Chapter Text
Deku isn’t dead. That’s about all Katsuki can say. There are at least three IV lines per arm, and an oxygen mask covering his face. The few pieces of skin that aren’t in casts are a sickly black. Like the muscle itself is dead.
Katsuki blinks. The only noise is the slow beeping of the monitors. He isn’t sure what he expected- maybe Deku awake, so he could yell at him, call him an idiot. Reckless.
Probably to get yelled back at.
Instead, his chest is barely moving. Katsuki knows there are only about 10 months between them, but Deku looks young. Too young. And he’s hit with the helplessness that this is a war, and they are children.
He knows not all of them will make it out. Certainly not in one piece. Katsuki wants to be childish for a moment, to find Kira, or Sensei, or whoever, and throw a tantrum. That they’re not old enough for this, they can’t handle it like he does. He wants to stomp his foot and cry that he wanted to be a hero, not a soldier. As if there’s a difference now.
Katsuki doesn’t bother to open the blinds and let some light in. He doesn’t move closer to check on Deku. He’s got no medical experience. He can understand that Deku's heart is still beating and that his lungs still work, but that’s it. So instead, he retreats into the now-empty hallway.
Sero and Iida are nowhere to be seen. Probably gone to check on the rest of their class. Katsuki stumbles back towards his room. The halls are quiet; it’s either early or late enough that visitors are gone home. Katsuki can’t see any clocks to figure it out. Chiharu has melted into the background of the hospital, probably pulling another double. Katsuki will find him later and bring him coffee.
He wanders down the corridors to his room. They emptied eerily fast in the few minutes he was in Deku’s room. The quiet is nice, though; the low lights don’t hurt his head as much. He drags his feet along, moving with the speed of someone triple his age. At least there’s no one to see it.
He crashes onto the hospital bed without bothering to turn the lights off. His wounds send sharp pains through him at the impact, and Katsuki groans uncomfortably into his pillow. But he’s too tired to move, so instead he just closes his eyes and waits for the pain to fade.
Kira’s sitting in one of the two chairs in the room when he wakes. Katsuki isn’t surprised to see her. He is surprised that she’s sitting in the chair furthest away from him. It annoys him, makes him feel stupid. It means nothing. His stomach churns over nothing.
Upon seeing him awake, she doesn’t smile. Katsuki feels sick. He blinks, remaining carefully blank until he knows what he’s done. She seems mad. Katsuki doesn’t remember her ever being genuinely angry with him, and doesn't know how to navigate it. She purses her lips. The sick feeling grows.
Katsuki crumbles first, “Hi.”
He pushes himself up. Ignoring how his stitches pull in all the wrong ways. Kira remains quiet. Katsuki doesn’t like that. Wants to shove and snarl and get a response because at least then he’ll know what’s going on. Anything but being ignored.
Finally, Kira sighs. “You okay?”
And Katsuki nods because it seems like the right answer. And he’s worried, anxiety leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that she’ll lecture him. Say that hero work is dangerous, that he’s going to get himself killed, and she doesn’t want that.
For a moment, Katsuki isn’t sure how he’d defend himself. He isn’t sure he can argue that it’s a good career and a good life. She’s mad, has to be. Katsuki knows the tightness around the eyes, the way she’s sitting too still. Even though it looks foreign on her face, he’s seen it enough times.
And when she opens her mouth, Katsuki is expecting her to ask him to quit. To find something easier and safer.
And it twists in his chest; the only thing stopping him from sparking is the fact that his hands are curled into the sheets. Because, despite the danger and the exhaustion, he loves it. He loves every aspect of hero work. If it were just the fighting, he could get by with just the ring, but it’s not.
It's waking up early to train, studying every law in the last six years for a quiz. Leading a team and, yes, working with others who can match him. It’s winning and knowing it’s not just for the sake of it, but for someone else.
He doesn’t know how not to be that person.
And Kira knows that. That’s the worst part. She knows exactly who he is. Katsuki doesn’t understand that part. That she sees the worst parts of him more often than anyone else, and just accepts it.
The silence gives his brain too much room to fill in the gaps. All the things she could say. All the ways this conversation could go.
Then she stands; Katsuki tenses before he can stop himself. She moves closer. Kira sits on the edge of the bed, arms folded loosely. She doesn’t look at him, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails.
“You scared me.”
The words hit harder than a slap would have.
Katsuki looks down at the blanket briefly. “I’m okay.”
She sighs, tightly. She doesn’t look angry anymore. That’s somehow worse. Like he’s already fucked it up.
“I know you’re fine,” she says. “You’re awake. You’re talking.”
A pause.
“But Katsuki.”
The way she says his name makes something in his chest pull. No nicknames, no honey or sweetheart or any other disgustingly soft endearments that he doesn’t know when he got used to. She’s being serious.
“I thought I was going to lose you.”
He doesn’t know what to do with that.
Because he’s prepared for anger. He’s prepared for someone to tell him he’s reckless and stupid. That he has to stop. He isn’t prepared for someone to admit they were scared.
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Kira sighs, quieter this time.
“I’m not asking you to quit.”
And there it is. Because Kira doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. If Kyo were here, he might have.
Katsuki blinks.
“You’re not?”
“No.”
She looks almost offended that he thought she would.
“Katsuki, I know you. I know you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and decide you want a normal job. I know you’re not going to stop because someone tells you it’s dangerous.”
A tiny, humorless smile pulls at her mouth.
“Trust me, I’ve known you long enough to know that.”
Katsuki looks away. Because she’s right. And because something is humiliating about being understood so easily.
“I just…” Kira starts.
She stops.
Her hands tighten together.
“I just wish wanting to save people didn’t mean everyone gets to try and kill you.”
The room goes quiet. Katsuki stares at the floor. Because she’s right, there's a maniac out there who wakes up every day trying to make sure Katsuki doesn’t.
He doesn’t do it because he wants to get hurt. He doesn’t do it because he thinks he’s invincible.
He does it because other people can’t. Because Kirishima and Deku are going to run headfirst into danger to protect others. Katsuki understands that part, but someone needs to make sure they come back, too.
“Me too,” he says finally.
His voice is rough.
Kira’s face changes. Not angry. Not disappointed. Something sadder. Katsuki keeps going because now that he’s started, he doesn’t know how to stop.
“I know it’s dangerous. I know I could die. But if I can do something, if I can help someone, then I’m going to.”
A beat.
“That’s what a hero is.”
And there’s the problem. Because he says it like it’s obvious. Like, there was never another option. Because even though Katsuki’s been put through the wringer this entire year, his perception of a hero has never changed. Heroes are strong, and their jobs are to put themselves second. Everytime.
Kira stares at him for a long moment. Then she laughs once. Not because it’s funny. “God.”
Katsuki frowns. “What?”
She looks away, shaking her head.
“You’re exactly like him.”
The words settle more heavily than they should. Katsuki doesn’t ask who. He knows.
Five agonising days later, he’s discharged.
UA doesn’t look like a school anymore. Katsuki thinks that’s the first thing that gets him. The classrooms are still there. The dorms are still there. The training fields are still there. Desolate and unused, everything else is gone.
The halls are full of people who don’t belong there.
Families waiting for transport. Injured people are waiting for beds. People sitting with their phones in their hands, staring at screens that haven’t updated in days. Missing person reports are stacked on desks that used to hold assignments.
The evacuation had gone better than it could have. That’s what everyone keeps saying.
Most civilians have been moved. China took in as many as they could. America was too far. Other countries offered what they could. People were being moved to islands on the far sides of Japan, places that were supposed to be safer. Supposed to.
That’s the thing no one says out loud.
There’s nowhere that’s guaranteed anymore.
UA has become a processing centre. A waiting room. A place where people arrive injured and leave once they’re stable. A place where people come looking for names. A place where people sit and wait for someone to tell them if they still have a home.
Katsuki doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get used to it.
He tells himself it won’t be for long.
A few weeks.
Then either everyone will be going home. Or they could all be dead.
He ignores the teams coming back covered in dust. Ignores the way they don’t talk about what they found. Grim and avoiding the people asking if they found their friends, family.
Because sometimes they find what’s left.
Evening comes before Katsuki realizes it.
The dorms are quieter than they should be. The student dorms have been left mostly untouched. Probably giving them room before they’ve to go back out there again.
Everyone’s exhausted, but no one is really sleeping.
It feels wrong to sleep when there are people outside who don’t know where they’re going next.
So they help; that’s what they do. Katsuki finds half of his class scattered around the building.
Because they’re talking to people. Not just classmates. Not just heroes. People.
Iida is organizing something. Kirishima is carrying supplies. Sero is making some kid laugh.
And Katsuki stands there for a moment. It’s weird, but he’s not surprised at all. They’re supposed to be resting, and instead, his class is tripping over themselves to give more. Katsuki starts with Kirishima, helping him run boxes of belongings back and forth.
There's a tug on his shirt, some toddler with her thumb hanging out of her mouth, and watery eyes looking up at him. Katsuki swings her onto her hip before he has to deal with the tears and sets off to find her parents.
On the way, he sees people who wave or ask him things. Like it’s a Saturday market and not currently a refugee centre. Katsuki marches on.
Then there's green hair, a short woman in scrubs. Inko is buzzing around what looks to be a makeshift infirmary.
Katsuki nearly stops walking.
Because she shouldn’t look this tired. She smiles anyway, briefly looking at him before moving on to the next person. Katsuki grimaces back as the hand that’s not in the kid's mouth finds his hair.
Katsuki thinks he might see Deku a few rows back, his own arm in a cast and sling as he helps the next person. Still looking like he should be in bed instead of walking around trying to check on everyone.
Katsuki wants to yell at him, but settles for glaring briefly. Mostly because Katsuki knows he’s a hypocrite. Eventually, he finds the girls' dads. They thank him profusely while Katsuki tries to make his getaway.
Katsuki knows most places have been emptied, and Kamino is one of them. Like if he goes back, he’ll find the streets exactly how he left them. Like, there’s some part of his brain that hasn’t accepted that places can just disappear.
Still, the fact that if he wanders around enough, he’ll find Chiharu is the weirdest thing to happen to him this week. Seeing Chiharu in UA seems like it’s breaking some unwritten rule.
Chiharu is sitting in the middle of a hallway, looking like he’s about two seconds from passing out. It’s the business studies building where Katsuki finds him, every room lined with beds. Some people have even taken over the ones left in the halls. Katsuki dodges around them as he approaches the familiar figure.
His blonde hair, usually kept annoyingly perfect, is a mess. His shirt is wrinkled. There are dark circles under his eyes that look like they’ve been there for days. Which might actually be true. Katsuki gives Chiharu about four seconds of warming before tossing the energy drink to him. He managed to steal it from the canteen earlier.
Something bright and sugary and filled with so many chemicals it might actually do more harm than good.
Chiharu doesn’t catch it. Instead, he watches as the can hits his chest before falling into his lap. For a second, he just stares at the can. Blinking slowly before looking at Katsuki.
“You mean so much to me.”
Katsuki snorts. He’d be weirded out by how genuine Chiharu sounds, but he’s pretty sure Chiharu is talking to the drink.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re talking to a can.”
“It’s been there for me.”
“You’re an idiot.” Katsuki watches him crack open the seal and down about half the can of neon liquid in seconds.
Chiharu grins, smacking his lips. It’s weak. Tired. But it’s there.
“Missed you too.”
Katsuki looks away. Because that’s annoying. Because he doesn’t know what to do with people saying things like that.
“Shut the hell up.”
Chiharu sighs dramatically, “You know the worst thing about this place? The noise.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow. Chiharu drones on. “I can’t even get a couple hours of sleep because of all the moaning and groaning and ugh.”
“Wow. At least you’re being graceful about it.”
Chiharu flips him off. “Fuck you, I’ve gotten used to being roomies.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Chiharu laughs quietly, but his blinks are getting slower. He places the can next to him, and Katsuki bets it’ll spill. They say their goodbyes, and Katsuki wanders off to help move more beds and furniture around.
By one in the morning, UA finally goes quiet. Not silent. It doesn’t do that anymore.
There are still footsteps. Still, people are moving around. Still, the occasional voice from somewhere down the hall.
But it’s quieter. The kind of quiet that comes after everyone has run out of energy. Katsuki is heading back to the dorms. He walks through the main building, classrooms cramped with cots.
His classmates should already be at the dorms.
Probably asleep. Or pretending to be. He doesn’t blame them. He sort of hopes Kirishima will insist on another sleepover.
He’s almost around the corner when he sees the grey hair.
Katsuki stops. Because he knows that hair. The man walking out of one of the meeting rooms doesn’t look like he belongs in a war. He looks normal.
Like this is just another day, and the world hasn’t ended.
The Guy notices him, too. Of course he does. His eyes flick over Katsuki once. Not surprised. Just recognizing.
“Katsuki.”
The way he says it makes something uncomfortable twist in Katsuki’s stomach. It’s almost said warmly.
Not Bakugou. Not Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Katsuki.
The familiarity of it bothers him more than it should, because it sounds like they’re friends.
Like the only conversation they’ve ever had wasn’t a deal made in the worst possible circumstances. When Katsuki was angry enough and desperate enough to think he could somehow control the situation.
Do what they ask. Keep quiet.
And they make sure the fact that he almost killed someone disappears.
It feels like it happened years ago, but it was only weeks. Katsuki still can’t tell when one day ends, and another begins anymore.
“You’re up late,” the man says.
Katsuki shrugs, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling curling in his throat.
“Could say the same.”
The man laughs, small and polite, like they’re having some normal conversation instead of walking through a school that has been turned into a shelter. There’s another person with him, someone Katsuki doesn’t recognize but assumes is from the commission. Everyone seems to be from the commission these days. The three of them walk in the same direction.
The other two talk quietly between themselves. Nothing important. Nothing Katsuki cares enough to listen to. Just the kind of conversation people have because walking beside someone in silence feels strange.
For a moment, Katsuki almost forgets who he’s walking with. Then the other person glances over.
“You were impressive out there.”
Katsuki’s shoulders tense automatically.
“Going against Shigaraki like that,” they continue. “Not many people could have kept up.”
Before Katsuki can respond, the man beside him answers.
“Well, the kid is used to it by now.”
Katsuki slows. Not enough for them to notice. Just enough that his footsteps fall slightly out of rhythm. Because he doesn’t understand what that means.
Used to what?
The other person nods like the answer is obvious, like there’s some piece of information they both have that Katsuki somehow missed. Katsuki feels his voice come out before he’s ready.
“What?”
The man looks back at him. Not startled. Not caught. Just mildly confused, like Katsuki is the one who misunderstood.
“Yuki’s, right?” he says. “Guess that place was good for something after all.”
And suddenly the hallway feels smaller. The air feels heavier. Because there is no reason they should know that. Not like this. Not casually thrown into a conversation about his performance in a war.
“You knew?”
Katsuki doesn’t mean to say it. The words just leave him, quieter than he expects but somehow loud enough to fill the empty hallway. The man doesn’t even stop walking.
“We know a lot of things.”
A simple answer. A shrug. Like it isn’t a big deal. Like Katsuki hasn’t just realized that the one thing he thought he had hidden from them was never hidden at all. The club. The places he went. The choices he made.
They knew.
“You did good work, Katsuki.”
The words make something twist in his stomach. Good work. Not that he helped someone. Not that he saved anyone. Not that he did the right thing. Work. Something completed and useful, measured for its gain.
The man gives him a tired smile, the kind someone gives when they’re talking about something ordinary, and that somehow makes it worse.
Because he isn’t angry. He isn’t threatening him. He doesn’t even seem disappointed. They don’t care. Not about the rules he broke. Not about the things he hid. Not about who Katsuki was when he wasn’t following orders.
“Get some sleep, kid.”
And then they leave. Just like that. No warnings, threats, or blackmail. They knew everything, for god knows how long, and Katsuki was a fool for thinking they didn’t. He only got away with it because of what they wanted from him.
Katsuki is a weapon first and a person second to these people.