Chapter Text
15th November 20XX,11:23 a.m. — Tartarus
The air outside Tartarus was thin. Not physically—but emotionally, spiritually—like it refused to carry warmth. Like it couldn’t.
Izuku adjusted the strap on his bag as he stepped off the transport, the chill biting through his sleeves. His legs moved on autopilot. He had barely slept. Barely eaten. The only thing keeping him upright was the mission—and the name echoing through his head like a pulse:
Kacchan.
The guards didn’t speak much, only offering clipped nods and protocol reminders as he passed through one checkpoint after another. Fingerprint scan. Retinal scan. ID verification. Quirk suppression field.
Every beep, every door that slid shut behind him, felt like he was sealing himself into a coffin.
When he finally cleared the last security gate, a guard approached—stoic, arms crossed.
“He’s in Cell Block A3. Second door on the left,” He spoke with no malice in his tone, but there was no warmth there either.
Izuku nodded, his throat too tight for words. The hallway stretched out in front of him, sterile and humming with low fluorescent lights. Each step echoed off the metal floor.
Then he stopped walking.
A wave of nausea rolled through him. His heartbeat spiked. His breath stuttered.
His knees almost gave out.
This was it.
The first time he would see Kacchan since that night. Since the blood.
Izuku clutched the wall, his vision narrowing.
Kacchan, please be okay. Please still be you.
His chest seized. Hands trembled. The world blurred at the edges. Panic clawed at his ribs like a caged animal—
Then he remembered the silence.
The look on Kacchan’s face in that photo. Pale. Hollow. Empty.
He didn’t scream.
Izuku’s breath hitched… and slowed. One inhale. Two. Focus.
Kacchan needs me to be strong.
Slowly, the pressure in his chest began to fade. His shoulders lowered. His legs steadied. He wiped the sweat from his brow.
He stood upright again.
And took another step toward the cell.
Izuku’s footsteps were quieter now. Slower. He wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or caution.
The hallway ended with a heavy reinforced door—Cell A3. A small observation window at eye level. He hesitated, hand hovering over the access panel. His reflection in the glass looked almost as wrecked as he felt.
He tapped in the code.
Access Granted.
The lock disengaged with a harsh clunk.
—
His back was to the door.
Tears trailed silently down his face, soaking into the collar of his prison-issued shirt. His knees were drawn to his chest, arms locked tightly around them as if trying to hold himself together by force.
Kirishima.
He could still hear that damn laugh in the dorm hallway. The stupid puns. The dumb encouragement. The unrivaled loyalty.
Gone.
He muttered
“Kirishima’s gone because of me”
His breathing hitched, raw and uneven. His hands had stopped shaking days ago—they were just numb now. Like the rest of him.
He thought about Sero. Kaminari. Even Jirou. They used to tease him, and he’d bark back, but deep down… he missed it. Missed them. Missed home.
They probably all hate me now.
They should.
He clenched his jaw, the salt of his tears stinging where cuts hadn’t fully healed. His palms curled into fists against his knees. He didn't deserve to cry. He didn’t deserve to feel anything.
I was cruel to all of them.
To Izuku.
His throat closed up at that name.
And then… he felt it.
A presence. The door creaked wider. Footsteps. Slow. Hesitant.
Katsuki didn’t move.
—
The moment Izuku stepped inside, the world stopped.
There he was.
Katsuki ‘Kacchan’ Bakugo—his childhood friend, his rival, his tormentor, his brother in arms—was curled up in the far corner of the room like a ghost.
His blond hair was matted, messy, clumped in places like he’d tugged at it in frustration. His eyes were bloodshot, veins flaring at the edges. There were deep, dark bags beneath them. He hadn’t slept—not properly. Maybe not at all.
His face was streaked with tears.
He hadn’t even looked up.
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. Something inside him cracked.
“…Kacchan?” he whispered, his voice shattered.
The figure in the corner flinched.
But didn’t turn.
And in that moment, Izuku saw it.
Not a monster. Not a villain.
Just a boy who’d gotten lost in a war too big for him.
And now he was breaking under the weight of it.
Izuku took a cautious step forward.
Then another.
“Kacchan,” he repeated, softer now, like saying it too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.
Katsuki’s head tilted slightly. He didn’t look up. But Izuku saw his fingers twitch.
“I—I’ve been training a lot,” Izuku began, voice trembling but full of warmth, trying to fill the silence with something real. “Gran Torino… All Might…
He gave a shaky laugh. “I can control more of my power now.
Still nothing.
“I’ve even got a few new moves. One of them’s called ‘Float'. 's kind of cool.”
That made something shift in Katsuki.
A breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. Then, finally, he turned.
His face was wet, lips trembling. But there it was.
A smile.
Small. Barely-there. But real.
“...I’m proud of you, ‘Zuku.”
Izuku blinked.
He blinked again.
And then his face flushed bright red, ears burning.
“Wh—Zuku?!”
Katsuki blinked slowly, confused. “What? Did I do something wrong?”
“No! No, it’s—” Izuku shook his head quickly, covering his cheeks with one hand, trying to fight the grin spreading across his face. “It’s fine. I promise. Just… unexpected. That’s all.”
Katsuki’s smile wavered, but it stayed.
A pause settled between them.
Izuku stepped closer, gently lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor just a few feet away from the corner where Katsuki sat. He didn’t crowd him. He didn’t push.
“...How are you holding up?” he asked, quietly.
And that was it.
That one sentence shattered the dam.
Bakugo’s shoulders shook before his voice even came out.
“I miss everyone,” he whispered.
His voice cracked.
Izuku bit his lip.
“I miss laughing. Training. Arguing. I even miss that dumb cafeteria’s curry.”
He buried his face in his arms, voice muffled.
“It’s my fault. All of it. I got taken because I was too cocky. Too loud.
Tears dripped freely now.
“I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—I should’ve—”
“Kacchan…”
“I miss my dad,” Katsuki sobbed, voice ragged. “He’s probably so disappointed in me. And my mom—I keep thinking about how she yelled at me when I left for the camp. I thought she was just being overprotective. I haven’t seen her since—since—”
He couldn’t finish.
He just curled into himself, sobbing like a child.
Izuku’s heart broke in silence. He inched closer—slowly, gently—until he was right beside him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask permission.
He just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him.
Bakugo didn’t resist.
He collapsed into the hug like it was the only thing holding him together. His hands clutched Izuku’s shirt in fists, his whole body trembling.
And Izuku held him.
For the first time in months, Katsuki Bakugo cried without shame.
And Izuku Midoriya made sure he didn’t have to do it alone.
Katsuki’s breathing had started to calm, just a little, as Izuku held him. But then his voice came again—barely a whisper against Izuku’s shoulder.
“I wanna die, Izuku.”
Izuku froze.
“I don’t wanna live like this anymore,” Katsuki continued, quieter than before. “I’m tired. Of waking up in a place that feels like a grave. Of seeing red when I close my eyes. Of remembering what I did. What I couldn’t stop.”
Izuku’s eyes welled instantly, vision blurring. His breath caught in his throat as his arms tightened around Katsuki instinctively.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Please, Kacchan… I—I can’t imagine you dead. I can’t—” His voice cracked. “Stop. Please.”
But Katsuki didn’t stop.
“Am I really him anymore?” His voice was hollow. “Does it matter if I die? The old me—the loud, arrogant jerk who thought he was untouchable—he’s gone. I killed him the second I lost control.”
Izuku shook his head, tears spilling freely now.
“I’m not your Kacchan anymore, Izu…”
Izuku’s entire body trembled.
“Yes, you are.”
His voice wasn’t a whisper anymore. It rang out, desperate, loud, and full of pain.
“You never stopped”
His fists clung to Katsuki’s sleeves.
Katsuki finally looked at him. His face was pale and soaked, but Izuku’s eyes were burning with something different now.
“You’re still him,” he said fiercely. “Even when it hurts. Even when you’re lost. Even now, when you think you’re broken—you’re still Kacchan.”
Izuku wiped at his face with a trembling hand.
“You’re the one who pushed me to be better. The one who never let me give up. The one I've looked up to since I was four. That doesn’t just go away.
“You’re not alone,” he added softly, his voice breaking. “You never have been. And I won’t let you go now. Not ever.”
Bakugo stared at him.
His lips parted, but no words came out.
Just the quiet sound of two boys crying on the cold floor of a prison cell—one breaking apart, the other holding him together with nothing but love and stubborn hope.
Katsuki’s breathing had steadied, but the room still felt fragile, like one wrong word could splinter it all again.
He looked up at Izuku, then down at the floor.
“…Izu.”
His voice was barely there. Soft. Almost scared.
Izuku sniffled, trying to steady his own shaking breath. “Y-Yeah?”
Katsuki didn’t meet his eyes.
“Being in this place… made me realize something.”
Izuku tilted his head, blinking through tears. “What?”
Katsuki’s lips trembled. His hands clenched, restrained against the cuffs binding his wrists to the wall.
“That I can’t live without you.”
Izuku’s heart stopped.
Katsuki’s voice cracked—low, raw, honest in a way it never had been before.
“Yes, I hated you. I bullied you. I hurt you.”
Izuku’s eyes burned again, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I did it to hide how much I hated myself. Every time you smiled. Every time you got back up. Every time you looked at me like I was still worth something—I couldn’t stand it. Because I didn’t feel like I deserved it.”
He finally looked up—eyes red and wet, but unwavering.
“And as time went on… I realized.”
A pause. A breath.
“I don’t hate you.”
Izuku’s lips parted, but the words caught in his throat.
Katsuki looked away again.
“This place… Tartarus… it broke me. Stripped everything else away. But it gave me one truth that nothing else could.”
He looked back up at him. No fire in his eyes now—only clarity.
“I love you, Izuku.”
"And I know that being in this place means I’ll probably never get to be with you… but I had to say it anyway."
Izuku’s breath caught so hard his throat hurt.”
For a second, everything was still.
Then he moved.
Without thinking, without even wiping his tears, Izuku surged forward and held him tighter. He didn't care about the restraints or the bruises or the cold walls around them.
“I love you too, Kacchan,” he whispered, voice cracked open, trembling with every word. “I always have.”
Katsuki buried his face against Izuku’s shoulder, letting his weight fall into the embrace as far as the cuffs would let him.
For the first time in Tartarus, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t feel like a monster.
Katsuki leaned his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as tears streaked quietly down his cheeks.
“Izuku…” he whispered, barely more than a breath. “I want you to know I love you. Okay?”
Izuku’s brow furrowed. “I—Kacchan, I love you too, so much, but—why are you—?”
“Even if we can never be together,” Katsuki said, voice steady now, but heavy with finality. “Promise me something.”
Izuku’s hands were shaking again. “Anything…”
Katsuki pulled away and looked at him with a soft, tired smile—more gentle than Izuku had ever seen.
“Promise me you’ll be the hero I never could.”
Izuku’s vision blurred. His heart felt like it was ripping in half.
“I will, Kacchan. I swear I will.”
That smile stayed, just for a second longer.
“I know you will be, Zuku.”
And then—
The air changed.
Katsuki’s breath hitched. His eyes widened slightly—just slightly—and then went glassy.
A dark voice echoed, not aloud, but inside his mind:
"So... you want to die, huh? So be it."
Katsuki’s body seized up.
His mouth trembled, lips parting in silent resistance. His eyes filled with terror—pure, helpless terror.
Izuku noticed instantly. “Kacchan?” he stepped forward, frantic. “Kacchan, what’s wrong?!”
Katsuki’s body moved—but not by his will.
His own hands rose slowly, shakily. Up to his throat.
“No—no, no, no—please—” he choked, fighting it, fighting with everything he had left. “Izu—run—please—don’t look—don’t—”
“All For One,” Izuku whispered, horrified.
Katsuki’s hands tightened around his neck, sobs breaking through the possessed motions. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry—Izuku—I love you—”
“KACCHAN!” Izuku screamed, surging forward, reaching for him. “Stop! Please! KACCHAN!”
But it was too late.
With one final jerk, Katsuki’s hands snapped his own neck.
The sound was sharp. Final.
He collapsed forward, lifeless, the cuffs still holding him in place.
“No…” Izuku whispered.
Then louder.
“NO—KACCHAN—”
He grabbed him, shaking his shoulders, hands trembling violently.
“Wake up—please wake up—you promised—Kacchan—please—PLEASE—”
But Kachan didn’t wake.
He never did.