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He feels it in his fingertips. He hears it somehow- almost. Soft and slow, steady at first, but then...?
Katsuki feels his leg twitch and his lip curl.
It was always gonna end like this, huh. Bloody.
No blaze of glory. No triumphant cries or adoring crowds. No sacrifice of the world’s greatest hero, of the number one.
No. Just some idiot teenager impaled on a 2-bit villain’s quirk.
Anticlimactic.
He tries to swallow - doesn’t like the gurgle in his throat or the taste that follows - and promptly coughs up red. It’s goopy, sticky, kinda, and it runs down his chin and pools under his head. He’s going numb, doesn’t notice it for long.
Doesn’t notice much except for the distant hum of fighting and the soft, quiet beat of his own heart as he dies.
Katsuki rolls his head to one side, toward the sound. He sees grey. A lot of grey and black and flashes of lightening and rain. And fire, too. He might’ve started those. Good.
And green. There’s green that way, and now it’s up high - and then over there - moving fast, so fast he can’t follow and he’s not sure he can blame it entirely on the blood loss.
Fucking -
“De… ku … ”
Always the victim. Why does he think of that now? Of what some shitty extra said way back when?
Is it… ‘cause it’s true?
He breaths out a groan as he drags his arm up, fingers clutching at his costume and hovering over his heart.
His eyes sting and snot clogs with the blood in his nose.
Great. Pathetic.
“Kacchan” he hears, whispered - he’s sure he hallucinated it.
And then it’s quiet except for the ‘thump thump’ in his chest.
It stays quiet for a while. For a long, long time. He loses count of his heart beats.
“Kacchan”
Too loud .
“Kacchan…”
Shut it.
“I can’t watch you die-”
Shut the hell -
“Beat this, Kacchan- Win!”
“-p’ku.” Katsuki licks his lips, peels open his eyes with herculean effort. He tries again. “-sh’t up.”
He realizes, now that his throat is sandpaper raw, that someone’s holding him, fingers tight. It hurts.
He looks at them, the mangled digits curled into his bicep while the others clutch at his shirt, knuckles white and scarred.
“Kacchan - you,” the idiot gapes, “ … you’re… ”
It’s a hospital room, Katsuki realizes absently. The lights overhead are dim, practically off. Sterile fluorescent white bleeds in through the cracked door while dusky purple moonlight peeks in through the window.
He feels Deku on him. Deku, it’s always Deku, always right there. He’s heavy.
Katsuki doesn’t mention it.
“Kacchan. You’re awake,” Deku mouthbreathes like it’s sacred gospel.
Obviously, you shit.
He says nothing, lets his face speak for him, but he knows it’s weak.
He looks at Deku now, properly. Focus returns to the world and with it each and every freckle fades into disturbing detail. The nerd’s green eyes stay wide, watching Katsuki like he might disappear from one blink to the next - still gripping him tight enough to bruise.
“Deku,” Katsuki warns, shifting the arm Deku holds, but there’s no bite to it.
And cue the waterworks. Of course.
But there’s something about them- about these tears. Deku cries, but it’s subtle - relieved.
And, for the first time, Katsuki notices Deku’s in his uniform and the hint of badly cleaned blood still on his forehead.
“Sorry,” Deku sucks in a breath, bows his head and plants said forehead against Katsuki’s chest. “Sorry, Kacchan, but I won’t let you go.”
Katsuki wonders if he means now or… ever. He thinks he knows.
Deku leans in again, body draped carefully but firm over Katsuki’s. Protective.
Almost.
Katsuki ignores Deku’s sniffles and trembling shoulders and listens to his still beating heart.