Chapter Text
“...”
“...”
“Katsuki, did you hear m—,”
“Yeah, Doc, I heard ya just fine,” the boy grumbles, sinking deeper into his spot on the sofa. “I just don’t like what ya said.”
Dr. Ochitsuki nods solemnly in acknowledgement. They’re only fifteen minutes into their session, Katsuki having just relayed the details of his nightmares this week, and the therapist is already trying to tell him that it sounds like he’s experiencing a major symptom of PTSD. The doctor had given him some initial tips on how to cope with the nightmares, like following a comfortable nighttime routine in hopes of mitigating them and having a selection of comforting items near his bed to turn to whenever he woke up from one, but told him that they would need to consider root causes as part of a treatment approach. Katsuki sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Throwing around fancy diagnoses for shit that happens to everyone won’t do anything but make me feel weak.
“I’m not interested in whatever you think I have,” Katsuki declares, arms crossed as he stares at the coffee table in front of him. “If I’m complaining about nightmares, help me get rid of the damn nightmares. It doesn’t matter why you think they’re happening, and it’s not like you can prove it anyway. It’s just my brain being stupid.”
“Sure,” the doctor responds, “we can never really know for sure. But, if we take our best guess based on the well-established diagnostic criteria, it could help us in a few ways. One, it will help us best assess how to manage it, because different causes can call for different forms of treatment.” Katsuki shifts in agitation, but lets the doctor continue. “Two, having an idea of what we’re dealing with can help us stay alert toward any other potential symptoms or related experiences you may encounter so that they aren’t coming at you as a surprise. And three,” she continues, nudging up her glasses to look at Katsuki more directly, “there’s some freedom in having an answer, isn’t there? We can’t know the ‘why’ to so many things in life, but having a name and an explanation for some of the things we go through can feel stabilizing and give us some peace of mind. Not everyone feels that way, but it’s worth thinking about.”
Katsuki stays silent, not meeting the woman’s eyes. Her points are valid, but Katsuki can’t help but think that there’s a huge difference between people who have a mental illness (like PTSD) and people like him who went through one big shitty thing that they have to deal with for a little while and then go back to normal. There’s nothing wrong with being mentally ill, of course, but he just doesn’t see himself that way. He’s never needed help with that kind of thing. He knows people with mental illnesses, like when Kirishima confided in him about having depression or the clear impact that Todoroki’s family trauma has on him. Katsuki’s never thought less of them for those things. But at the same time, he feels uncomfortable imagining that he’s in the same boat as them. He doesn’t “struggle” with stuff like that. He just…deals with it.
And suddenly, he’s immersed in a memory he hasn’t thought of in years.
He remembers the first time a teacher brought up anger management or therapy to Katsuki’s mother. He was in the third grade, and after getting in trouble for mouthing off to the teacher for the fourth time in a week, the principal called his mother in. When Mitsuki sat down with the teacher and principal, Katsuki had to wait in the hallway. But that wasn’t enough separation to avoid overhearing his mother’s yelling. He distinctly remembers the incredulous bellowing of his mother, telling the others “There’s nothing fucking wrong with my kid!! Sure, the brat has a sharp tongue, but he’s not a bad kid, and he sure as shit ain’t broken! And who the fuck are you to tell me how to parent him?! The brat’s my responsibility and I’ll do with him what I think is right! I’m not taking him to some fucking shrink like he’s sick in the head, and you better not fucking suggest it again.”
Little Katsuki was rattled by hearing that. He remembers asking himself if there really was something wrong with him, oscillating between fear that the educators were right and pride that his mom stood up for him. He didn’t know how to feel, and when he asked his mom about it later, she’d given him a knock to the back of the head for eavesdropping and told him to forget what he heard and that everything was fine.
The issue arose multiple times after that. Different teachers would try different approaches of suggesting that Katsuki see someone about his anger and emotional regulation, but his mother was always adamant that he didn’t need it.
When he was in seventh grade, though, things really came to a head. He’d gotten caught pushing Izuku against a locker after saying some foul things to him, and the teacher that witnessed it overdramatically told Mitsuki that she thought Katsuki was “dangerous.” For once, Mitsuki didn’t fight back. She just nodded along, resigned in the conversation. That apathy, more than anything else, made Katsuki panic. His mother always defended him, even when she was simultaneously criticizing or disciplining him. Sometimes she wasn’t particularly gentle about it, often throwing around insults and thwacks to the back of his head as if they were hugs and “I love you”s, but she always reminded him of his potential and that she wanted him to be the best Katsuki he could be. He’d never felt like she didn’t care until that day.
When the two got home, Katsuki tried to slink up to his room, but Mitsuki stopped him in the kitchen. “Oh, no. You don’t get to go hide. You fucked up this time. You’re gonna sit at this table and do your damn homework until your father gets home,” she began, “and then we’re gonna talk. All three of us. Because this cannot keep fucking happening, Katsuki, I’m fucking done with it.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, hag,” Katsuki bit out impulsively, shocked and hurt by his mother’s demeanor. She always gave him the benefit of the doubt when he got disciplined at school. She always reminded the educators that he was a great student and that he only ever got into trouble for his mouth, not his actions. But she didn’t come to his defense today, and now she was turning on him at home. He felt attacked. Even when his mom called him out on shit, it was never hostile like this. He always felt safe, and like they were on the same team. But that atmosphere was missing this time.
“Me, don’t talk to you like that?” She retorted, looking at Katsuki as if he’d slapped her. “How about you shake that terrible fucking attitude and don’t call me a hag in my own house? God, Katsuki, where the fuck did you learn to be such a brat? You’ve gotten damn near miserable to be around!”
Katsuki could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, his palms going slick. He wasn’t expecting this, and he didn’t know what to do. He fought with his mother sometimes, as most children do, but it was never in a truly adversarial way. They had small bickerings, not major conflicts. He didn’t speak, afraid of what would come out if he did.
“And now it turns out you’re ragging on little Izuku of all people? What the hell, Katsuki, are you even capable of a little compassion? He’s a small, quirkless kid, and I thought he was your friend? Why the hell would you pick him to be a punching bag? It’s just cruel! What is wrong with you?” Her eyes were fiery in accusation and something like hurt. Her words cut sharp between her teeth.
“It’s not my fault,” Katsuki whispered low, clenching his fists tightly and staring down at his shoes. He was trying desperately, and failing, to contain his anger. “Izuku’s always fucking chasing me, looking down on me, trying to show me how much fucking better he is than me even though he’s a quirkless loser wanna-be. He started it and it makes me angry! What else am I supposed to do?”
Mitsuki let out a shallow laugh, shaking her head. “‘Quirkless loser wanna-be’ or not, Kats, if this is how you act, then he is better than you.” Her words were low and cold, knowing they’d hit Katsuki where it hurt. Her words were never aimed to kill before, but they sure were this time. “I bet that’s why it makes you so upset, huh? You know that, despite everything he’s lacking, he’s a kind, compassionate boy, and he does it without even trying. And no matter how hard you tell yourself you’re gonna be the best, you know you can’t be a hero without that. And you don’t have it.” Her tone dripped in condescension and disgust, unlike Katsuki had ever heard it.
“I-It’s your fucking fault!” Katsuki shouts, finally snapping and stepping toward his mother. “You’re a fucking hypocrite! You love to scold me, hit me, tell me that I’m shit and need to be better; you’re cruel too! Where do you think I got it from, huh?! Why do you think I’m so angry, mom?!” His voice cracked there, and his face went red with embarrassment. No, no, don’t you fucking cry right now, he begged. His eyes were watering, but the tears didn’t spill over. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “This is just how I am, and you never taught me anything different!”
“You have the audacity to raise your voice at me, insult me, and blame me for your fuck-ups?!” Mitsuki yelled, stepping closer so that she and her son were mere inches apart. “You better learn some fucking accountability, kid,” she scoffed, “because every day it seems like less and less people tolerate your shitty behavior. Your dad and I stick around, sure, that’s our fucking job. But someday you’ll realize that no one else has to, and they fucking won’t.”
“They already don’t!” Katsuki shouted back, angry tears threatening to release. He was shaking, violently, as his voice continued to raise. He heard faint popping sounds sparking from his palms, but they were muffled, feeling far away. “My teachers hate me, my childhood friends are scared of me, and the only people I do hang out with are fucking idiots that don’t have anything else better to do! I’m already alone, mom, and it’s because of you! I don’t know how the fuck you tricked dad into loving you, but you’re alone outside of him, too! This is your fucking curse, you did this to me!”
SLAP!!
Katsuki stumbled back, immediately raising both hands to his left cheek. The skin was hot to the touch, already throbbing, and it was wet from where the tears had been forced out of his eyes on impact. He croaked out a sob, disgustingly ashamed of looking weak in front of his mother. He didn’t want her to see that she’d hurt him, that she had the power, that she’d won. He was desperately struggling to contain it.
Mitsuki had never hit her son with an open hand like that before. She spanked him as a child and would give him a good thwack with the back of her hand when she thought he needed some sense knocked into him, but she never crossed the line she thought constituted abuse.
Until then.
When Katsuki finally choked down a breath and raised his burning eyes to meet his mother’s face, it was like a switch flipped inside of him. Suddenly, his heart didn’t hurt anymore. His chest wasn’t swirling with indescribable emotions anymore, and his thoughts all settled into silence. There were no more tears, no more trembling, and no more fear. Instead, he felt his core grow solid and steady. Cold. He felt nothing. Because, to the looks of it, his mother didn’t feel anything either.
The boy had expected his mother to demonstrate immediate regret. He expected her to start apologizing, saying she never should’ve hit him. Even though she was never particularly affectionate—that was always more his dad’s forte—he at least expected her to put a hand on his shoulder and ask to see his cheek.
But no. His mother’s face was hard as stone as she doubled down. She hadn’t moved since her swing, and she didn’t show any signs of doing so. She was just staring at him, seething breaths still coming. Moments felt like hours. Her eyes were blazing, her lips pulled tight, and in a low voice she finally said, “You will not speak to me like that again. Go to your room.”
When Masaru got home that night, Mitsuki must have told him what happened, because Katsuki never did, but he clearly knew. Katsuki’s father was always one to try and keep the peace, never standing up to Mitsuki and rarely to Katsuki whenever there was conflict. He was the passive member of an otherwise explosive household. This night was no exception. He called Katsuki down for dinner, but the boy didn’t go. He couldn’t stand to look at his parents. He was ashamed. He’d been weak, and he couldn’t face up to that. Not in front of them. Not while it was so fresh. He sat alone in his room for hours as he mulled over what had happened that afternoon. How he should’ve just held his tears, or hit his mom back harder—no, that only would’ve made things worse—or stopped her arm before it could touch him. But instead, he had just frozen. And his mom had seen it. She’d seen that he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t smart enough. She’d seen that he was just a weak, fragile little boy that could be undone with a few harsh words and a single blow. He believed that if he went downstairs that night, she would’ve ridiculed him about it relentlessly, and he couldn’t stand to hear it. There was absolutely nothing she could say to him that he didn’t already know, the only difference would be that hearing it from her would hit ten times harder.
At around 9pm, Masaru came into Katsuki’s room without permission. The boy normally would have protested dramatically, but today he remained silent, stoic. He sat on the floor, leaning against his bed to look out the dark window.
“Hey, kiddo,” Masaru said gently, standing awkwardly beside his son’s bed. The boy wouldn’t look at him, but he ever so slightly lifted his head in acknowledgement. “You mind if I sit?”
Katsuki grunted indifference, and Masaru lowered himself to the floor beside him. Katsuki still wouldn’t look at him, but the man didn’t expect any different.
“I wanted to ask you about something, if you’re up to it, Kats,” Masaru began, peering down at the boy. He looked smaller than ever, no matter how firm of an exterior he tried to uphold. It was clear that he was rattled.
“What,” Katsuki muttered, barely a whisper.
“I was talking with some coworkers recently about working on better family communication, ‘cause it seems like a problem a lot of folks are having these days.” Masaru paused, expecting an immediate act of resistance. Katsuki gave none. “And I was thinking it might be helpful for all of us if we got you in to talk with somebody,” he continued hesitantly. “Somebody who does that kinda thing professionally. They could help with how you talk to the teachers at school or to us, and could give you some tips for working on your anger so you don’t get into any more trouble at school. I know it’s not something you’ve done before, but I think it could be good for you.”
Katsuki remained silent for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists where they sat alongside his crossed arms. “I thought you and mom didn’t believe in that shit,” he finally muttered, still refusing eye contact. “Thought you guys thought it was for broken people or whatever. I’m not fuckin’ broken.”
“Of course you’re not, son,” Masaru said quickly, prepared for this response. “And we don’t think that. Your mom’s been hesitant about therapy because of a bad experience from when she was a kid, but she knows just as well as I do that those kinda services have gotten a lot better in recent years, and they could be a lot of help.”
This “bad experience” was news to Katsuki. “What happened?”
Masaru hesitated, knowing well that his wife wouldn’t want him to share. However, he felt he owed it to his son to be honest if they were going to make any progress. “Your mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a teenager,” he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. “She…didn’t agree with that diagnosis, and she felt that the therapist was looking down on her. She felt that the doctor was just trying to stick a label on her, pump her full of drugs, and be done with it instead of actually trying to help her. So, naturally, she’s had some negative feelings toward the idea for a while. But I talked with her about this recently and she was willing to think about it for you.”
For you. Katsuki wasn’t surprised to hear that. Of course it was his problems that needed fixing, not hers. He was unimpressed.
“Tell the hag I’ll go to therapy when she does,” he spat, pulling his legs tighter to his chest. “If she won’t work on her issues, she can’t make me work on mine. Not when she’s the one to blame.”
Masaru tensed slightly at his son’s words. While Katsuki had spoken to and about his parents in anger before, he’d never heard him sound quite so spiteful before. It left him uneasy. He felt he didn’t have the full picture of whatever had happened between the boy and Mitsuki earlier.
“Just think about it, okay, Kats?” The man finally asked, tentatively setting a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze before standing up, then ruffled his hair gently. “No need to decide anything right now. Just give it a thought.” Masaru walked toward the door, turning back when he reached it. “I don’t know exactly what happened with you and your mom earlier, but she’s in our room now. If you avoided dinner because you didn’t wanna see her, please go down and eat now so you aren’t hungry all night. I left a plate in the microwave for you.”
With that, Masaru closed the door behind him. Katsuki didn’t budge. He wasn’t hungry. Wasn’t tired. Wasn’t anything, really. He stayed on the floor even as his body eventually forced sleep upon him in the wee hours of the morning.
Mitsuki never struck Katsuki like that again. She also never spoke to him with such malice again. It took some time, but the two were able to get relatively back to normal again, save for Katsuki refusing to let his emotions out whenever there was still conflict. But his parents went back to having his back, and his house felt safe again. However, Mitsuki never apologized for what happened that day. As a matter of fact, that day was never spoken of again. It was as if it had never happened, despite Katsuki thinking of it often in the immediate aftermath. But even for him, it eventually faded to memory. Mitsuki never went to therapy, and neither did Katsuki. Until now.
“We don’t have to go through any sort of diagnostic criteria today,” Dr. Ochitsuki says, startling Katsuki back into reality. He doesn’t know how long he was off in his own memory. “Or ever, if you really don’t want to. Like we established in our first session, this is your time and we’ll do with it what you’d like. But I do encourage you to think about it, and consider how exploring a diagnosis may be beneficial to you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” the boy mutters. But now he’s really thinking about it. That memory popping back up caught him off guard just now, but he can’t pretend it doesn’t make sense. Of course he’s shying away from labels, it’s the whole root of his and his family’s negative attitude toward therapy. Katsuki turns that thought around in his head, trying to see it from all angles. Does he really want to avoid doing something that could seriously help him just because he’s afraid it’ll go bad like it did for his mom? Fuck no. If he refuses to consider the whole diagnosis thing, will he just end up doing exactly what his mom did and carrying his issues into his adult life? Fucking probably. But if he does this…what does that say about him? What is he supposed to do once he decides, yeah, okay, this is PTSD, and any other number of things the Doc might say? Will his parents think he’s weak? Broken? Defective? That’s always been the problem. But he doesn’t think Kirishima, or Todoroki, or anyone else he may know that needs mental health support is any of those things. So why would it mean those things for him, specifically?
He doesn’t know. He feels extremely conflicted. This kind of thing is exactly what he didn’t want to do, and his chest is swirling with unease and hesitance at the idea of doing something so far out of his comfort zone. But at the same time, what if it really does help? These nightmares are starting to really wear on him, and he’s finally starting to accept that he needs to get his anger in check for the sake of his heart. There’s something…strangely hopeful about the idea of things getting a little bit better than they’ve always been. He’s never liked change, ever, but he knows logically that sometimes it can be good.
He thinks back to Aizawa’s words a few weeks ago at the reconstruction site. So, in taking this second chance at life, consider the person you could become and the life you could lead if you put just as much effort as you put into heroism into becoming the greatest you, Bakugou. I think a lot of people would be happy to see you grow and heal, maybe even yourself most of all. His teacher was speaking from the heart when he’d told him those words. And whether he liked admitting it or not, he had a lot of faith in his sensei. Maybe he was right.
Fuck it, Katsuki thinks, sitting up a bit and leaning forward, elbows resting on knees.
“It’s ‘cause of my mom,” he starts suddenly, and Dr. Ochitsuki raises a confused brow. “It’s my mom’s fault, and honestly a little bit my dad’s too, and I get now that it’s kinda my fault too. And none of us meant for it to be like this. But at the root of it, it starts with her.”
“...Katsuki, I think I’m going to need you to elaborate a little bit. What starts with your mom?”
“Why I haven’t wanted to do this whole diagnosis thing.” Katsuki’s talking quickly now, his eyebrows pulled tightly together as he thinks through how he’ll explain his thought process. “I gotta fill you in on some backstory, and then maybe we can talk about ‘criteria’ or whatever next time.”
“Okay,” Dr. Ochitsuki says hesitantly, somewhat thrown off by the sudden shift in her patient’s demeanor. He’d been lethargic and rather unemotive in their session so far, but clearly something had happened internally over the course of the last few minutes to bring out this animated and determined side of him. She wasn’t expecting it, but she was happy to see it.
Katsuki then relays the memory he’d just had, explaining throughout that he felt like his mother’s attitude toward therapy and mental illness had shaped his own. Dr. Ochitsuki listens attentively the whole way, jotting down notes periodically and giving small cues to Katsuki that he should continue when necessary.
“But even though she built that in me, I don’t think I actually feel that way,” he says after he’s done recounting his memory. “Like, Shitty Hair—er, Kirishima—is…probably my best friend, and nothing changed when he told me he has depression and gets treatment for it. Plus, I know a bunch of my toughest classmates, like Todoroki and Uraraka, are also doing this post-war therapy thing like I am. And I don’t look at ‘em any differently now than I did before. Not to mention Izuku’s probably needed professional help since forever, especially now, and that’s never been a part of why we didn’t get along. So, yeah, I think my mom made me fear looking weak for dealing with mental health stuff, but I’ve never actually thought anyone was weak for doing it. I only thought I would be.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Ochitsuki responds, taking a long look at Katsuki after he finishes speaking. She almost looks like she’s smirking at him.
“...Well? What?” The boy finally huffs, getting uncomfortable with the long silence after his revelation.
“I’m just thinking about how I don’t think you would’ve come to this realization a few weeks ago when we first met.” The doctor blooms into a full smile now, but Katsuki just scowls at her. She laughs a little at this.
“Yeah, yeah, pat yourself on the fucking back, Doc,” Katsuki groans, looking anywhere but the doctor’s pride-filled face. “Anything fucking else to say about all that?”
“Sorry, Katsuki, yes,” she replies, resituating herself in her chair and returning to a more professional tone. “I think that's a great insight that will continue to be useful to you as we work together. We are all our own worst critics, and many people that have mental health challenges adopt this trait even stronger than the rest. It will serve you well to remind yourself that you don’t need to meet some higher standard than anyone else, and you are human just as much as the people you care about and respect are.”
It’s Katsuki’s turn to smirk, slightly proud of his accomplishment. If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right. I’m gonna be the best damn therapy case the world has ever seen.
“But, I do also feel we should touch on some of what you shared,” Dr. Ochitsuki continues, a small frown forming on her face. “We don’t need to do it today if you’re not ready, but what you just recounted to me about your family is something we should discuss, Katsuki. I know you said that was the only time you were struck, and that things are good now, and I’m glad for it. But even single bad instances like that can impact people heavily, especially adolescents. I would like to talk more about your relationship with your parents sometime.”
Fuck. I should’ve known that was coming. So much for being the best therapy case. People always get a little weird when I talk about how I was raised. For the first time, Katsuki actually takes the concern to heart. He loves his parents and he knows they love him, more than anything. But that doesn’t mean they never fucked up. When teachers or friends have questioned his parents’ style in the past, he’s always brushed it off as people being overly sensitive or misunderstanding. But Katsuki has come to trust Dr. Ochitsuki. And she, more than anyone else he’s heard it from, is actually qualified to say whether there’s something wrong with how his parents raised him. He swallows roughly, flexing his good hand in discomfort.
“Yeah, not today,” he finally says. “But I get it. We will. I just…I’d rather be prepared to talk about that, ‘cause I know I’ll get mad.” At the doctor, his parents, or himself, he didn’t know.
“That’s completely reasonable, Katsuki,” the therapist says in return, sending a reassuring smile her client’s way. “In that case, I know we only got part way through your voice memo about Thursday since we decided to stop and talk about the nightmares. Let’s finish it, yeah?”
Oh, right, Katsuki thinks, totally having forgotten where the session today had even started. He finds his phone beside him on the couch, and sees that the voice memo has restarted, so he just presses play from the beginning.
“4:30 am,” his own gravelly voice states. He suddenly remembers the context and feels his palms start to sweat. What the fuck, again? He’d been all flustered that night, too. “Friday morning. Things I want to remember to tell the doc about Thursday: first day learning to write with my left hand, nightmare number three of the week, and…something strange. Strange and…warm.”
Katsuki can feel his face heating, knowing he’s gonna have to talk about finding and hugging Izuku and why the hell he decided to call it warm. Why the fuck did I say that? Dr. Ochitsuki looks on expectantly, eyebrows raised in invitation. She wants him to talk first. Dammit.
“I, uh…,” Katsuki’s voice comes out rather rough. He clears his throat, mentally kicking himself for bringing this up at all. Well, I dug my own grave with this one. Time to fucking lie in it, I guess. “When I woke up from my nightmare, I went downstairs to get some water. I saw someone outside and wanted to make sure it wasn’t a villain, so I went and found Izuku out there. He was…,” Katsuki pauses, trying to figure out how to even describe the harrowing scene he’d walked in on. “He was watching a segment of the war livestream where he put the finishing blow on Shigaraki. He was sobbing and practically fucking hyperventilating. It was really…it was a lot. Even for him, and he’s the biggest crybaby in the world. … I didn’t know what to do.”
Dr. Ochitsuki waits for more, but Katsuki doesn’t immediately offer it. She probes. “So what did you do?”
Katsuki becomes extremely fascinated by the loose thread on the couch he always finds when he’s uncomfortable. He begins tugging at it, occupying his senses so that he can speak without having to interact with the doctor.
“I, uh…, didn’t really think much, just felt like the waterworks needed to stop and that the damn nerd wasn’t gonna be able to do it on his own, so…I kinda hugged him. And then he just cried all over me for a while and I sat there like an idiot and when he finally stopped his fucking blubbering we talked about it. He was really upset, one of the members of the League told him he was a fucking murderer and he’s taken it to heart. He’s always so obsessed with saving people, even villains, and he feels like he failed and that he can’t be a good hero anymore.” Katsuki grits his teeth just thinking about it. He still can’t believe Izuku took Spinner’s words seriously. The villain was obviously hurting from losing a companion, and it’s not like the League and Izuku were ever all buddy-buddy. He wasn’t a good metric for Izuku to measure by.
Katsuki sighs, trying to let some of the tension go, and finishes the story. “We were bonding a little bit over the nightmare stuff, and somehow we kinda agreed to…help each other out, I guess. I can tell the dumbass can’t handle the burden by himself, and if he tries to he’ll implode. So after he told me that I can talk to him about my nightmares, I told him he can come to me when he’s feeling lonely.” Or needs a hug, Katsuki intentionally leaves out. He still can’t quite believe he said that. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Izuku takes him up on that offer.
“That’s heavy, Katsuki,” Dr. Ochitsuki says gently. “I’m sorry you’re both going through that. You’ve mentioned Izuku quite a few times now, from both the dreams and real life. May I ask, what is he to you?”
“...What do you mean?” Katsuki asks, confusion evident in his tone. They’re just…them. No other way to put it.
“I mean, besides the fact that you’ve mentioned knowing each other since childhood, is Izuku just a classmate? A rival, a friend, a lover, someth—”
“Eugh, Doc, Jesus,” Katsuki interjects, feeling his face heat violently at the word “lover.” Who the fuck even calls it that anymore? Why would she even say that? And about me and Izuku of all people? “Enough, don’t say lo—ick. That.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Katsuki, if discussing sexuality makes you uncomfortable, I’ll avoid it in the future,” the woman replies quickly, jotting a note in her notepad.
Katsuki sighs again, knowing he overreacted as he always does whenever anybody brings up love or sex or any of that other stuff. “‘S fine, Doc,” he mutters, “I get a little uncomfortable, yeah, but it’s just ‘cause I don’t really…think about that very much. Maybe every once in a while, but I’ve always been too busy to get distracted with mushy stuff like that.”
The doctor nods, and from the calculating expression on her face, Katsuki knows this topic will come up again later. Great, he thinks. He hates talking about it. He knows, though, that he probably should. His friends nag him about it constantly, and maybe it’s started to get to him a little bit recently. Maybe the Doc can help him feel a little less weird about it.
“To answer your question, though,” the blonde finally says, “I guess we’re…friends. But if you’d asked me that question even a few months ago, I wouldn’t have said that. We weren’t friends for a really long time. He admired me, but I was…cruel to him.” Katsuki nods, willing himself to continue. “I felt like he was a shitty leech and I didn’t respect him. We didn’t get along at all. Then, as we were going through our first year at U.A., some of the respect came back and we took on more of a rivals dynamic. But with everything that happened in the damn wars, fighting and saving together and facing mortal injuries and all the bullshit…yeah, I think we’re friends now.”
“Got it,” the therapist replies, nodding along in comprehension. “And in your voice memo, you stated that your interaction with Izuku that night made you feel ‘warm.’ Can you explain to me what that meant?”
God fucking…
“I don’t know,” Katsuki murmurs, frustrated by the question but more frustrated with himself for saying it in the first place. He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “It was stupid, and it was late, and I didn’t really know what I was saying.”
“Do you know which parts, if any, made you feel that way?”
He did. He didn’t consciously know it, but when the therapist asked the question, memories rose into his mind automatically.
“I…,” a false start. “Yeah, I guess so.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs to dry them. “I was freaked out when I found him watching the video. It was weird, he wasn’t like himself at all. So when he finally broke out of his whole empty-and-cold shitty trance, and started being all Deku again, it was reassuring I guess. It happened when we were offering to help each other, too. I’ve…,” Katsuki trails off, thinking about how to phrase this in a way that will make sense to someone outside of their relationship. “I’ve never been able to accept anything from Izuku. Yeah, I don’t like accepting help generally, but I can’t take it from Deku. At least, I couldn’t for a really long time. I have so many memories of pushing him away, refusing him, just flat out not letting him do anything for or with me. But…things have changed, and this time was different. I knew he wanted to help because that’s who he is, not because he thought I was weak or that he was looking down on me. It was just like you said when you suggested I apologize to Edgeshot: it says more about the helper than the person being helped. So I let him help me up, and I let him offer to help me with my nightmares. And I wanted to help him, too, so what kind of moron would I be if I thought I could help him without letting him try to help me, too? I don’t know. It was just…different.”
“I think that’s wonderful, Katsuki,” Dr. Ochitsuki praised. “Genuinely. It sounds like you’ve really started to take some of our conversations to heart. Are you comfortable with the ‘different’ that you and Izuku are reaching now?”
Katsuki had been wondering that to himself all weekend. And even before that, honestly. From Katsuki shoving himself into Shigaraki’s line of fire in the first war, to the apology when Deku ran away, to his literal death and resurrection and all of the memories Katsuki thinks he saw in his final moments. And, most of all, the conversation the two had in the hospital after the war. They still hadn’t talked about it. Katsuki had cried, really cried, when he heard that Izuku had given up One for All. Even more than that, Katsuki had made a proclamation. He’d told Izuku he wanted them to chase after each other for the rest of their lives! None of those things were particularly in character for Katsuki, and Izuku had pointed that out, but deep in his core, Katsuki knew that he’d meant them all.
Katsuki had come to realize two things over the course of the last year and a half. First, Katsuki knew that the reason he had never felt comfortable around Izuku was because the green-headed boy was self-sacrificial to a fault. Katsuki knew the boy was strong-willed and pure of heart, but Katsuki also knew what the world does to people like that. What it was already doing to Izuku. And it scared him that Izuku could keep being like that in the face of everything. And, whether he liked it or not, he cared enough about Izuku to worry about him. He felt a sort of need to protect him. Katsuki didn’t know anyone else like Izuku, and he wanted him to survive as him. Second, Katsuki had realized that there was not a world in which Katsuki could live without Izuku. The realization made him a little sick if he thought about it too much, but it was true. Izuku was the one true constant in his life. Whether they were friends or enemies, they were always there together. And Katsuki…well, he couldn’t imagine what life would look like if that changed. So when he’d heard that Izuku no longer had OFA, and when he realized what that would mean for their future pro hero careers, or even just their lives in general, he’d panicked. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and Deku were a package deal: they’d compete for the top forever. It was the only way. Even outside of the hero scene, he couldn’t picture a Katsuki with no Izuku. That had literally never existed before. Whenever he’d imagined the future, Izuku was undeniably present. Whether they liked it or not, they were bonded, and that was just how it was. It felt wrong to be any different. It would be like stripping the stars from the sky. What’s the point in gazing up at what’s ahead if the thing that makes it good and comforting and right isn’t there?
Once again, sickening. But it was true.
So when Katsuki thought about whether the “different” between him and Izuku was a good thing, he didn’t really know. It definitely wasn’t a bad thing. It was just…confusing. And uncertain. And unfamiliar territory altogether. So he tells the doctor as much, tells her everything he’s been thinking about with Izuku that’s brought them to this point. He tells her about the bullying, the shame, the transition to rivals and finally all of the events that have transpired in the past few months. He can’t believe how open he’s being with the woman, but it’s dawning on him just how much mental real estate these thoughts have been occupying. He feels physically relieved getting it all off his chest. He finds his relationship with Izuku so fucking confusing with how emotionally charged it is. It’s so full of guilt and remorse, anger and pain, shame and jealousy and competition and growth. But it’s also becoming something warm, like he’d said in the voice memo. He finds it hopeful and comforting in a way he hasn’t since he was a small child. And he knows he can’t navigate it on his own. The last decade and a half have shown him that much.
“I can see why this is a difficult relationship for you,” Dr. Ochitsuki says when Katsuki’s finally given her a decent synopsis. “I believe it would be for anyone. There are a lot of complex emotions wrapped up in your history, especially paired with the fact that you were developing rapidly over the course of it as well. Yet one thing is clear to me, Katsuki.”
The doctor waits for Katsuki to ask her what it is. He gets that she wants him to participate, but he really hates when she does this. Hadn’t he participated enough by just talking for ten minutes straight? His huffed sigh is enough to let her know how he feels.
“What.”
“It’s clear to me that Izuku is very important to you.” The woman looks at Katsuki fondly, and, in a shock to them both, Katsuki doesn’t squirm at all. He doesn’t avert his eyes, he doesn’t fidget, he doesn’t show any signs of being uncomfortable. He just nods, without argument. And, most shocking of all, Katsuki doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He almost always does when it comes to feelings and interpersonal relationships and things like this, but the statement is so straightforward and so irrefutably true that there is no adverse reaction from him. If anything, it calms him a little. As though his body is recognizing yes, Izuku is very important, thank you for acknowledging it.
“This is clear to me because absolutely no one would go through the amount of ups and downs you two have gone through unless the other person meant a lot to them. That goes for him, as well.” Dr. Ochitsuki pauses, considering her next words carefully. “Have you ever had this kind of a bond with anyone else before?”
Katsuki’s impulse is to say no, but he tries to put a good faith effort into thinking about it. Up until high school, he didn’t have a lot of real friends. He had some goons that hung around him because they thought he was tough and wanted to be like him, but there was never any substance there. He’d said earlier in the session that Kirishima is his best friend, and it’s 100% true. Kirishima was Katsuki’s first real friend since childhood, the first real friend to treat him like an equal rather than putting him on a pedestal or looking down on him, and their bond is something truly special to the both of them. But part of why it’s so easy is because it isn’t loaded like his history with Izuku is. The same goes for any of his other classmates, none of which are as close to him as Kirishima is. The only exceptions are Izuku and Todoroki. The relationship between Katsuki and Todoroki is probably the closest thing to what the boy has with Izuku, actually. The trio all share the rivalry and friendship dynamic, but once again, the prickly past between Izuku and Katsuki creates a stark contrast in their dynamic compared to what either of them has with Todoroki. So, no, even if he’s developed some extremely meaningful relationships since coming to U.A., Katsuki stands by his belief that he’s never shared the same kind of bond that he has with Izuku with anyone else.
“Our dynamic is unique to us,” he finally confirms. “I’ve got other strong bonds, sure, but none of them are quite as complicated or loaded. Calling it a ‘friendship’ or a ‘rivalry’ or ‘frenemies’ or any of that shit just isn’t fully accurate. It’s it’s own thing. It’s just different.”
“That makes sense,” the doctor agrees, as though she’d expected this to be the answer. “Do you think you’d like to talk about this relationship more often, then? Since it is unique, challenging, and important?”
Katsuki hesitates. On the one hand, he feels like he’s kind of already opened Pandora’s Box. He’s given all the backstory and started diving into the emotions, and it’s gonna be really hard to just ignore that moving forward. But on the other hand, he doesn’t even know what he has to say about the matter. Everything just…is what it is. There’s really no…thing to discuss at all.
“If something comes up, I guess,” Katsuki goes with, knowing the doctor will notice that he’s being noncommittal. “At some point, I’m sure I will, but I don’t really know what there is to talk about with it right now. Especially when I’ve got bigger shit going on, like the nightmares.”
“I suppose that’s fair. We did cover a lot today, most of which we promised to come back to as well. I apologize if today was at all overwhelming for you.” The doctor gives Katsuki a genuine smile, and he turns to see the clock face behind him showing that it is 12:05pm. Not only is the session finished, but they went over by five minutes.
The doctor must see Katsuki’s surprised facial reaction, because she chuckles to herself. “Time flies when you’re having fun. Or when you’re recounting trauma.”
Katsuki lets out a little laugh of his own, appreciating the humor of his therapist as always. He’s been thinking more and more lately that they’re a good match after all. He’ll have to thank Mirko eventually, in a way that won’t let her enormous head get any bigger.
“Please try a few of the techniques we discussed for your nightmares this week, Katsuki,” the doctor says as she moves toward her desk. “It would probably be best if you wrote some notes down so we can keep track of what, if anything, helps so we know what to build on or eliminate. And I appreciate the voice memos you’ve been doing, so if that’s easier, you can do it that way as well.”
“Will do,” Katsuki grunts, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder. “I’ll see ya next week, Doc.”
“See ya, Katsuki,” the woman chirps.
***
The blonde pounds firmly on the door in front of him and his left hand protests from the overexertion he’s been putting it through lately.
Can it, you fucking baby. The right fist never complains, you better get your act together if you’re gonna become the dominant hand.
Yes, Katsuki is mentally berating his own fist. No, he doesn’t think it’s weird, and yes, fuck you if you’ve got a problem with it.
Katsuki is about to bang on the door again when it finally flies open, red eyes meeting red…well, everything.
“Bakugou!” Kirishima cries, throwing his arms over his friend for an embrace. Katsuki has admittedly gotten used to this by now. Ever since the war, Kirishima has become a little…extra sensitive. He’s even bigger on physical touch with his friends than he already was. So now, whenever the two hang out, Kirishima gives Katsuki a big ole hug, and Katsuki stands there awkwardly, neither returning it nor resisting it. It’s the compromise the two have settled on, for now.
Once Kirishima pulls himself away, he ushers the blonde into his room and shuts the door behind him.
“What’s goin’ on, dude?” The eccentric boy asks, opening his minifridge and gesturing toward the drinks inside as an offering. “I thought you were at therapy?”
Katsuki steps over to where Kirishima stands and pulls an orange gatorade from the fridge. He knows his friend stocks those specifically because they’re Katsuki’s favorite, so he takes one whenever he’s in the room. No one else drinks them, losers with no taste, so Katsuki knows it’s just for him. He takes a deep pull from the bottle, not realizing how parched he was from all the talking he did in his session, before sitting down on Kirishima’s desk chair.
“I just got back,” Katsuki confirms, turning to face Kirishima on his bed. He looks at the boy with intent. “I need to talk to you about some stuff.”
Hearing Katsuki’s serious tone, the redhead sits up, leaving aside his more bubbly attitude and focusing for an actual conversation. These moments with Katsuki are rare, and he doesn’t wanna do anything to set the boy off or make him feel like he can’t come to Kirishima when he needs to. It’s time to man up and lock in.
“Let’s talk, then, man. What’s up?”