Chapter Text
Megumi’s left leg bounced up and down, music blaring in the air as she sat and sketched an idea for a fully compressible first-aid package that would be completely portable in the pockets of a hero suit. She turned her head to look through the window at the sunset, all brilliant colors pouring over the sky. Rock was blaring out of her speakers (no need to worry the neighbors, she’d long since soundproofed the walls) and for a moment, she forgot all about the stupid preparations for the war, the constant stress from having to provide the best quality products in the smallest amount of time, and the fact that she was worried about her parents, living several prefectures away. They’d sent her to U.A. because she’d begged, asking them to not make her some accountant, but right now she just wanted to call them and tell them all about the war.
Her head buzzed with ideas, some practical and some decidedly less so. (She was totally going to build a bazooka that shot out Hawks merch.) A knock sounded at her door. That’s weird. People didn’t normally knock, they usually just barged in screaming about something.
Megumi untwisted herself from her drawing position, sighing slightly as her back cracked. She walked to the door, cursing slightly as a figurine fell from a shelf, and opened it.
“Bakugo? What are you doing here? Not that it’s bad that you’re here, but-’’
She was interrupted by him pushing his way into the room. “Listen Ears, your quirk allows you to produce whatever you draw, right?”
“Yes? I mean, within reason, and the bigger it is, the longer it will take to produce, and not to mention the time I put in to all the details, and the fact that I have to eat pretty steadily throughout the process so I don’t pass out but I normally forget to eat and—’’, Megumi cut herself off.
Bakugo threw himself down onto one of the neon green beanbags that sat at the corner of her room. “Well, what about a quirk tracker?”
“It’s a cool idea, tracking when and where someone’s quirk activates, but it’s next to impossible, even with today’s tech. If I draw it without the parts and mechanics, it won’t be anything more than me drawing a unicorn.” Megumi sketched on her thigh with a marker, and, finishing the sketch of the unicorn, picked it up and threw it at him. It was nothing more than a thin drawing, held together with lines of green marker.
“Well, we can work on the tech. I need something to physically go on someone, because you can’t track location without having one.”
“But why would you need one?”, Megumi asked, cocking her head to one side. “And would it have to go inside someone? Like…:”
“Yeah, dumbass, it would have to go inside someone.”
“Uhh…. I mean, in their veins? I’ll draw it, but ask someone else to apply it. I don’t fuck with veins.” Megumi’s face had lost a little color, and she sat down.
“Eyebags probably does. I’ll ask her.” Bakugo stood up, and paced back and forth slightly, making a track in the fluffy black carpet. He swore and grabbed his foot when it landed on something sharp. “Jesus Ears, what the fucking hell?” His confusion only heightened when he pulled a small dagger out of the carpet. Skewered on the top of it was an Endeavor plush.
“You should go.”
“Work on the tracker.”
What the actual fuck? What the actual fuck? She’s either a serial killer or a crazy person. But she’s fucking useful, right? Bakugo walked down the stairs to the main room, and was greeted with a combination of the loudest sounds he had ever heard. Sawing, hammering, whatever, all of it was filling up the room. Even with his damaged hearing, it was unbearable. Then he saw the hole.
Absolutely not. There was now a massive hole underneath the couch area. Goggles was working away furiously, mechs digging alongside her. Bakugo had had enough.
He really wasn’t supposed to, but he fired off several small explosions to catch Goggles’ attention. “HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
“Oh! I’m building an underground workshop! This way, they can’t see what we’re making.”
“They?”
“Yeah, Chieko said that we should be careful about showing our projects for the war to anyone, so what better way then—’’
“THEN MAKING THE DAMN DORMS UNSTABLE?” Bakugo slid down into the hole, and faced the girl. He was over the whole “crazy mechanic” thing.
“It’s fine. I checked.”
“With who?”
“Nedzu.”
“THEN WARN PEOPLE? Fucking hell, you need to start announcing your dorm remodels before someone gets killed.”
As he climbed out of the hole, his thoughts ran wild. Fucking Goggles. Did she say Eyebags put her up to this? I don’t think that’s right, right? Eyebags seemed semi-sane. Fuck. I should go on a run. Maybe I’ll just run away from the problems I caused. Maybe I caused the war. That’s not true. What if it is? People are gonna die, and it’s all my fucking fault. Bakugo walked outside, feeling his heart pounding faster and faster. He struggled to breathe in and out, trying desperately to avoid panicking. Eventually, he sat with his back to a wall, trying to regain control of his lungs. After a little while, everything calmed down. What was that?
He saw Eyebags walking back from wherever she came from, and he called out. She turned around, and almost missed him completely. Eventually, she saw him and walked over.
When she plopped onto the ground, he saw that her eyes were red. Had she been crying? “Are you…”
“I will be. Ask me, and it’s over.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you need anything? Remember, we have that stupid English quiz tomorrow.” Chieko looked at the scribbles on her arm, and squinted.
Bakugo looked at her, and looked at her arm, and laughed. “The quiz. All of this, and you remember the fucking quiz?” His chest shook as laughter forced its way through him. Chieko looked at him, looked at her arm, and began to laugh.
“Yeah—but we’re supposed to carry on or some shit, so the English quiz is still tomorrow. Do you think that the teachers know? Like all of them?”
Bakugo let out a deep breath and steadied himself, saying, “Probably. I just wish they told the hero kids.”
Chieko looked up, taking her time to answer. “Well, realistically, they can’t do more than they are doing. Why add extra stress? Like, they are already training at an extreme speed, and telling them that they have to fight a war won’t do anything but stress them out. We, on the other hand, can build shit and prepare.”
Bakugo leaned his head against the wall and swore. She’s right, of course. There’s nothing we can do but work. But is there anything that can help them? Fuuuuuucckkkkkk. He got up, and watched Chieko dig through her bag for something. Her entire arm was inside the damn thing and she was still peering through its depths. As he started to walk away, she got up and followed him, clutching something in her hand.
What is it? Bakugo stopped and turned to face her, and she stopped in front of him. “Listen Bakugo, this is the key for the training center. They took yours, right?”
Bakugo nodded. For his own health, they said, they had removed his access to the training rooms. Too much temptation to use his quirk, they said. Fuck those fuckers I am doing fucking fine physically. In Chieko’s palm sat a small keycard, nearly identical to the one he once had. The name, however, was different.
“Did you steal this?”
Chieko smiled, and shook her head. “I don’t steal. This is someone’s card that they lost and they didn’t look in the lost and found, so they must not care too much. I checked it out, and it still works. Whoever they were, they had a shit ton of access to different areas of the building. But, you seem worked up, and, as long as you’re not gonna kill yourself working out, you should use it. I only use it for the free coffee from the school canteen store.”
She tipped the card into his open palm and walked past him back towards the machine shop. As she was walking away, he remembered the damn hole. “Hey Eyebags! What’s with the hole?”
She turned around and looked at him, confusion and fear in her eyes. “What hole? Did Megumi… Oh! The workshop. Mei’s idea, but it makes sense. We won’t have cameras in there. After all, we don’t know who can see what, and building a war machine shouldn’t be leaked, right?”
“But… the couches.”
“Temporary loss.”
Goddamn it.