Chapter Text
Bakugou was panicking.
He couldn't help but stare at the pills he spilled all over the floor. White, blue, orange and green, purple, capsules, tablets, caplets (what a stupid fucking name, why would Tylenol call it that?) all at his feet and in his stomach. He occasionally heard the sound of his own blood drip in the ground.
He had been staring at those stupid pills for 20 minutes now, only taking a break just a minute ago to slice open his own skin, trying to make him feel something, anything, the urge to make himself feel pain growing more and more by the second. He wanted to see his blood so badly, and now it was everywhere.
But now he was panicking. His body began to feel ever so slightly numb as he stared at all the pills on the ground, scattered like ants at a picnic. He genuinely wasn't sure if the pills were kicking in or if it was just placebo. The only thing he knew for sure was that he just took a metric fuck ton of pills and now he wasn't sure if this was what he truly wanted.
As his breathing picked up, he paced around the room, almost slipping in a puddle of his own blood from time to time. Did he want to die? Or did he just want something to happen? Maybe he just wanted to see everyone's reaction when they found out what he had done. Maybe he was just curious what it was like to be on the verge of death. The suicide note by his bedside seemed daunting now as he tried to make a decision.
Maybe another day he would finally have the balls to kill himself, but right now he was having serious regrets. He didn't know much, all he knew was he wasn't feeling the same way he was an hour ago.
He hurried over to the bathroom, kneeling down in front of the toilet. Sticking his index finger as far as he could down his throat, he began to gag until he threw up multiple times. He scanned the bowl for pills. Right, he took these pills 45 minutes ago, they're all dissolved.
It was out of his hands. There was nothing he could do to get the drugs out of the bloodstream that was currently leaking from his arms and legs. In his mind and quite literally, he only had two options:
Admit defeat and die, or admit defeat and go to the hospital.
Either way, he was just showing how weak he truly was. Both options seemed disgustingly unacceptable, but it was one or the other. A lose-lose situation for Bakugou Katsuki, the headstrong teen who never loses.
Trying to keep his head clear, he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing a monster energy drink before his defeating departure. Slipping on a jacket and grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone, he opened the door as silently as possible. Opening the car door, a bitter obstacle made itself present.
The garage door is fucking loud. If he pressed the button to open it up, it would surely wake up his parents, and right now he didn't want to hear a damn word of whatever they had to say. He looked around for another option, eyes landing on the emergency release lock. Reaching up, he pulled on it as gently as possible, the lock clicking open. Without making a sound, he pulled up on the garage door, leaving just enough room to get the car out. Bakugou was never more thankful that his parents bought a quiet hybrid instead of a huge truck as he started the engine. Backing out slowly, the silence was eerie. He quickly jumped out to close the door, backing out of his driveway completely before hooking up his phone to the Bluetooth.
Blasting his playlist and screaming the lyrics, he drove to the hospital, weighing his options. He could go to the children's hospital, where people are trained in dealing with patients Bakugou's age, but they'd treat him like a child, and he wasn't a fan of that. Plus, they had those creepy-ass Sesame Street posters on the wall that Bakugou has absolutely no interest in looking at. Or, he could go to Mercy, where they wouldn't treat him like a child. Fuck it, he had the same anatomy as an adult. It couldn't be that hard.
He didn't even realize he was crying until he made it onto the main road, recorded guitars and drums ringing in his ears. Sing louder, scream louder, drown out any voice that dared to leak in his mind. His only objective right now was staying alive. He felt the sting of his jacket brushing against the fresher wounds on his arm as he recklessly drove in the dead of night.
Not many cars were on the road, not that he expected them to be, but whenever a car did pass him, it was eerie and unsettling. Could they hear him scream? Did they know the pain he had been going through for years and how he snapped? Could they see the blood that soaked through the sleeves of his jacket? Did they know that he was only about a half-hour away from overdosing?
Bakugou wasn't a fan of the atmosphere. The road was still wet from the rain that had stopped not even an hour ago. His throat began to ache as he tried to hold back his tears and just sing his heart out. It was painfully difficult to pay attention to the road when he was gasping for air and shuddering with each exhale.
But somehow, he made it to the hospital. He chose an empty parking space and sat in the car for a second. The second he walked through those hospital doors, there was no going back. He would get treated and live to see the sunrise in the morning, probably. If he sat in the car, all the drugs that slowly tainted his veins would take over his system, shutting down his organs one by one. A lose-lose situation where he admitted defeat either way.
Bakugou stared at the parked car in front of him. If he were to lose now, he'd never win again. No more beating those stupid extras, showing them who the real protagonist is. No more pain, but no more victories.
With bitterness in his heart and on his tongue, he stepped out of the car, locking it behind him. He looked at the bright room of the hospital that was shown to the outside world through the automatic sliding glass doors. A cool breeze swept through the disgustingly humid air. Bakugou wasn't sure if the air was hard to breathe because of the humidity or the panic he was bottling up.
Slipping through the doors, he squinted at the light bouncing off the light teal walls. It was eerie this late at night. A few people were scattered around the room, either on their phones or sleeping. The receptionists were all talking with each other softly, gossiping, and sharing anecdotes. Bakugou hesitantly walked up to the ER reception desk, his hands in his sweatpants pockets.
"Hi, hun, what brings you here?" One of the receptionists asked Bakugou.
"Uh, I'm about to overdose," Bakugou muttered. Bakugou felt uncomfortable in every way possible. He didn't miss the way the receptionist's expression faltered ever so slightly. She was trained to keep a straight face in order to keep people calm, yet the slight look of shock slipped from her facade, allowing Bakugou to see how his actions affected the staff.
"Alright, have you ever been to Mercy before?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah. I was here a year ago for an eating disorder," Bakugou muttered, feeling utterly ashamed.
"Alright hun, what's your name?" she asked.
"Bakugou Katsuki." she typed in her computer, scanning the screen for what seemed like years.
"Date of birth?"
"April 20th."
She typed a little more on her computer. Bakugou pulled out his phone, figuring he should at least text his parents and tell them where he was.
Bakugou: Don't freak out. I drove myself to Mercy hospital because I'm currently overdosing
And with that, he muted all text notifications and put his phone in his pocket. After what seemed like forever, a nurse from the desk ushered Bakugou to come with her. "Alright, we're gonna take your temperature and get your blood pressure. But first, can you step on the scale?"
With hesitance, Bakugou stepped on the scale, standing upright. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the number light up on the screen in front of him. He felt the nurse press a stick to the top of his head as she got his height. "Alright, you can step off now."
Eyes closed, Bakugou stepped off and turned away from the scale. The nurse gestured to a seat where Bakugou sat. "Could you please take off your-"
"No."
The nurse stared at him for a moment. She hesitantly reached out and felt the material of the jacket. "I believe we can get your blood pressure with it on," she muttered.
She wrapped the cuff around his left bicep. Bakugou couldn't help but stare at the cuff as it inflated. After what seemed like half of his lifespan, they took him to a room where he was forced to sit and wait for the doctor to come in. He sighed, looking at his phone, and scrolled through social media.
A soft knock caught his attention as the doctor came in. He stared at her, not completely sure what to do. "Hi, I'm Dr. Katayama and I'll be taking care of you. Now I read that you believe you are going to overdose?"
Bakugou hesitantly nodded his head, not really sure what to say. The doctor seemed so calm, while he was anything but. His knee bounced relentlessly as she asked him a million questions.
"Did you take pills?"
"Uh, yeah."
"What did you take and how much?"
"Uh, roughly 8 pills of acetaminophen, 6 naproxen, 5 50 mg fluoxetine, 5 lamotrigine, and 8 ibuprofen," Bakugou said, trying to remember what the pills in his hand looked like.
"Alright, we need you to get changed into this hospital gown. I'll knock in five minutes, alright?"
"Yeah okay."
The doctor left, leaving Bakugou all alone with the hospital gown. With a sigh, he changed into the gown, despising every second of it. He quickly put his jacket back on over the gown, the bloodstains seeping through for the world to see. Folding up his clothes, he set them next to him on the chair.
True to her word, the doctor knocked and opened the door, a nurse following her in. "This is nurse Chiba, she'll be assisting me," Katayama said. "I'm going to need you to take off your jacket."
"I don't want to."
"You have to."
Bakugou stared down at the nurse as he reluctantly took off the jacket. His forearms were covered in dried blood to the point you could barely see his skin. The doctor wrote in her book. "How did you get those wounds?"
"Self-inflicted."
"Do you have any other self-harm wounds you created tonight?"
"On my legs."
"Alright. So the first thing we need to do is get blood samples," Katayama said. Bakugou nodded as he was gestured to sit on the bed. Another rolled in a cart full of blood sampling supplies as the doctor moved out.
"Okay, we're gonna get some of your blood, four vials," the nurse said.
Bakugou thrived off of jokes. It was a good coping mechanism for when he was panicking, wondering why everything was the way it was. The tension in the room was painfully thick, he just needed to lighten the mood. He probably shouldn't have said it, but he was already snickering to himself enough to make the nurses glance up.
"You can just take the blood from my arms," Bakugou chuckled, holding out his arms. Bakugou thought his joke was witty, comical, hilarious even. By the looks on the nurses' faces, they did not. Bakugou chewed on his lip as the nurses didn't say anything. They tied a rubber band around his bicep and tapped around his vein.
"Alright, it'll just be a little prick," Chiba said softly. Bakugou watched as the needle went it, the smallest sting coming with it. They connected the very little happened. From what Bakugou remembered, there was definitely supposed to be blood coming out at a faster rate. Hell, he even knew that from personal experience. Chiba mumbled something before disconnecting the vial and hooking the IV up to it. "You really have thick veins. I'm gonna try flushing the vein to see if we can still use this one."
Bakugou nodded, watching as she pushed the saline solution into his arm. Bakugou stared at the bump that began to form in his skin. The nurse looked disappointed as she took out the needle and IV, pressing down on his inner elbow in a half-assed manner. "What happened?"
"We blew out your vein," Chiba said, moving the tourniquet to his other arm. He stared at the nurses in slight horror, wondering what the fuck that meant. "Don't worry, you'll be okay, we just have to use another vein to draw blood."
Bakugou sighed, just trying to let the nurses do their job. They blew out a vein, no big deal. Well, it wouldn't have been a big deal to him if they didn't blow out four fucking veins before they got the needle in his vein. Four bumps, one on each inner arm, one on each hand. They got the needle in another vein in his hand, but that didn't make him any less annoyed.
When his father walked in, Bakugou was at a loss for words. They both knew exactly what happened and neither knew how to address it. Without thinking, Bakugou threw up a peace sign and smirked. "They blew out four of my fucking veins," Bakugou chuckled.
Masaru let out a soft chuckle, not sure what to say. Sitting in a chair next to Bakugou's hospital bed, he grabbed onto the hand that didn't have a million wires coming off of it. "Did you want to die?" Masaru asked softly.
Bakugou wasn't sure what to say. The doctors and nurses asked him that question multiple times, in different ways, anytime they could. When they were cleaning the blood off his arms and legs, when they asked their long list of questions, when they told him the different levels of the drugs in his system and how much saline they were putting in him to try to flush it out.
Did you want to die?
He was asked that question so many goddamn times. He thought so. He thought that was what he wanted when he downed those pills with a can of Monster. He thought that was what he wanted when he sat in his bed, watching YouTube videos to pass the time until he fell asleep for the last time. He thought that was what he wanted for the past five years as his intrusive thoughts kept him from being able to pay attention in class. The thought of smashing the windows and impaling himself with the glass was all too prevalent in the classroom. The fantasy of grabbing the box cutters from the art room, stabbing someone he despised followed by himself, allowing him to go out with a bang.
Maybe instead he would stick two wooden pencils in his nose and slam his head against the desk. Maybe take the small vase off the teacher's desk, slam it to the ground, and shove the shards into his stomach. If he was really up for it, maybe he could piss off the school hothead until they caved his head in with a locker.
For years on end, he was constantly thinking about death and new ways to hurt himself. And now he had done it, he was on track to die by morning, watch people hear about the news of his death as an apparition. He wanted to see the look on everyone's face when they heard the news, when they attended his funeral. And he was on track to do just that.
But he didn't. And he wasn't fully sure why.
But after the drugs were being flushed out of his body, his lightheaded, nauseating haze drifting away more each hour, he was alive. Bakugou was alive and he wasn't sure how, why, or how he had fucked up enough to get to this point in his life.
But that was whatever right now. Right now, he just knew that he needed to get back home. He used to be a straight-A student, top of his class. But this year, he was lucky to even be passing his classes. He had a tennis tournament to go to on Monday. He just had to stick it out for now. Get as far as he could in the tournament, see if he could bring his grades up, get his head out of his ass for a month to see if he could push himself forward. If not, he could sort out what he wanted and try again.
"I don't know," Bakugou answered after a long silence. With a heavy sigh, Masaru looked at his son.
"They're classifying this as a suicide attempt. The doctors already called Schuyler Fields. When your levels are stable, you're going to get treated there," Masaru said softly.
Bakugou felt his stomach drop. No, this couldn't possibly be happening. Every mentally ill kid in the area had heard the horror stories about Schuyler Fields mental hospital. They've all heard the tale about how one of the residents was choked out for refusing to go to the 8 am breakfast. How people leave feeling worse than they went in.
"No, I regret this," Bakugou said quickly. "I regret it so much, I'll never pull this shit again, you can't send me there."
"Our hands are tied," Masaru said softly. "They've accepted you and I really think this will be best for you. I know you've been struggling, I know you've been feeling down, and Mom and I can't as supportive as you need us to be. This will be good for you."
So it was decided. It didn't matter what he thought. He was being whisked away to Schuyler Fields just like that. He was going to get even more behind in school, he wouldn't be able to practice for tennis, his friends will slowly begin to push him away. Absolutely nothing could get any worse.
"I know you don't want to. If I could, I would take away all your mental problems. I wish I had a magic wand and could make you all better, but I can't. I want you to get better, I don't want you to go, but it's for the best," Masaru said softly.
Bakugou gritted his teeth, trying to hold back tears as he stared at the dark ceiling of the hospital room. "Fine," he said, trying to calm himself. Whatever, this was the worst-case scenario. He would have time taken away from him to be able to do the things he needed to do. He needed to write, draw, practice, study. He wouldn't be able to do any of that if he was locked up in the psych ward. It was a waste of time.
Get in, circle the right words, check off the correct boxes, play the system, get out. Simple, Bakugou wasn't stupid, he knew exactly how those places worked. He wasn't going to spend a second longer than he needed to there.
The second he gave in and accepted his fate, he began planning his every move.