Chapter Text
Katsuki wakes up slowly, dragging himself from the heavy fog of sleep. He pries his eyes open, blinking a few times to bring the world into focus, and stares groggily at the white tiled ceiling looming high above him.
His entire body aches, his muscles sore as if he has just spent hours upon hours at the gym, sweating out his frustrations in the form of every exercise he could think of. He can practically feel the hard floor under his hands as he lowered himself into another push-up, the never-ending loop of the treadmill as the sound of his own footsteps pounded in his ears, the strain of his shoulders as he added more and more weights to the bar, always striving to be better, faster, stronger.
Katsuki groans, lifting his hand to rub at his eyes. Or, at least, he tries to. The action is halted by something solid encircling his wrist, pinning it down.
He stares at it for a long, long moment, uncomprehending, and then looks at his other arm. That wrist is restrained as well, clamped to the bed by a thick metal cuff. He frowns, his mind sluggish and slow-moving, his heart nothing more than a gentle thrum in his chest despite his mounting confusion.
He calls out, “Mom?”
Despite their differences, his first instinct has always been to reach for his mother. He remembers being comforted by her as a child, clinging to her shirt as he sobbed into her shoulder. As he got older, their connection faded, but he knows that she loves him. And he loves her - that’s his mother, after all. He was born loving her, and she has loved him since the moment he took his first breath.
But when he says her name, she doesn’t come.
He tries again, “Mom?” and is met with nothing but the echo of his own shaky voice against the blank white walls.
He’s alone.
Logically, Katsuki knows that he should be freaking out. This is definitely a situation in which he should panic. He’s in a strange room, restrained to a metal bed, and his parents are nowhere to be found. The air is cold and carries the sharp smell of antiseptic and chemicals, and, even when he cranes his neck, Katsuki can’t see any kind of door.
He should be freaking out. He should be panicking.
But, for some strange reason, he finds that he can’t.
… It’s odd, to not feel the urge to fight.
Katsuki’s earliest memories are of fighting. He came into the world kicking and screaming, and he never calmed down. From the day he was born, he has been instilled with the kind of rage that doesn’t go away, his mother’s son in every single way. His father’s camera was barely able to keep up as he tore through all his milestones, the final puzzle piece of their little family, foul-mouthed and vicious from the very first word he spoke.
Right now, though, he doesn’t feel like fighting. He doesn’t even feel like moving. It’s as if all of his energy has been drained away, leaving him hollow and aching in the aftermath.
Weakly, he says, “Mom…”
He doesn’t know how long he lays there, just staring at the ceiling. He should have known that something was wrong from the moment that he opened his eyes - his bedroom doesn’t have a tiled ceiling. The only places at home that have tiles are the floors of the kitchen and bathroom. His home doesn’t have this sharp smell of antiseptic, the smell of a hospital, of an operating room before the iron stench of blood sets in. His home doesn’t have any of this, his home has everything that he wants, and right now the only thing he wants is to go back to it.
The sound of something shifting draws his attention. He turns his head just in time to see the wall collapsing in on itself, making a hole in the shape of a rectangle. A man steps through, his eyes bright and glinting above the oddly-shaped mask he wears over his mouth, his brows rising slightly when he sees Katsuki staring at him.
“Ah,” he says, walking closer. His shoes click against the floor as he approaches, a rhythmic sound that makes Katsuki’s head spin. As he comes to a stop, he reaches over and presses a button, causing the upper half of the bed to rise up. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”
Katsuki’s mouth is dry. He asks, “Where am I?” and his voice doesn’t come out the way he wants it to. He wants to sound intimidating, but he just ends up sounding like a scared child. “Where are my parents?”
“Your manners need some improvement,” the man says, ignoring him completely. Irritation flickers in Katsuki’s chest, but the spark is quickly smothered by the slow beat of his own tired heart - being angry is exhausting right now, and he can’t manage anything more than mild annoyance. “We’ll work on that while you are under my care.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
The man’s glare is sharp and cutting, and Katsuki can tell that he’s frowning underneath his mask. “Don’t curse at me, child.”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki responds. “I’m not a child.”
“Well, you’re certainly old enough to be punished like an adult,” the man concedes, and Katsuki tenses, his eyes widening at the barely-hidden threat. “Unless you want that to happen, I suggest that you listen to me.”
Katsuki swallows. His heartrate is starting to pick up, his breaths becoming more and more rapid as the seconds tick by - the delayed panic is finally setting in. Still, he forces a smirk and says, “I can handle any shitty ‘punishment’ you throw at me.” He does air-quotes as best as he can, his wrists aching as he pulls them against the restraints. Then, for good measure, “I hope you die.”
To his surprise, the man doesn’t appear to be angered by the statement. Instead, he seems amused, his eyes creasing slightly at the corners as he gazes down at Katsuki. “Be careful what you wish for,” he warns, and he’s definitely smiling behind that stupid fucking mask, his voice light with an odd kind of lilt. “I’m the only one that knows the answers to your questions.”
“I don’t have any questions,” Katsuki says confidently, lying out his ass. “I know exactly what’s goin’ on.”
The man seems to be even more amused, offering nothing more than a simple, “Are you sure?”
“Y-yeah,” Katsuki says, and then curses himself - that goddamned stammer, always coming out at the worst times. He swallows again, forces himself to hold the man’s gaze despite the urge to look away, to break eye contact. The cowering of a prey animal is instinctual, reserved only for the worst of his mother’s tirades. But this is not his mother. This is some random stranger that he doesn’t know, staring down at him like he’s worth nothing more than the dirt on the sole of a filthy shoe. “You’re some kind of doctor, aren’t you? And - and this is another surgery, you’re trying to get rid of the scars - but you’re being a particularly sadistic fuck about it.”
Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows that he’s wrong. For one, the man isn’t dressed like a doctor. He’s wearing some kind of ugly fur coat, the purple tufts looping around his neck against a dark green background - a complete fashion disaster, in Katsuki’s opinion - and, while he is wearing gloves, they’re made out of white leather instead of latex. The gold highlights of his mask glint harshly against the dark red conical shape of it, arching from his face like the beak of a bird, secured by thick black straps that loop around his head.
In short, he looks like a freakshow - nothing even close to a doctor.
Predictably, the man says, “I don’t think you believe that.”
Katsuki’s chest hurts. His stomach churns, and he feels suddenly, violently ill. “Well, why don’t you enlighten me?” he asks, and grins, a sharp bare of gleaming white teeth. “You were talkin’ about manners earlier, weren’t you? Bold of you to lecture me on that shit when you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.”
Now, the man’s expression shifts. From the limited information, Katsuki can only decipher that it’s one of mild distaste. “You don’t need to know my name.”
And Katsuki laughs, harsh and barking. He’s aware that he’s putting on an act, and he’s sure that his captor knows as well, but this is the only way he knows how to react. He spits out, “Pussy ass bitch,” and his grin only widens when anger flickers briefly across the man’s face. “Fuckin’ coward, kidnapping me and strapping me down - what are you, scared? Huh? Are you scared of a middle schooler?” He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be taunting this person, not when he’s at such a disadvantage. But he can’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, as automatic and instinctual as breathing, “I bet I could take you down with one arm tied behind my back, that’s how weak you are. You’re fucking pathetic, you plague doctor ass wannabe -”
And then he’s flinching as a hand comes whistling towards his face, his eyes squeezing shut and his breath catching in his throat. But the blow doesn’t come, and he realizes that he’s been psyched out - a feigned attack, meant to catch him off-guard and get him to stop talking.
Well, it worked, and now he looks fucking stupid.
“It seems that you’re all talk,” the man observes, and Katsuki’s face burns. He doesn’t open his eyes, not wanting to see the smug expression his captor must surely be making. “All false confidence and bravado… I suspect that the real you is the scared child that was calling out for his mother, yes?”
Katsuki’s composure wavers. He does feel like a scared child. And, fuck, he thinks that he has a right to be scared - he woke up in a strange room, cuffed to a bed, and is now being taunted by some weirdo freak dressed up in a buttfuck ugly costume. Anybody would be frightened in his situation.
Still, he needs to be strong. He needs to get some answers.
Katsuki takes a deep breath, in and out, in and out, and opens his eyes to meet the gaze of his captor. He asks, plainly, “What do you want from me?”
The man tilts his head slightly, peering down at him. “I want to fix you.”
And, well, that’s not the answer that Katsuki expected. He blinks, unable to hide his surprise. “What?”
“Has your hearing been damaged as well?” the man asks, clearly rhetorical. “I want to fix you. I want to make you better.” A pause, then, “At least, that is what your mother requested that I do.”
Katsuki’s skin prickles, suddenly too tight for his bones. He feels nauseous, dread seeping through his veins like a drug, a lethal injection. He asks, “My mother?” and his voice shakes slightly, his hands clenching into useless fists at his sides. The action causes the metal cuffs to bite into his wrists, but he barely notices the slight pain. “What does she have to do with this?”
“She asked me to take care of you,” the man says. He no longer sounds amused. If anything, he just sounds bored, as if he’s reading from a textbook. “You want to be a hero, don’t you?”
“That - that doesn’t make sense,” Katsuki says. He breaks into a nervous grin - a bad habit, one that he has yet to train himself out of. “There’s nothing you can teach me that I don’t already know.”
“I’m sure you think so,” his captor says. “You’re quite the prodigy, aren’t you?” He waits a few seconds, then says, casually, “At least, you were.”
“Shut up.” Katsuki tugs against his restraints, but he already knows that the action is futile. “I don’t want your help.”
The man stares down at him, eyes cold. They’re an odd golden color, glinting with a sheen that makes him look like some kind of bird of prey, waiting to swoop down and end a life. “I think we need to establish some rules.”
Katsuki snarls, “I think you need to go fuck yourself.”
The man’s gaze hardens. “Do not mistake my leniency for kindness. I am not a patient man, Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Oh, please,” Katsuki scoffs. “You’re hardly a man at all.”
He’s expecting some kind of retaliation. He’s expecting an insult, or a blow, or a threat. Maybe all three, if he’s especially unlucky.
What he’s not expecting, however, is for his captor to laugh. “You’re quite the smart aleck,” he says, and it almost sounds like a compliment. It makes Katsuki’s hackles rise in anticipation, his eyes narrowing as he wonders what the bastard is planning. “That will come in handy on the battlefield, but not here. Not when you’re with me, acting as my assistant.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Katsuki asks, and it’s a sincere question, the words out before he can stop them. “I’m not acting as your anything. I’m going home.”
“This is your home.”
Katsuki pauses. “What?”
“Your parents handed you over to me,” the man tells him, all casual and shit like he’s not dropping a fucking bombshell on Katsuki’s life. “Until I deem that your training is complete - and your debt repaid - you will be staying here, under my tutelage, and assisting me in my work.” Then, before Katsuki can respond, he says, “That’s enough talking for now. Let me show you to your room so that you can get some proper rest.”
Katsuki is about to protest, but then he takes a moment to actually think about his next course of action. If he resists, this creepy bastard might just walk away and leave him to rot in this empty room. If he acts like he’s cooperating, however…
“Fine,” he says, spitting the word out like it tastes bad. “Let’s get this over with.”
And the man smiles down at him, his expression obvious even with the mask covering the lower half of his face. To anybody else, he would look almost kindly, but the glint in his eyes is what gives him away - it’s cruel and predatory, expectant in a way that can’t possibly mean anything good.
“Excellent.”