then again, a wedding, and the parties afterward, would be a chance to reunite with people who Katsuki never gets to see anymore. And perhaps Mina had a point; it really had been a shame that everyone had missed out on Kirishima and Mina’s wedding, and now with Kaminari and Jirou hitched as well, the afterparty reception could be a way to celebrate everyone’s marriages, not just Katsuki and Izuku’s. 

Toshinori, Kota, and Eri come by for dinnertime, and the majority of the conversation over their meal winds up being even more wedding planning. Now that Kota and Eri have learned about Katsuki and Izuku’s private toasting, all hopes for a small, simple ceremony have flown right out of the window. Eri and Mina start working out a guest list, their heads bent close together as they debate who should be invited. Kirishima jumps in to remind them that someone needs to be in charge of making sure Kaminari doesn’t get too much to drink, recommending an entire sub-committee is formed to prevent any disasters—Kaminari got very stupid when he was drunk. Meanwhile, Eri commandeers the back of one of Kenji’s colouring pages to plot out a three-tiered wedding cake and its decorations, which quickly piques Izuku’s interest, but Eri slaps her hands over the page when he leans in for a better look. 

“No peeking! It’s a surprise!” 

Izuku gapes at her, utterly scandalized. “But, Eri—”

Katsuki snorts into his drink. “I’d let it go, ‘Zu.” 

Izuku pouts a little, but he settles back in his chair, lifting his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But at least make one of the tiers a cinnamon cake. It’s Kacchan’s favourite.” 

Eri nods, scribbling a note to herself on the paper, and then she goes back to her drawing, her face scrunched in serious concentration. Beside her, Kota crosses his arms and shakes his head. “You two oughta just give up any notion right now that this wedding is even yours to plan anymore,” he says. 

Katsuki groans, and rubs at his temple. “At this rate, it’ll end up becoming a damn national holiday.” 

Mina pats him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Kat, I promise we’re gonna keep this all super low-key! You two have had your entire love story plastered across the screen for the world to see. You deserve to get to celebrate this part with your friends, without it becoming a spectacle.” 

Katsuki blinks at her, his mouth hanging open, not really knowing what to say. 

Izuku smiles. “Thank you, Mina,” he says gratefully. 

“Of course! Now,” Mina says, clapping her hands together, “Let’s talk more about the flowers. I’m thinking we do way more than just some centrepieces. Hear me out. How do you guys feel about—”

Next to him, Katsuki can see Izuku release a subtle sigh as he braces for this next wave of over-the-top ideas, but he still has a warm, fond smile on his face. Even if this wedding is spiralling completely out of their control, at least it was in the hands of people who cared about them. 

That night is only the beginning. The planning takes an entire year, ensuring all the details are perfect, the guest list is secured, all while keeping the event out of the public eye and under a veil of secrecy. It’s not an easy feat, since Katsuki and Izuku were two people who had been glaringly in the spotlight more than anyone ever should be, and were still well-known public figures to this day; and everyone they knew were equally as famous or important members of the government and society. 

But it feels like no time at all has passed before Katsuki is standing in Kota and Eri’s bedroom—Izuku’s old room in his old house—the following autumn, with Hakamada getting him dressed into the custom suit he insisted on designing for the ceremony. Izuku is next door, in their house and bedroom, getting dressed in one to match. 

Katsuki wipes his sweaty palms on his dress pants, surprised to find himself feeling so nervous. It’s certainly not about what he’s about to do, so perhaps it was just the concept of having to host all of the people waiting for them, keeping them entertained throughout the night while also remembering to enjoy the festivities himself, and not constantly looking over his shoulder for uninvited guests or a camera lens that isn’t solely in Jirou’s hands. He would probably have to continuously remind himself throughout the evening. 

Or maybe it was the anticipation of letting all of those guests in on the secret reason for this party. It had been decided that in order to ensure word of this day didn’t reach the wrong people, to keep as many of the wedding guests in the dark as possible that this was, in fact, a wedding. 

Kirishima enters the room, dressed in some dark trousers and a simple button-down shirt; still nicely put together, but definitely nothing that screams that he’s part of the wedding party. It shouldn’t be too obvious until people get a look at Katsuki and Izuku in their matching suits about what’s going to happen. 

“People have been givin’ me very knowing glances,” Kirishima says, grinning. 

Katsuki frowns. “D'you think someone blabbed?” 

Kirishima snorts. “You know, you two ain’t exactly the social hub of District Twelve. What other reason would you guys have to throw a party?” he quips lightly, “Not to mention most of the guests already know that this is technically your fake first anniversary already.” 

“Uh, real first anniversary,” Katsuki retorts defensively. They hadn’t gone to all that trouble to secure the date of the wedding to be on the same day they had their impromptu private toasting just for Kirishima to call it fake. “Did you check on Izuku? Am I fuckin’ allowed to see him yet, or what?” 

Another reason the wedding planning had taken so long was that the ceremony and the events leading up to it began to amalgamate into multiple different traditions. Everyone had some sort of custom from their home district that they did, and since Katsuki and Izuku had already done 12’s toasting, Izuku thought it would be special and important to incorporate some traditions from other districts; to show a unity that was more than just between the two of them. 

Katsuki had held back any kind of opinion or input on the preparations for this day, but he had to admit that one particular rule was annoying as hell: having to be separated from Izuku while they get ready—it feels too much like when they got gussied up by their individual prep teams back in the Capitol. But Mina has arranged what she was calling a ‘first look’, where Katsuki and Izuku get to see one another dressed in their suits for the first time, away from all of the guests. Not even Jirou will be snapping pictures or recording it. It’s just something for the two of them. And Katsuki is eager to get on with it already. He’s certain that he won’t be able to get these nerves under control until he’s laid eyes on Izuku. 

“He’s just downstairs,” Kirishima says, “He’s pacing a hole through the floor, so we should probably get ya down there before he starts to get it into his head that you’re backin’ out, or somethin’ equally as ridiculous.”  

Hakamada takes one last look over Katsuki’s suit, and then allows him to leave the bedroom and head downstairs. Izuku is waiting for him in the kitchen, dressed in a sharp black suit that’s a twin to Katsuki’s own. His hair is smoothed back—he’s let it grow out a little longer than usual in the past year, and his curls hang adorably around his earlobes and the back of his neck. He’s carrying a manila folder, which his scarred fingers are drumming on anxiously as Katsuki enters the room. Izuku looks up, and instantly the folder drops out of his hands. Documents spill all over the kitchen floor.

Neither of them can be bothered to acknowledge the mess, not sparing it a glance. They’re too busy staring at each other. 

“…Hi,” Izuku says.

”Hey,” Katsuki says. 

Then Katsuki walks into the kitchen and squats down to start collecting the scattered papers, and Izuku hastily crouches down and helps him. Katsuki hands Izuku the final paper—the marriage license—and Izuku takes it from Katsuki and tucks it carefully back into the folder before offering Katsuki a bashful smile that makes Katsuki want to head outside and send all their guests home so they can be nice and alone. 

“You clean up good, nerd,” Katsuki says, smirking. “What’s the occasion?” 

Izuku’s shy smile turns silly and crooked. “It’s my wedding anniversary today,” he says, “Might have gone a little overboard, though. I dunno how I’m ever gonna hope to beat this for my second anniversary.” 

“Don’t worry, I think I’ll be all set for huge parties for a good while after today,” Katsuki says, “I’ve had about as much pomp and circumstance as I can handle, and it hasn’t even started yet. But I might be willin’ to renegotiate terms in five years. Maybe ten. Preferably fifteen.” 

Izuku laughs. “I’ve got to admit, though—it’s the best reason I’ve ever had to get all dressed up,” Izuku gets to his feet and offers Katsuki a hand up. Both back upright, Izuku keeps his hand around Katsuki’s and his eyes and smile soften as he looks Katsuki up and down. “Kacchan looks very handsome.” 

Maybe it was kind of lame to still be so affected by Izuku’s praise after all this time, but damn if heat doesn’t flood through Katsuki’s face and right down to his core all the same. “Well, Hakamada is a master at manipulating all the smoke and mirrors.” 

Izuku pouts a little, and it’s so precious that Katsuki wants to swallow him whole. “Hey. I won’t have you badmouthing my husband,” Izuku says firmly, “Kacchan is always handsome.” 

Katsuki grins. “Last chance to back out, ‘Zu,” he says, “Let’s just sign all of that shit right now and take off. Skip ahead to the honeymoon. It’s the only part I care about, anyway.” 

“Kacchan!” Izuku cries admonishingly, but he’s laughing. “Mina would hunt us to the ends of the earth and drag us right back here, no matter where we eloped to.” 

“I ain’t scared of her.” 

Izuku smooths down Katsuki’s lapels, even though Hakamada had already made sure they were laid perfectly. Katsuki’s pretty sure it’s just an excuse for Izuku to feel up his chest a bit. Not that he minds one bit. “Kacchan, did it ever occur to you that I might really be looking forward to marrying you? To celebrate it with all our friends? To get to show you off for the entire night?” 

That pulls Katsuki short. It was true that Izuku had been far more involved in the wedding preparations this past year than Katsuki had been, but Katsuki had chalked that up to Izuku being a chronic people pleaser that was incapable of setting a single boundary, especially when it came to handling people with as massive of a personality as Mina. He hadn’t considered the fact that Izuku hadn’t just been indulging Mina, but was actually genuinely invested in the planning for himself. 

“Uh, I am, too,” Katsuki backpedals, suddenly feeling sheepish, and a little ashamed, “I mean, as far as I’m concerned we’ve already been married for a year, but—”

Izuku chuckles, squeezing Katsuki’s hand. “Don’t look so panicked, Kacchan,” he says, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely looking forward to the honeymoon.” 

Their ‘honeymoon’ is nothing extravagant, no matter how much Mina had tried to make it otherwise. It’s the one thing that Katsuki had dug his heels in on, in fact. They’re just doing a simple weekend getaway to the lake house once all of their guests have gone home. Katsuki has every intention of making sure they stay in bed for the entire stay. 

“Me, too,” Katsuki says, “But, well, that was pretty obvious. I am looking forward to the rest of it, too,” Izuku doesn’t quite look convinced, so Katsuki presses on, “No, seriously. I mean, I’m not thrilled to have all that fuckin’ attention on me—and, uh, on you. You know I hate havin’ to share you.” 

Izuku smiles warmly. “That makes two of us.” 

Katsuki reaches up to adjust Izuku’s tie. He clearly hadn’t tied it himself, otherwise it would have looked even more atrocious. Toshinori had probably lent him a hand with it, but it still sat a little crooked. “Says the guy who just said he was lookin’ forward to ‘showing me off’.” 

“That’s still true, but…” Izuku trails off, his gaze travelling up to meet Katsuki’s gaze, and his voice drops low, “That doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of when I’ll finally get to have you all to myself.” 

Katsuki’s hands drop from Izuku’s tie and down to his waist, pulling him in close. “That makes two of us,” he echoes.

“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku gasps, pressing his hands into Katsuki’s chest and giving him a small, gentle push. Katsuki gives him a look so affronted Izuku may as well have shoved him off with all his brute force. “Mina said it’s bad luck to kiss before the wedding. We’ve gotta wait until the end of the ceremony when they tell us we can.” 

“I’ve never been keen on doin’ things when I’m told to do ‘em,” Katsuki mutters, “Prefer to do what I damn well please. And I wanna kiss my fuckin’ husband.”

“But I’m not your husband yet, Kacchan,” Izuku argues, “Not legally, anyway.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Oh, so suddenly that matters to you all of a damn sudden? You just called me your husband two seconds ago, fuckin’ hypocrite.”  

Izuku bites his lip. “Mina will know,” he whispers, “She’ll take one look at me and she’ll just know you kissed me. It’ll be written all over my face.” 

“I told you I ain’t fuckin’ afraid of her.” 

Izuku’s eyes look truly fearful. “Well, I am,” he says, “I really do not want to incur her wrath, Kacchan. And I don’t want her going after you, either. That’s what we do, right? We protect each other.” 

“Don’t use my own words to talk me outta kissin’ you,” Katsuki grumbles, “Now c’mere.” 

“Kacchaaan…” 

“Ah-ah-ah! Don’t you lay a lip on that boy!”

Katsuki jumps out of his skin and whirls around to see Mina standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips and tapping a high-heeled foot against the floor. Uraraka is standing beside her, looking incredibly smug. 

“Oh, fuckin’ hell,” Katsuki mutters. 

“I told you, no kissing until after the ceremony!” Mina chides, storming into the room and snatching Katsuki by the elbow, dragging him away from Izuku. “You two can smooch all you want after you’ve said your vows, and not a minute before!” 

Katsuki looks desperately at Izuku. “It’s not too late, Izuku. We can still elope.” 

Izuku chuckles softly. “Sorry, Kacchan. I think we might have missed our window of opportunity.” 

“Use Blackwhip to tie everyone up,” Katsuki says, grabbing onto the doorframe of the kitchen, “Put out some Smokescreen to conceal us, and we can be outta here in no time with, like, eight percent of One For All.” 

Izuku folds his arms. “I’m afraid that would be a very irresponsible use of my Quirk, Kacchan.” 

“And I would never let Deku use his freaky sex tentacles on me,” Uraraka quips, and Katsuki and Izuku both groan in anguish. They definitely both had too much to drink at the bachelor party Kaminari demanded that they have, and divulged entirely too much information about their bedroom activities when their tongues had been thoroughly loosened. Their friends were never going to let them live it down. 

“Kat, for crying out loud…” Mina growls, gritting her teeth as she yanks on Katsuki’s arm. He’s still stubbornly gripping onto the doorframe. 

“Mina, please, don’t wrinkle the fabric,” Hakamada says, appearing from the stairs with Kirishima next to him. “I have it pressed perfectly.” 

Uraraka raises her hands, and waggles her pink-capped fingertips. “Want me to float him?” 

“Don’t you dare!” Katsuki snaps, “Keep your gross fingerpads the fuck away from me!”

“Oh, man. What the hell happened?” Kirishima asks. 

“Ei, honey, gimme a hand!” Mina grunts, her arms looped around Katsuki’s waist now as she heaves on Katsuki in vain. He’s now gripping both hands into the doorframe and isn’t budging an inch. “This idiot is trying to ditch his own wedding and elope with Izuku!” 

Kirishima sighs wearily. “I knew this would happen…” He strides over to Katsuki and Mina, puts a hand on his wife’s arm and she steps aside. Then Kirishima snatches Katsuki around the waist and hurls him over his shoulder. “C’mon, Katnip.” 

“Oi! Put me the fuck down!” Katsuki hollers, thrashing around. 

“Watch the suit!” Hakamada cries.

“I’m gonna go make sure everyone gets to their seats,” Mina says lightly, trotting towards the front door.

”I need to pre-drink before this ceremony,” Uraraka sighs, walking off to track down Toshinori. 

“Izuku!” Katsuki bellows, “Use one of your fifty fuckin’ Quirks and help me!” 

“No can do, sweetheart,” Izuku says, shaking his head. He gives Katsuki a little wave before he’s out of sight. “See you at the altar!” 

The meadow—once overgrown and neglected, then overturned and barren—is now bathed in the soft, golden light of the late autumn afternoon sun, the fields alive with colourful wildflowers. 

The ceremony itself is a completely beautiful blur. Katsuki vaguely recalls feeling flustered, but mostly happy. Even happier than he had expected to feel. 

Katsuki and Izuku made the announcement of their union to their welcomed guests prior to the official ceremony, and everyone had the grace to appear pleasantly surprised. Their officiant is Mayor Aizawa, who thankfully doesn’t waste any time with drawn-out speeches, letting Katsuki and Izuku get into their vows. Neither Katsuki nor Izuku prepared a single word—Katsuki didn’t even bother to try, because he’s no good with words, and there isn’t enough of them in the universe to convey what he feels, anyway. As for Izuku, he wrote ten pages back-to-front in his smallest handwriting, but decided in the end that he would just wing it and hopefully not be quite so long-winded. He still manages to talk for ten minutes straight, and by the end there isn’t a single dry eye. 

By the time Aizawa is asking each of them if they would take the other to be their lawfully-wedded husband, neither of them let him finish the phrase entirely before they each eagerly blurt out their affirmative, causing their guests to laugh. And when Aizawa pronounces them as married, Katsuki can’t get his lips on Izuku’s fast enough. He grabs Izuku by the waist and pulls him in close, kissing him fiercely as the crowd erupts with applause and cheers and whistles that neither of them hears. 

While the aisles of chairs are cleared away for dinner tables and a feast is served in courses, Katsuki and Izuku slip away to start a fire in the hearth of their home and, quietly and privately, recreate their toasting. A more literal hunger, an appetite which is whet by the toasted bread they split between them, makes them realize they haven't had anything to eat for hours, and it effectively rules out their desire to linger by the fire to recreate their wedding night, too. They hurry back to the meadow to rejoin their guests for the feast. 

Afterwards, their wedding cake arrives, designed, baked, and decorated meticulously by Eri, which Katsuki and Izuku have not been allowed to see. It’s elegant yet simple, three-tiers tall and covered with candy pearls and green and orange flowers made of stiff sugar. 

The reception is held under a canopy of stars, with softly glowing lanterns hung on the branches of the surrounding trees. The meadow, once silent and solemn, buzzes with warmth and celebration. There are tables arranged in a loose circle, each covered with simple linen cloths and adorned with centrepieces of wildflowers and sprigs of pine. 

The air is humming with joy, laughter, and music, soft and simple and unassuming, performed by a few local musicians. First Katsuki and Izuku had danced with each other, and then were joined by their friends for a few more slow tunes, before they were pulled into upbeat dances lead by Mina, who has blended some silly Capitol-style dance with the folk-dancing of District 12 into something that soon fills the meadow with stomping feet, clapping hands, and the occasional burst of laughter when someone inevitably trips. 

Later, Katsuki watches as Mina bounces Kenji on her hip, and Izuku twirls Eri around, looking radiant with laughter. Toshinori shuffles around in little circles with Kiku standing on the tops of his feet, and Yumiko sits in the grass weaving together flower crowns with Uraraka, who keeps delighting the girl by making the petals float around in the air like confetti. 

The questions are just beginning, with Yumiko and Kiku. They’ll be learning about the Hunger Games in school soon enough, but the girls both already know about the role Katsuki and Izuku played in them. Kenji will know in a few years. Katsuki doesn’t know how to tell them more about that world without frightening them all to death. 

There is a soft melancholy that comes with every joyous moment for Katsuki. He had anticipated it, even today. Especially today. Because it is in these moments, in every milestone, where Katsuki thinks of his family the most. With every celebration, every holiday, every new structure built, he feels his mother and father all around him, and he aches desperately for them to truly be here in the flesh, to relish in this joy with him, because this is a world that his parents deserved to witness. And he clings to that ache, and doesn’t attempt to push it down or ignore it. He doesn’t want to forget his parents, because they deserve to be remembered. He doesn’t want to forget what it felt like when they died. So if he has to feel lonely even when he’s surrounded by other people, if he has to miss his father’s voice and his mother’s sharp wit, then that’s the way he would honour them. 

Something Katsuki didn’t quite fully comprehend when Masaru died is that while his death may have been a solitary moment, the loss of him was not. In losing their family’s biggest provider, it was up to Katsuki to step up and take charge. Katsuki had to push down his pain in order to protect himself and his mother. It was after losing Mitsuki that Katsuki began to notice that he felt a wave of grief over and over and over again, and that it was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel with Masaru; he had buried himself in the work of providing protection and survival, not allowing his grief to bury him the way it did his mother. A boy losing a father so young has no other choice than to become what his mother needed at that time. Even when it meant that, as her son, he did not receive her comfort in return for the sacrifice of his childhood. 

But there is something intrinsically different about losing a mother. She is gone, and she has left behind a hole in Katsuki’s heart—one that had only just begun to mend in the few short years that their relationship had finally begun to heal—and now it would never truly go away. His mother died, and his mother is the only person in the world that Katsuki desperately wants to talk to about how that feels. He wants to feel her hand on his cheek, or ruffling through his hair, and wants to hear her advice on how to get on without her. But that’s impossible. 

Katsuki has now spent more of his life without his father than he did with him. It’s been nearly twenty years since he lost Masaru, and almost ten since he lost Mitsuki. He wishes there was some way for him to tell them that he’s content—happy, even—and safe. Izuku tells him that they know it, wherever they are. Katsuki doesn’t believe there is anyone there to listen when he goes to the garden in the Victor’s Village and talks, but he does it anyway. It’s easier to talk to the moonflowers than it is to Dr. Yoshida, so when the blooms open up in the night, so does Katsuki. 

Izuku comes up beside him and bumps his hip into his. “Hey. Think you’ve got one more dance in you for me?” 

Katsuki smiles, and lets Izuku lead him by the hand out into the meadow as the music once again turns sleepy and slow. Katsuki recognizes the song instantly. 

Deep in the meadow, under the willow 

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow 

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes 

And when again they open, the sun will rise 

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm 

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true 

Here is the place where I love you

“What’s on your mind?” Izuku asks. 

“Morbid stuff for our wedding day,” Katsuki admits, “We don’t have to talk about it now.” 

Izuku draws back a little. His arms find their way around Katsuki’s shoulders. “Try me.” 

Katsuki lets out a long exhale, and he looks over to see Yumiko and Kiku, in their matching white tulle dresses with satin sashes—Kiku’s orange, Yumiko’s green—giggling while they twirl around through the wildflowers. “They have no idea that they’re playin’ in a graveyard,” Katsuki says. 

Izuku looks over to the girls for a moment, then back to Katsuki. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs softly. His thumb brushes against the skin just below Katsuki’s ear. “We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.” 

Katsuki knows that Izuku is right. But he also knows that one day he’ll have to explain to them about his nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away. Just like the melancholy that hits him as freshly as it ever has and ever will whenever he thinks of all the ones they have lost. Time is supposed to heal, but Katsuki finds that the older he gets, the deeper he feels the ache. Like the lake house, the ones that are gone are frozen in time, and Katsuki will continue to be ever-changing. 

He knows he’ll feel that ache again, six short years from now, when he turns 35; the same age Masaru was when he died. And he’ll feel it again another seven years after that, when he turns 42, the oldest his mother got to be, and he’ll miss her just as much as the day he lost her. They will both be bad mornings, where it will feel impossible to take pleasure in anything, because he’s afraid it could all be taken away. 

“There’s somethin’ I’ve been doin’,” Katsuki tells him, “That helps me to survive it.” 

“What’s that?” Izuku asks. 

“I make a list in my head of every good thing I’ve ever seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember.”

"That must take a long time."

"It does. It gets kind of repetitive. And tedious, especially after all these years.” 

Izuku smiles. “It kind of sounds like a game.” 

Katsuki smiles back. His hands wrap securely around his husband's waist, and he drops his forehead to rest against Izuku’s. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, “But there are much worse games to play.” 

THE END

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