Chapter Text
Four. That’s how many recorders he’s broken.
Katsuki’s honestly surprised there hasn’t been more.
Four recorders, and one phone.
That’s what they had tried the first time- recording everything on his phone, letting him have total control over where this story was placed.
Then he’d gone and blown up his phone in a fit of anger and frustration while listening to the tape, and they decided it would probably be better to use a cheaper recording device.
(Luckily the school had been willing to pay to replace his phone this time.)
Given how often he had to listen to this godawful story, four (technically five) exploded recorders isn’t much. And it was happening less and less as the days went by. His phone and the first two recorders had been shattered within the first week and a half, the third within the first month, and the fourth just last week, two months after he’d started working with Akina.
It was progress.
Kind of.
At least, that’s what Akina keeps saying. Katsuki isn’t totally sure he believes her.
It had taken him four sessions to finally be able to tell the full story. He had to stop at different points in the first three- too upset or bordering on hysterical to continue. Akina was much better at dealing with potentially dangerous hysterical people than he would have thought.
He admires that to a degree.
Most days he doesn’t even want to hate her anymore.
Most days.
It’s still not easy. It will probably never be easy to think about, much less verbalize, what happened that day. But it isn’t as impossible as it felt in those first two weeks.
As much as he hates to admit it, it helps that he has to listen to the story he tells in their session every day as well.
It feels fucking terrible, and most days he’d rather peel his own flesh off than ever have to listen to that damned recording again, but- it helps. Besides, avoiding it would be the coward’s way out, and Bakugou Katsuki refuses to be made a coward.
And a story can only retain a certain level of horror and fear for so long.
It still hurts. It’s still horrible. It will never not be horrible.
But it feels more manageable. Less raw. Less like a point of no return.
Remembering his rape has become easier to deal with. Telling the story of it has become more endurable. Listening is now more bearable. It’s progress.
There are still setbacks though.
Like last week, when Steel’s trial, which had been delayed by over a month due to Katsuki’s own interference, finally came and went. Akina had asked him if he felt he’d be capable of attending the trial, of seeing Steel again without panicking. She told him it would be a good way to face his experience more directly. But she also advised that, unless he was absolutely certain he could manage, that the trial was best avoided.
Katsuki likes to think that he’s gotten better at understanding his own emotional disposition, that he’s been more rational regarding his own mental health recently.
But he still hates the thought of being unable to “handle” anything.
So he went.
He found himself having to leave halfway through the trial.
Even with six fingers missing, Steel was still a smug, disgusting fucker. Katsuki had been sitting in the back row of the court house, slouched behind several tall men in suits, and Steel still seemed to know he was there. Seemed to look right at him.
And Katsuki had felt hands on him, and breath on his face, and a smirk far closer, and blood, and-
It had been too much.
When he tried to listen to the recording the next night, he blew up the recorder.
Setbacks, Akina had explained to him, are normal.
It hadn’t felt normal.
It felt like failure. And failure, for Bakugou Katsuki, is not normal.
But, by the end of the week, it seemed his brain had rightened itself once more, meaning, at the very least, that he wouldn’t have to start his whole ‘emotional process’ or whatever over from scratch. He’s honestly not sure he could if he had to.
Katsuki runs his hand over the sleek buttons of the recorder as he listens to the end of the story-
“I start to think this will never fucking end, that he’ll never be done with me, that it’ll never be over. But then something knocks Steel off of me, jarring my whole body in the process, because, fuck, that disgusting fucker was still inside me- and… that’s it. It’s over. Kirishima and the rest of those fucks are there, and it’s done.”
Katsuki squeezes the hand he has fisted in his sheets tightly.
It’s done.
It’s over.
He repeats those words like a mantra.
It’s done. It’s over. It’s done, it’s done, it’s-
A knock on his door startles him.
“Bakugou?”
Katsuki pulls his earphones out, and then shoves the recorder into the drawer of his dresser quickly. When he pulls open the door, Kirishima stands there, grinning at him brightly.
“Yo!”
Katsuki glares at him. “There’s no way in hell you’ve already finished your homework.”
Kirishima’s grin falls. “Well not entirely,” he admits, sheepishly. “But that’s why I’m here! You can help me with the math and stuff, right?”
Katsuki huffs with an annoyance that’s mostly faked. “Why the hell would I do that?”
Kirishima fake pouts, leaning against the door. “Because you love m-”
Katsuki cuts him off, pushing Kirishima away with a hand to the face. “Shut up, you fucking idiot. Just get in here.”
Kirishima laughs, and pulls away from his palm. He doesn’t even bother to harden his skin, and something about that innate trust makes Katsuki’s heart clench.
“Aye aye, Captain,” Kirishima says, following Katsuki into the room.
It’s been better, they’ve been better, over the past few weeks. Kirishima’s started joking like he used to- play flirting, and teasing here and there. It’s still more tentative than it was before, but it feels nice to slowly begin regaining some semblance of their normalcy.
When Kirishima comes to sit next to him, cross legged on the bed, their knees press together, and it’s easier this time, for Katsuki not draw away from the touch.
This is something relatively new. Kirishima’s physical presence has always been a bit more bearable than most people’s, but Katsuki’s just honestly never been very comfortable with touch to begin with. He hadn’t liked it as a kid, and he couldn’t stand it after the fucking sludge monster. Even casual and light touches were reserved for only the most bearable, and trusted people.
After Steel the very concept of touch made his skin crawl, made him want to scratch his own epidermal layer right off so he’d never have to worry about unwanted contact again.
According to Akina, that’s apparently a problem.
Katsuki had been pretty content to let it stay an issue for the rest of his life, but no he had to ‘overcome it’ and shit. Ugh.
She had started introducing ‘touch exposure’ about two or three weeks ago. When she’d asked who he’d be the most comfortable with at the start, Bakugou had, idiotically, replied that he didn’t fucking care.
So, of course, the next fucking session, he walked into the room to find fucking Deku of all people there.
Luckily Akina had been merciful enough to keep things simple in that first session, only requiring them to sit next to each other on the stupidly small couch, and touch fingers for only a few moments at a time. It had been awkward as hell, and Katsuki had to resist the urge to blow up Deku’s fingers on multiple occasions, but somehow, they both managed to make it past those fifteen minutes with their sanity and all ten of their fingers intact.
It was a different person each session, but Akina had encouraged him to practice as much as he felt he could outside of their sessions.
Kirishima had been more than happy to help when he mentioned it.
So. Casual touching. That’s happening. And he’s… getting used to it. He thinks. Maybe.
While he’s going over quadratic equations at one point in the night, Katsuki finds Kirishima staring at him, red eyes soft and disgustingly sentimental. And instead of looking away quickly, blushing as red as his hair like he normally does when he’s caught staring, Kirishima just smiles at him, gentle and caring, and Katsuki feels his heart clench.
Somewhere down the line that had stopped hurting.
Katsuki doesn’t know when.
Things won’t ever fully go back to normal, Katsuki understands that. Some things will just have to change, because, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s changed since that day in the warehouse.
So some things are different.
Things like his hero costume.
For the first few weeks after Steel he’d had to wear the school gym uniform because his costume was being remade from scratch. But even after his hero costume had finally arrived, he couldn’t bring himself to wear it for the longest time. It felt wrong, somehow, to wear the same clothes he’d been raped in. Unnatural.
As much as he hates to admit it, Akina had given some pretty sound advice.
“If you still like the design, then stick with it,” she said. “Maybe change it a bit if you want to feel more comfortable, but so long as you still like it, try to take ownership of it.”
And so he does. He still likes the costume, and fuck Steel if he thinks he gets to ruin something else for him. But there are some things that he just can’t leave as is.
He sends it back, asking for the metal collar to be removed, and for the material making up the gauntlets to be changed. They border on being too bulky anyways. The design changes past that are small, just enough to make it slightly different, but not enough to change the fact that it’s still his costume.
It’s different. But he finds himself oddly satisfied regardless.
He also finds the abuse center becoming a part of his new norm. Walking there with Yaoyorozu three times a week no longer feels like a chore, but just a part of his normal routine. And, while he can’t say he exactly loves it there, the work is… tolerable. It actually feels a bit, well, not rewarding exactly, but satisfying to know that he’s doing something that helps. Even if he’s really not comfortable doing anything more involved than serving food in the kitchen, it’s something.
Doctor’s visits are more normal now. He’s been cleared for HIV for the most part, but the doctor’s still recommend he come in every two or three months, just to make sure everything is still okay. At least for a while longer.
Relationships have changed too.
He and Kirishima are much the same as ever, though closer and some ways, and still trying to rework common ground in others. But there’s also what Kirishima had told him about his talks with Akina, about the anger he had felt that day in the warehouse, about how it had scared him.
Katsuki does not know what to do with that information, doesn’t know what to tell him. But Kirishima doesn’t seem to expect him to say anything, and somehow it just becomes another puzzle piece that forms the full picture of his best friend.
There’s also Tokoyami.
They don’t talk, not really. That’s not either of their thing. But Katsuki had still felt it was important to face him after he’d dragged him into the whole mess with Steel.
“They figure out it was you?” Katsuki had asked one day when their cleaning duties had overlapped.
“They highly suspected,” Tokoyami replied. “I was given cleaning duties, like you, and my sessions with Dr. Hano were made mandatory.”
“Sorry.”
Apologizing was somehow easier than before.
“It’s fine,” Tokoyami said. “Besides, I… I perhaps underestimated how helpful she could be.”
Those were the last words they’d exchanged on the subject, but it was still oddly reassuring to have silent presence there whenever he began cleaning duties for the night.
He’d reached out to Shinsou in much the same way, dreading what he might hear.
“Academic probation, and some kind of counseling,” Shinsou had told him, grimacing. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You still aiming for the hero course?” Bakugou demanded.
Shinsou had just smirked, but it seemed strained around the edges. “Couldn’t stop me if you tried.”
So, perhaps, not everything had changed.
It’s a tedious process, but Bakugou, slowly, surely, gets used to the way things have changed.
It seems that getting used to anything though is a task better forgotten, because the morning after Kirishima drops into his room, everything goes to shit again.
Katsuki manages to stumble down to the kitchen, barely awake and in desperate need of coffee.
There are only a few other students from his class milling about, but that’s to be expected. He tends to wake up rather early, eating breakfast before the rest of the lazy assholes in his class so much as get out of bed.
What is strange however is how quiet they all are, huddled over a phone screen, alert and tensed as if for attack.
Katsuki stops at the edge of the kitchen, and narrows his eyes at them.
“The fuck are you doing?” he slurs.
All of their backs straighten at once, and four pairs of wide eyes turn to him- Deku, Todoroki, Tail Guy, and Yaoyorozu’s.
They send each other quick, furtive glances, and Katsuki immediately knows something’s up.
He glares, stomping forward. “Oh, what the fuck is it now?”
“Kacchan,” Deku starts, but Katsuki just grabs the phone from his hand, not caring about the noise of protest Yaoyorozu and Tail Guy make.
He stares down at the article in front of him, and for a moment the words don’t make sense.
Murder.
Attack.
Break in.
Hirota.
Katsuki’s entire body goes cold, and his vision finally focuses in, and-
The article is only a few hours old. It’s only a few paragraphs- the police haven’t given much information yet.
All that’s known is that Hirota Masaji was found burned to death last night in his cell.
“Bakugou,” Yaoyorozu is saying, moving closer to him with her hands raised, as if she were approaching a scared, wild animal.
Katsuki doesn’t bother to listen to her. He drops the phone as if it’s burned him, and he doesn’t even stop to consider- his bare feet, his pajamas, the irrationality of it all- before running out the front door.
His classmates call after him, but no one gives chase as Bakugou tears out of the building, and across the court yard towards the school.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no-
Katsuki knows how this has to look, knows what his teachers will think.
Damn it, he’s been working so damn hard to put what Hirota did behind him, to move on, to be allowed to continue here. To be a hero. He’s kept up with the school’s parole, and the community service, and the therapy, and he hasn’t even let his grades slip. He’s been so careful not to mess it up, and he hasn’t- he hasn’t.
And it’s all about to be gone in the blink of an eye. All the work he’s done, all-
Katsuki bursts into the school building, his chest heaving.
Was the door locked? He can’t remember.
He only takes a moment to glance about, trying to remember where he is, trying to orient himself for a brief second, before taking off in the direction of the teacher’s tower.
He has to tell them, he has to- they have to know. They can’t expel him now. Not after everything he’s done to stay.
“Bakugou,” a voice rings out as he reaches the first landing of the stairs in the staff wing.
Katsuki pulls up short, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He can’t get enough air, damn it, he can’t-
Aizawa stares down at him, eyes tired and unimpressed.
He should wonder how he got there. How he knows Katuski would be here, but the only thing that matters now, is-
“I have to-” Katsuki starts, then stops as his throat constricts around the words. “I have to talk to Nedzu. He has to know-”
Aizawa doesn’t seem the least bit surprised, and just motions Katsuki along. “He sent me down to meet you- camera’s caught your entrance. There’s a staff meeting in his office now. Come on.”
Katsuki hurries to catch up to Aizawa, but somehow the walk still feels as if it takes forever. He wants to run to Nedzu- he needs to tell him, before anyone can convince him otherwise. He needs to know that Katsuki didn’t do this.
When they get to Nedzu’s office, the place is crowded. Blood King, Present Mic, All Might, and Midnight are all there already, looking at something on a hologram screen. When they open the door however, the picture is closed, and all eyes turn to Katsuki and Aizawa.
Nedzu looks up with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, there you are Bakugou. We had been planning to speak with you at the start of class, but just as well.”
Katsuki takes a few quick strides towards Nedzu’s desk, ignoring Blood King as he sets a hand against his shoulder to hold him back.
“I didn’t do it,” he says, and his voice shakes. “You have to know I didn’t do this.” He turns to look up at Aizawa, who continues to stare down at him impassively. “You know I didn’t. I wouldn’t fuck things up after this long. I can- I’ll take any test to prove it. I wasn’t the one who-”
“Calm down my boy,” All Might says, finally cutting off Katsuki’s diatribe. Blood King shifts out of the way as All Might moves in front of Katsuki and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Katsuki just barely manages to not flinch. “We know you didn’t kill Hirota,” All Might assures him.
Katsuki feels his breath catch in his throat. “What?”
“Of course,” Nedzu says, a bit of amusement in his tone. All Might moves back so that Katsuki can see the principal once again. “We know it wasn’t you. It wouldn’t make sense for one. But, more importantly, the actual killer left a calling card of sorts.”
Nedzu reaches forward, activating the projection they’d been looking at before, and Katsuki only sees a glimpse of what looks to be a burnt body, before Nedzu zooms past it to blood red writing (that might actually be blood) that hangs above the body.
Rapists will be Rejected.
Katsuki feels his breath catch in his chest, feels his lungs burn.
Steel is dead. He’s actually dead. He-
“The culprit also seemed to make an effort to make themselves known,” Nedzu continues, and the hologram fast forwards through what must be security camera footage for a moment, before coming to stop on a familiar face, looking right into the camera.
“Dabi..” Katsuki means for it to be a simple statement. It’s obvious who it is after all, with the distinctive scarring. But incredulity clouds his voice, posing it almost as a question.
But why the hell would someone like Dabi murder another villain for committing rape?
Shouldn’t the League of Villains be chummy with people generally trying to destroy the students of U.A., regardless of their methods?
“It appears so,” Midnight says, and Nedzu closes the projection. “The police department sent this bit of evidence to us to try and understand any possible motives.”
“As best we understand it,” Aizawa says, speaking up for the first time since stepping into the room, “this appears to be a statement on Dabi’s part, or on the part of the League of Villains, about what they will and will not accept from other criminals.”
“Either way,” Nedzu says, “you don’t need to concern yourself further, Bakugou. You are not under investigation for this act.”
“But if you feel you are in danger, or need to speak with us,” All Might interjects, “then do not hesitate. We can’t be certain that this isn’t a larger ploy on the part of the League of Villains either. If you think any of them might be trying to contact you, please inform your teacher.”
Katsuki gives a halfhearted scoff, his mind still reeling. “I’m not an idiot, All Might.”
All Might just gives him a small smile. “Of course not, my boy."
“Come on,” Aizawa says with a sigh. “We’ve still got a few hours before school starts. I’ll walk you back to the dorms.”
Katsuki’s head is still spinning.
Steel is dead.
Really, and truly dead.
It doesn’t feel real.
Most of the day is passed in a haze. He notices a few concerned glances from his classmates, but he can’t bring himself to give them any false reassurances. He’s too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Even his community service work that day is passed in relative silence. Fukukoda watches him quietly, her eyes sharp and hawk-like.
He even ignores Kirishima when his friend comes to knock on his door.
He doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. He doesn’t think he’d know what to say.
A part of him wants to let Kirishima in, to soak up the warmth of his presence.
But some desolate, awful part of him doesn’t want that right now. Doesn’t want warmth, or comfort.
He doesn’t want to run from this emotion.
It’s stupid, but he just curls up in his bed, and pulls the covers over his head, staring at nothing.
It’s nearly one a.m. when his stomach finally protests his lack of dinner.
It’s late enough that Bakugou doesn’t think twice about stumbling down to the kitchen- where this had all started, where- and making himself something to eat.
No one’s down there of course, so Bakugou has that time to himself. To think, and eat in peace.
He’s just finishing up cooking a pot of curry, when he hears footsteps padding across the floor. He doesn’t dare look up. Maybe whoever it is will know better than to try and speak with him right now.
“Kacchan?”
Unless that person’s Deku, in which case, there’s no fucking chance.
Katsuki groans, and sends a glare of his shoulder. “The fuck you want?”
“Needed some water,” Deku says, walking cautiously to the sink. He’s still blinking sleep out of his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Cooking,” Katsuki bites out.
Deku glances at the pot on the stove, then at Katsuki, raising a brow- the question and sarcastic remark regarding the time going unsaid.
Damn it, when the hell did the twerp get this damn sassy around him? He remembers when Deku would flinch away from him. What happened to that?
And why is he happy that it’s gone?
When it becomes clear that Katsuki isn’t going to elaborate further, Deku just sighs, and refills his cup at the refrigerator. But before he leaves, he pauses again to stare at Katsuki.
“Do you want help cleaning the dishes?” he asks.
Katsuki starts. “Eh?”
Izuku indicates to the dishes Katsuki’s left in the sink. “That way you don’t have to worry about it after you’re done eating.”
Katsuki should say no. He thinks he wants to say no.
But.
“Fine,” Katsuki grumbles, turning away from Deku to grab two bowls from the cabinet. “But you might as well fucking eat then. The pot’ll be too hot to clean for a while.”
Deku blinks in surprise, tilting his head. “You sure?”
“Fucking whatever,” Katsuki sneers. “I made too much any way. Just don’t whine if I give you a smaller portion.”
Deku gives him a small, sincere smile that Katsuki chooses to ignore. “Thanks, Kacchan.”
They have their meal of rice and curry in silence, the only sound the clinking of metal spoons on porcelain dishes.
The company is more grounding that Katsuki would have anticipated. It almost makes him regret pushing people away earlier today.
(Then perhaps he could have avoided this awkward interaction with fucking Deku of all people.)
They stand side by side as they wash the dishes, shoulders occasionally bumping as they reach for another dish or a rag.
Katsuki doesn’t know what prompts him to say it, but before he can think about it, his mouth is already opening.
“I’m glad he’s dead.”
Deku slows in scrubbing the bowl in his hands. He doesn’t look up at Katsuki.
Katsuki wishes he could take it back as soon as he’s said it. Why the fucking hell would he tell Deku of all people that?
Then, slowly, Deku sets the dish to the side.
“I don’t blame you,” he finally says, and looks up at his once childhood friend. His green eyes are tired, but sincere. “I don’t even know how I feel about it. I can’t imagine how you must feel right now.”
“Relieved,” Katsuki says immediately.
Shit, okay, apparently his filter is extremely loose this late at night.
But Deku just nods. “I kind of am too, actually. But,” he pauses, biting his lip, and Katsuki waits for it. Waits to hear how it’s wrong to wish anyone dead- even a piece of human garbage like Steel. “But I also feel kind of angry,” he finally admits, and Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “It feels like he got the easy way out. I wanted him to have to live- I wanted him to be miserable for every second, of every day, for the rest of his life, for what he did to you.” His fingers curl around the sink, and there’s an awful creaking sound as the metal warps under his hands. Izuku pulls away quickly, leaving dents behind in the metal.
“Whoops,” he says, attempting a sheepish laugh. It rings false.
Katsuki stares at the warped sink and doesn’t know how to feel. He hadn’t thought Deku could feel things like that- could feel anything but disgustingly inspired determination and optimism. To think that even ‘kind and timid Deku’ had been pushed to such vindictiveness by Steel was almost… reassuring in a way.
“He wouldn’t have,” he finds himself saying. “He would have still felt like he won.” A sneer tugs at his lips. “That bastard- I bet he even found a way to smirk even as he fucking died. He always thought he’d won. No matter what.”
“But he’s dead now,” Deku points out. “He’s dead, and you’re still here.”
Katsuki swallows thickly, and Deku’s gaze is too intense, too sincere to hide from.
“We’re going to be okay,” Izuku says, unprompted, but strong in his conviction. “He’s gone, and we’re going to be okay. He lost.”
Katsuki feels something slowly begin to untwine itself from his insides, loosening just slightly.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “He lost.”
And Katsuki tells himself, with renewed assurance- It’s done.
And he’s going to be fine.