Chapter Text
He sits in numb silence as the doctor tells him he'll never be able to use his quirk again. That his injuries will never heal properly, he fucked up. His parents aren't there, but they never really have been. Fatgum reaches across the bed and squeezes his hand. Regret flashing through the older man's eyes. Kirishima would race to assure him that it isn’t his fault, but he feels nothing. Just cold. He can't turn and comfort his mentor. He can hardly look at him.
"Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?" Fatgum asks the doctor quietly. A sad shake of a head seals the deal. Kirishima felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry young man."
Kirishima is sorry too.
He wakes when his parents return from wherever they went for the day. Laying still and listening to the quiet conversation between them and the doctor that permeates the otherwise silent hospital. "His body broke down too much. It will never be able to support his quirk again. You’re lucky Mr. and Mrs. Kirishima. The amount of damage your son received should have killed him."
"How much is this going to cost?" his dad asks after a while and Kirishima squeezes his eyes shut. He hears the rustle of paper as the doctor goes through his file.
"Several thousand. We place over a hundred skin graphs onto his arms alone."
"We can't fucking afford that," his dad hisses again.
"Your bill has been covered." the doctor says, his voice a mingled mess between assurance and annoyance. "Mr. Kirishima, I don't think you understand the severity of this situation. Your son is going to need a lot of help. Extensive care for his skin and the scars. And I highly recommend getting him psychiatric help as well." the doctor's voice drops again, "No one would be able to handle losing a quirk like that very well."
“Who covered it?” his mom asks. Kirishima can picture her standing close to his dad, cream cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, her hands tucked in.
“The Fatgum hero agency.”
Kirishima stops listening after his dad grumbles something about suing Fatgum and everyone else involved with the incident. He can’t roll over away from them. Stuck staring up at the ceiling, his body creaking in pain. It’d been doing that a lot. Creaking like an old dock that’s been beat on by the waves for too long. An old dock that’s threatening to crash into the sea at any moment's notice. Kirishima blinks, and finally he cries. The tears sting and stick itchy to the bandages wrapped around his face. It’s not fair. He thinks. It’s not fair.
His parents take him out of UA, and he barely gets to say goodbye. They don’t even let him unpack his room. Not that he could. Kirishima’s body doesn't feel like his anymore. Physical therapy is on his long list of therapies to go to during the week. He sits in the car and watches as Aizawa directs his items into the trunk. He’d talked to Kirishima’s parents briefly and from the look on his face he hadn’t been too impressed. Oh well, Kirishima thinks a dully, he won’t have to care anymore.
His parents get into the car finally and Kirishima panics. His friends are in that building. His friends that he’ll never see again.
“Wait!” he croaks out. His voice a horrific warble of what it used to be. The startles look he gets from his dad has him shrinking back in his seat.
“What do you want Eijiro?”
“Can I say goodbye to my friends?” Kirishima asks. His mom raises a black brow at him from her spot in the passenger seat.
“You can’t walk. Text them.”
“It’s not the same!” Kirishima defends. Both the adults look upset and exasperated, gearing up to beg Kirishima tries to curl his fingers in his pants. “Mom I-”
“If he wants to say goodbye we can get him a wheelchair.” Aizawa seemed to materialize out of nowhere. With the man staring down his parents they finally agree. It’s embarrassing to have to be lifted like a child into the chair from the car and arranged so he’s comfortable. Aizawa folds his hands gently in his lap before taking the handles and pushing the chair towards the school. Kirishima’s eyes are swimming with tears by the time they get into the common room. Maybe this was a bad idea. But then Kaminari is shouting his name and peeling across the room to wrap him in a hug.
Kirishima cried with his friends as they clung to him and his body refused to cling back. Sero had threatened to tape him to the ground so he couldn’t go anywhere and to Kirishima that sounded like a brilliant idea. Mina wiped away the tears he couldn’t and Kaminari clung to him, staring sullenly at the ground. The rest of the class gathered around to say their goodbyes. He accepted hugs from all of them, and small parting gifts. Someone was missing though. A glaring hole in the ensemble of classmates. The sliding of the elevator door catches his attention and Momo lets out a breath, turning his chair slightly towards the sound. Bakugou stares at him. Eyes trailing from his flat hair to this limp hands and the chair. His face contorts and before Kirishima can even call out to him Bakugou is whirling around and charging out of the room. He clips his shoulder against the door jamb in his haste to get away.
A piece of Kirishima went with him.
And he never got to say goodbye.
7 years later
It’s a bad night. After a bad week. Kirishima sits hunched at his small dining table, squinting at the chicken scratch that is Asahi’s test. The kid had the worst handwriting out of the entire grade and that was saying something. Already Kirishima had gone through thirty messy tests. And so far all of them have done poorly. His body has decided that it was also a good day to remind him that at times he couldn’t stand without aid or that his hands were so fucked that they couldn’t do simple tasks like circling correct answers.
The clock on the counter across from him ticked away, reminding him that midnight was long gone and three was soon approaching. Groaning Kirishima drops the test onto the pile of unfinished, his hands shaking badly as he tries to curl them on the table. It was getting bad again, as it tended to as the winter season came upon them. He has a check up next weekend and he can handle the discomfort of not feeling like his body is his own for a week. The kids were used to seeing him braced up and on crutches. Or when he couldn’t even put on his braces in a chair. He can handle it. It’s fine.
Getting to bed is a struggle and Kirishima feels like giving up and sleeping in the hallway to his room, but he grits his teeth and forces himself into his bedroom, grabbing the hand rail on the wall that leads all the way to his bed and leaning heavily against it. All but collapsing onto the bed, he pants. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. It was a mantra that both his physical and mental therapists told him to use.
“Tomorrow you won’t hurt the same way,” his physical therapist told him as he sat on the floor defeated tears running hot and heavy down his face. “Tomorrow means you get to try again.”
“Tomorrow you won’t hate yourself as much,” his mental therapist told him as he sits in angry agony at himself in front of her desk. “Tomorrow means a new start Eijiro. Don’t forget it.”
But on nights like this, when his body hurts and his mind is loud, Kirishima can’t help but wonder if one day tomorrow won’t mean any of those things. The sun may rise, but he may not. Whether his body finally will no longer allow it or his mind won’t let him move or breath without the feeling of drowning. He wonders when he’ll wake up and the few friends that have stuck around for the years since UA are gone for good, his phone completely silent.
Kirishima turns his face against his pillow to wipe away the tears that have fallen down his cheeks. His hands won’t move anymore. Tomorrow they will. Kirishima smiles a little bitterly, a little sad. He has to be grateful for his kids. That bunch of rowdy quirk wielding fourth graders that brighten his day and make getting out of bed a little easier. It’s for them that Kirishima lives. He;s sure of it. His friends are barely around, which he can’t blame them for. He watches as his classmates climb the ranks for heroes. Kirishima’s parents are even more absent now than they were when he was a child. So his kids are his spine. His light, the reason he goes on. He’ll be in that bright lit classroom tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes with his phone vibrating with a call on his bedside table. He reaches for it blearily his fingers numb, bumping clumsily over the smooth surface of the wooden table before he finally grapes his phone. Kirishima has no idea who would be calling him so early on a school day, until he sees his principal's name scrolled across the top of the phone. Sighing and plastering on a fake voice.
“Hello Mr. Nakamura.” Kirhisma says, stifling the yawn that threatens to rise.
“Good morning Kirishima. Sorry for calling so early but I figured I had better tell all my teachers about our guest today.”
Kirishima pauses in his assessment of his body. Trying to determine how hard getting out of bed is going to be.
“Guest sir?”
“Yes yes. I was going to keep it a surprise but my wife convinced me that wasn’t very fair to my staff.” he laughs and Kirishima pulls the phone away from his ear with a disgruntled frown. It was way too early. “Anyways. I managed to get pro hero Dynamight to come and visit our school! Isn’t that great?”
Dynamight. Bakugou. Fuck . No, he wanted to say, no that is not great! He hasn’t seen Bakugou in person for seven years and hasn’t talked to him before the whole incident when they were sixteen. How is he supposed to face the other? Kirishima is nothing like he used to be. His hair is black again for crying out loud.
“Kirishima?”
“Ah, sorry. I’m just surprised is all I guess.”
“As you should be! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I want your class on their best behavior, understand?”
Kirishima nods a little wistfully before remembering his boss can’t see him and confirms that yes he’ll keep his class in check.
“Good! I knew I could count on you!”
“Of course,” Kirishima says a little faintly. There’s a text from Kaminari when the principal hangs up. Kirishima opens it and is greeted with a picture of a very drunk Sero wearing nothing but Chargebolt underwear dancing on a table with a drink in his hand.
Kami: HE’S TOP TEN!!!!!!!!!
Kirishima smiles. Fumbling out a reply congratulating his friend. He doubts it’ll be opened today though. He catches a glimpse of Bakugou’s number at the very bottom on his contact list. Panic and anger twist in his chest. He’d texted Bakugou several times. Asking telling him goodbye and then trying to get him to come hang out. But just as the weekly hang outs with his other friends faded away, so did his courage to send a text that wouldn’t be read to Bakugou. The last time he’d texted him was at a new years party where he drank more than he should have. And now he was going to have to face him. Changed and broken and weak.
It’s not a walking day. Because of course it isn’t. Kirishima struggles with tears of frustration and pain in his eyes as he puts on his braces. Wrapping them around his legs, and then the corset type support item around his waist. It was an old fashioned device, but it helped better than anything else did. The crutches are inconvenient to use in his tiny apartment, so he takes one to the bathroom, panicking when he catches a glimpse of the clock. Kirishima nearly sobs when he looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a tangled mess falling down his back and the diet his doctor had put him on is working way too slow. He looks thin. Way too thin. Way thinner than he should be. Bakugou was destroying him again. With numb fingers Kirishima braids his hair. It’s sloppy and crude, but his fingers shake too much and his muscles are too weak today for him to pile his hair up into the bun it usually is.
Taking a breather in the kitchen Kirishima collects what he needs, grabs the second crutch and limps out of his apartment.
“Good morning deary!” Mrs. Sato calls from her door. He nods in her direction. “Do you need any help?”
“Ah, no. Thank you though.” he hobbles past her a little awkwardly, breathing a sigh of relief when the elevator doors close between them.
When he gets to school Kiko helps him into his classroom.
“Did you eat breakfast?” They ask him, helping to settle him. Kirishima looks up a little guiltily. Kiko’s glasses seem to flash in the light as they narrow their eyes at him. “Do you want to die?”
A little. “No.” he says and accepts the apple and breakfast bar shoved into his hands. “It’s just not a good day.”
Kiko snorts, drawing the blinds up and letting light stream into the classroom. Kirishima relaxes as the childish drawings on the opposite wall are illuminated.
“Tell me about it. Though I guess it’s always going to be a bad day when your boss calls you at the butt fuck crack of dawn.”
Kirishima sighs, “Yeah.” he looks down at his desk, “What do you think about our visitor?”
Kiko clicks their tongue, “No idea to be honest. I have nothing against it. Just wished they’d have told us a lot sooner. I could have made lesson plans around it.” Kiko peers at him, “How bout you?”
Kirishima lets out a breath but then grins. A ruthless flash of teeth that doesn’t have the same affect it did when he could use his quirk. “He’s a damn good hero. The kids’ll love him. That’s all that matters.”
There isn’t anything Kiko can do but agree.
Aika gasps in the doorway when she sees Kirishima. Pointing a little finger she yells, “It’s princess day!”
Kirishima laughs, “It is. You’re right. Come on in now.” Princess day was the name given by his students when he had to wear the corset brace. He wore it over his clothes for convenience, and the little kids called him a princess whenever he wore it. He had to admit, it made days like this a lot better.
The kids were rowdy, talking in high pitches at fast speeds and making a ruckus. Kirishima taps his crutch to the side of his desk to get their attention.
“Quiet down little ones!” he calls. They pretty much do for the most part. Jiro and Haruto continue to talk though, a model airplane clutched in Haruto’s hand. Kirishima reminds them again that he’s talking and then thanks them when they quiet. “Okay guys. So first off, it’s princess day and do you guys remember what we do on princess day?”
A hand shoots up and Kirishima nods towards Chiyo, “We practice patience!”
“Yes! Good job!” Kirishima feels bad when he has to ask these tiny kids to be patient with him on days like this. But he loves them because they are. They wait for him to get across the classroom if they need help and let him take way more breathers than anyone his age should be taking. “Now, I have one more thing to ask of you guys today.” The class leans forward, “Who knows who number two hero Dynamight is?”All the hands in the class shoot up, and several little pieces of Bakugou’s merch is raised into the air. Kirishima waves them down again. “That’s what I thought. Well he’s coming to see you guys today.” Silence. Then the classroom explodes. Kirishima sighs but lets the kids get out their initial excitement. He watches as several of them worry over what they wore that day. It’s really cute.
“Kirishima sensei! When is he going to get here!”
Kirishima grabs a piece of chalk for the board. “That’s a really good question. I’m not sure, so until he gets here I want you all to write down your favorite thing about him and some questions you’d like him to answer.” Never has Kirishima seen his students get their notebooks out so fast. He writes their prompts on the board, and it takes longer than it should. The feeling in his fingers is dull today. After that Kirishima sits back at his desk and pulls out his own paper.
Things I Hate About Bakugou
- His stubbornness
- His pride
- His hardheadedness
- His lack of self preservation
- His tunnel vision
- His silence
- The fact that he completely forgot about me
“Huh, only seven things,” Kirishima mumbles. “I could’ve sworn it was more than that.” reading back through, Kirishima finds himself crossing things off his list.
Bakugou’s stubbornness was what drew Kirishima in at the beginning. The fact that he refused to step down to anyone had enamored Kirishima. It spoke of his strength. Kirishima loves it.
Bakugou’s pride while got him into trouble at times made him honest. Made him true. Kirishima loves it.
Three through five Kirishima could admit he wasn’t fond of. Nothing he’d told the other boy had helped with any of those things. Not that Kirishima was trying to change him, but not letting himself get killed during an attack was preferable.
Bakugou’s silence that Kirishima used to fill. Curled on Bakugou’s bed, study materials forgotten and the evening air smelling clean as it blew up from Ground Beta, Kirishima would fill the silence. And Bakugou would listen, listen like all the crap Kirishima was spouting was worth his time. Kirishima loved it, but he could admit he hated it now.
And the last one made him angry. He did hate Bakugou for that. More than he has ever hated anyone. More than Rappa who reduced him to a shaky shell of who he once was. More than his parents who barely remembered he existed. He hated Bakugou so much for leaving without so much as a Backwards glance.
“Kirishima sensei,” he looks at the child in front of his desk holding out a paper to him.
“Oh no, you keep ahold of that okay? That way you won’t forget what to tell him?” Kirishima says with a smile, covering his paper with his arm as he leans forward. She looks relieved before turning to go back to her desk. Kirishima reminds them to keep their papers.
Bakugou doesn’t show for a while. Kirishima starts the lesson he had planned for the day. Going over the requirements for the projects he’s having the kids do in place of an essay for the next chapter of the book they’re reading. It’s hard to keep their attention, he doesn’t blame them though. So he reminds them only to pay attention when noise levels have reached a little too high. He’s in the middle of showing them the simple rubric he’d put together when the principal knocks on the door frame. Kirishima looks over and his stomach drops to his feet.
Standing behind him, tall and decked out in his hero costume is Bakugou. In the flesh, standing outside of his classroom. He almost wants to scream at him to get out before he can ruin this part of Kirishima’s life too. Instead he smiles politely at the principal and waves him in. Bakugou has to duck to get through the door, and fuck . He’s beautiful. The kids stare at him in awe, some shaking in their seats the papers they’d worked on trembling in pudgy grasps. Some quirks go off too.
“Good afternoon class,” The principal says. Bakugou stands awkwardly at the back of the classroom looking around at the decorations in mild interest and server boredom.
In unison the class stands and bows at the visitors, “Good afternoon kocho sensei.”
Kirishima lowers his head, unable to bend at the waist because of his brace. The principal looks pleased at the kids flawless recital of the greeting. He motions to Bakugou who steps forwards his eyes finally on the kids.
“Um, I’m number two hero Dynamight.” he sounds awkward as hell but the kids eat it up. They all clamber for the hero’s attention now rushing him. Kirishima bites down a laugh as Bakugou takes a horrified step back.
“Kids, one at a time please.” he calls. They fall back, pouting a little bit, and Bakugou’s eyes are on him now. Something flickers through Bakugou’s eyes and Kirishima bites the inside of his cheek afraid that he’s been recognized. But it’s gone just as quickly as it came and Bakugou’s familiar eyes are gone. “Ena come get a chair for Dynamight.” Kirishima says, motioning for the single chair by his desk. Ena runs to get the chair, hefting it up with tiny twig-like arms before marching it back to Bakugou. He sits in it and Kirishima limps closer, directing his kids to settle in a semi circle around the hero’s feet. “One at a time now.”
The questions range from simple ones to more complex ones that remind Kirishima of Midoriya’s hero ramblings. Bakugou answers them with all the grace he can and Kirishima is learning things he had never known about his friend.
“What’s your most favorite color?” Eiko asks with all seriousness. Bakugou sighs.
“Red.”
Kirishima hadn’t known that. But it made sense.
“Do you ever get scared of villains?” Kichi questions. Bakugou scoffs, folding his arms over his chest.
“Hel-heck no.”
Kirishima smiles down at his lap.
The questions go on and on and on. Bakugou growing agitated as time drags on and the questions devolve into childish ramblings.
“Okay guys.” Kirishima finally says, “One more question and then Dynamight has to get back to saving the world.”
There’s a collective crie of sorrow and then hurried chatter over who should ask the last question. Kirishima is not expecting it when several pairs of eyes turn to look at him.
“You haven’t asked him any questions yet Kirishima sensei.” Maki says. Bakugou’s head snaps up and he stares hard at Kirishima.
“Yes!” The kids all shout, “You have to ask him a question sensei!”
But instead it’s Bakugou who asks a question, standing from his chair.
“Shitty Hair?”
And what can Kirishima do. He raises his eyes to meet Bakugou’s and nods. He looks like he’s been slapped and Kirishima has no idea what’s going to happen next.
“Y-you’re a fucking teacher?”
A gasp from the crowd of children and one tiny voice pipes up.
“Mr. Dynamight said a bad word.”