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Bakugou Katsuki is slowly losing his hearing.
He knew it would happen – his quirk is a lot of loud explosions very close to his ears. Maybe if he had thought of it when he was younger, he’d have gotten some support items that would muffle the crackpopBOOM of his explosions, but he doubt that would have come without the cost of blocking outeverything. He needed to be able to hear what was going on around him. Demanding people repeat themselves becomes second nature by the time he’s sixteen. The constant ringing in his ears had always been normal. Whether from the shouts of his mother, from his own voice, from his explosions, it was normal. Something he was used to.
By the time he’s a pro-hero, he doesn’t even notice it as he claws his way up the ranks.
Every now and then, he wakes up from a nightmare, from when he was still a kid, just a little brat, being swallowed whole by that sludge villain in the alley.
It’s like when you’re swimming at the beach and a wave drags you under, and you can see the surface of the water, but no matter how much you push, you can’t break through. Your lungs are burning, salt stinging the back of your throat and nose, and your limbs are getting tired, god, so tired, but you don’t seem to be getting any closer.
He pushes and pushes and pushes, but sludge is covering his body, creeping up his shoulders, the scent of rot filling his lungs. His explosions had started big, but now they’re little more than pop-rocks, the sludge too thick for Bakugou to ignite the nitro-glycerine leaking out of his palms.
The smell of rot, death is nothing compared to the thick, acrid mucus-esque sludge that slides into his mouth, and even as he gags it out, it forces its way back in. His mouth is moving, forming the villain’s words as he taunts the powerless pros.
And then even his explosions aren’t his own. Bakugou has no control over his own body, his own quirk, and he can’t breathe.
He’s going to die, staring at all of these useless pro-heroes who are just standing there watching as he suffocates. Chokes. Drowns.
And the world is silent. Muffled. There’s sludge in his ears, but it doesn’t make a sound. He can’t hear a thing.
In the nightmare, Deku never appears. All Might stands and watches in disdain as he drowns and he can’t even hear his own screams.
Those are the nights Bakugou wakes in a cold sweat, shout strangled in his throat, gasping for air.
That’s how he knows he’s awake – he can hear the sound of his own ragged breathing in his big, empty apartment, sheets singed, smoking, the crack-pop! of his sparks in his palms, the city below loud in his ears.
“How many goddamn times do I gotta tell ya? Speak up and stop mumbling!” Bakugou snaps at his first and longest sidekick – the force-field Hero, Stasis. She stands on the other side of his desk as he signs off on yet another damage report prepared by one of the newer kids to the GroundRiot Agency.
Stasis had joined his and Kirishima’s agency almost as soon as they had announced it would open, and had been one of the few who was able to keep up with Bakugou’s short temper and constant snapping, dishing out as well as she got.
Today, however, she frowns, taking the forms Bakugou holds out, but not moving just yet, instead watching him with a creased brow. When he realises that she’s still standing there, he looks up, biting out a, “what?”
“I wasn’t mumbling. I was talking the same as I am now.”
He blinks at her, lips twisting in a snarl as he prepares to fire back, but something stops him from speaking.
Stasis pretends that she didn’t see the briefest flash of dread in his eyes, before he lowers his gaze to his desk, and instead waves the forms in the general direction of the door. “Never mind, forget I said anything. I’ll get these registered.”
He huffs a sigh, shaking his head as he returns to his work. Why did she always revert to a mumble when he wasn’t looking at her? Didn't she realise how irritating that was?
Bakugou has never hated these stupid charity things more than he has right now. Kirishima sits on one side of him, Stasis on the other, everyone on the table laughing, but Bakugou doesn’t know why.
It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention to Kaminari on the other side of the table, in fact, he had been. The idiot was one of his closest friends, whether he liked it or not, and surrounded by all of his old UA friends, he'd been relaxed, paying attention, even calm. But then Bakugou had looked around for just a moment to flag down a server to refill his glass, and Kaminari had lowered his voice, the tail end of his story lost in the low cacophony of the hall. Before Bakugou could ask what he was muttering about, the table had erupted into laughter, and his question was lost.
“Hey, man, what’s with the frown?” Kirishima asks from beside him as his giggles subside, and Bakugou’s scowl deepens.
“I didn’t hear what dunce-face said.” Bakugou glares at Kaminari, who adopts the what did I do? expression he’d worn many a time during their formative years at UA.
Bakugou misses the silent confused glance exchanged between Stasis and Kirishima over his head as he leans forward and demands Kaminari repeat himself, without mumbling like a toddler this time, idiot, but somehow, it isn’t as funny the second time around as it had apparently been the first.
He’s drowning again. Choking. Suffocating. The world is quiet. A pair of electric blue eyes watch him. Neon green ones too. They’re emotionless. Cold. Empty. Just watching him die, as though saying good riddance. We're better off without you.
Bakugou wakes with a gasp, eyes dripping as he bolts upright in bed, heart pumping. The world beyond his bedroom is silent and –
That’s not right– something’s wrong!
He parks the nightmare to one side and jumps out of bed, racing to the sliding glass door of his bedroom, tearing it open and running out onto the balcony, expecting to see flames, death, anything.
The city is fine.
Normal.
Still.
But he can’t hear the sounds far below that usually ground him, his pulse rioting.
Why is it so quiet?
… you know why, Katsuki.
“You almost died today, Katsuki.” Kirishima has never been so angry with his best friend before, angry enough to use his given name as he paces the quiet room of the hospital, save for the beeping of the machines.
No, Kirishima has never been angry with Bakugou, period.
We’re not talking little things that you’re over in a day – if we were, then one could say that of course Kirishima has been angry with Bakugou before.
But we’re not, because Kirishima is fuming, furious, frustrated. Terrified. Worried. Upset.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t move! I told you, I called out to you, Stasis did too! You know you’re only alive right now because of her, right?” Kirishima rants, gesturing to where Stasis sits on the bed next to Bakugou’s, her minor injuries being treated by a timid nurse who flinches every time Kirishima speaks, voice raised and infuriated.
“Even then, she only just got to you. She was barely able to break the fall of that fucking villain and the building he brought down with him. Do you understand what I’m saying, Ground Zero? Your stubbornness almost got you killed by some second-rate trickshot villain because you refused to move when you were warned. Your stubbornness almost got you killed. Your stubbornness almost got Stasis killed. Do you understand? Are you hearing me right now?!”
“I didn’t hear you.”
Never in his life has Kirishima Eijirou heard Bakugou Katsuki speak so softly.
Bakugou doesn’t look up. Doesn’t look at either of them as Stasis silently dismisses the nurse, who scurries out of the room and closes the door behind her as Kirishima asks, “what did you say?”
“I said I didn’t hear you. I didn’t hear either of you. I couldn’t hear anything except my explosions and then that building crashing down around me.”
“What do you mean?” Kirishima questions, arms crossed over his chest as he scoffs. “You’ve never had trouble hearing me over your explosions before.”
“Well, I can’t anymore, alright?” Bakugou snaps, bandaged hands fisting in his hair, ignoring the twinge of pain as his heart rate monitor spikes, voice rising with every word. “I couldn’t fucking hear anything out there, it was like I was underwater. Even now, with you yelling at me, standing right fucking in front of me, it's like you’re two doors down, and I couldn’t fucking hear when you and Stasis warned me out there, okay?”
He’d denied it for so long, but with that one admission, the wall of denial he’s built comes crumbling down as he breaks, fingers tugging so hard at his hair he’s all but pulling it out as he folds in on himself, sobbing.
“I can’t hear a goddamn fucking thing.”
The doctors confirm it later that day. Bakugou has what they refer to as moderate hearing loss - he can still hear some things, but not many. Years of his explosions have finally caught up with him, and he cries for the second time when the doctor leaves and it’s just him, Stasis and Kirishima in the room.
Stasis holds his hand. Kirishima sits quietly beside him.
After a while, the painkillers take effect, and he drifts off to sleep, tears drying on his cheeks.
“Did you know?” Kirishima asks, and Stasis offers a half shrug.
“I had a feeling. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or if I did, he just dismissed me. Today was partially my fault. I should’ve pushed more.” She murmurs, guilt heavy in her tone, her thumb stroking over the back of Bakugou’s palm, shoulders hunched. Kirishima watches them both a moment longer, before standing, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m gonna go make some calls.”
The only thing Bakugou can hear with clarity are his explosions. The repetitive crackpopBOOM echoes in his ears as he ignites every last drop of nitro-glycerine he has in the training room, explosion after explosion scorching the walls.
On the bench where he’d left his bag sits a small case, delivered by Ingenium himself. Nerd.
At least Iida spoke clearly enough that Bakugou had been able to read his lips without too much trouble.
Hatsume asked me to deliver these. Hearing aids, (pacifically? No-) specifically designed…
Bakugou had stopped paying attention, dismissing Iida with a low grunt as he snatched the case and tossed it in his bag, pushing past him to get to the training room.
(Iida hadn’t taken offense.)
He still hasn’t tried them.
crackpopBOOM
He understands now that it wasn’t that people around him had suddenly developed a confoundingly irritating habit of mumbling when he looked away, but that he’d been reading their lips without realising, the shapes of their mouths reconciling with the sounds that were filtering into his brain. He’d been perfecting his lip reading in the past two months, and, at the stubborn insistence of Kirishima, learning sign.
It had been difficult to find someone who could teach him and put up with his short temper but eventually they had, and Kirishima had made it mandatory at GroundRiot that everyone have a basic knowledge of sign. He and Stasis had picked it up the fastest.
crackpopBOOMfwshh
The force of his explosion is contained by a shimmering blue forcefield, and he knows without looking that Stasis has joined him. When he turns, she’s sitting on the bench, turning the case over in her hands. She makes sure to look directly at him when she speaks.
Have you tried them yet?
“What does it fuckin’ look like?” He growls, stalking forward and snatching the case off her.
If you want to return to her[o?] work, you need to test them.
Something hits his shoulder, and he glances behind her to see Kirishima standing at the door as the pebble falls soundlessly to the floor as he signs.
She['s] right.
“I’ll test them when I feel like it.” His fists clench around the case, and Kirishima frowns, signing once more, a little clumsy in his movements still when it comes to longer sentences.
Test now. We[‘re] here. Help you. For you. Together.
Bakugou tries not to feel self-conscious of the bright orange devices as he returns to his first regular patrol with Stasis by his side, ignoring the surprised looks and low hum of shocked comments. Stasis handles any civilians that come up for greetings or autographs or, god forbid, questions and manages to shake them off, but there’s one she doesn’t.
The little girl sitting on her father’s shoulders can’t be older than five or six, pointing excitedly at Bakugou’s hearing aids. Before he can snap at her, she pushes her little brunette braids out of the way, showing off bright purple devices that look mighty similar to his.
Like me[!] she signs with her little hands, toothy beam bright. My favourite Hero[!] You['re] like me[!]