Work Text:
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
- Emily Dickinson
The morgue is neither dark nor gloomy, all sterilized white floors and shiny silver cabinets. Katsuki's been in morgues hundreds of times but has he never felt like breathing is this hard. Katsuki expects to see Izuku's body mangled or bruised when they bring him out into the freezing air, but he looks undisturbed - like he may have gone away on a quiet night and not a blaze of self-sacrificing glory that'd carved his place in history. Katsuki thinks back on people saying the dead look like they are just sleeping, but that's bullcrap if he's ever heard any. Izuku's lips are shriveled and dried, a soft purple aiming for blue. His skin is translucent in its paleness, and spidery veins are visible even under darker scars. It's like only Izuku's body is in monochrome, and everything else is screaming color. Even his goddamned freckles look faded as if - just like the last time Katsuki saw him - they'll fade out of existence without a trace.
Katsuki knows what he came to find.
He'd been heavily advised against coming here. Mina had begged him not to go, and even Eijirou - waiting right outside the door, always willing to be in Katsuki's corner - had seemed hesitant and reproachful.
Katsuki knew what he would find since the moment he made the choice.
He is looking for confirmation, not discovery.
He knew.
Knowing doesn't do anything for the way his knees give out under him. His hip shrieks where he slams on it, too much force generated by the way Katsuki doesn't even attempt to catch himself. He barely understands that he fell. The pain is nothing compared to the lack of comprehension. Katsuki can see. His eyes travel the expanse of the examination room, the glinting silver of the morgues table, the scratchy sheet covering most of Izuku's body, his limp dark green hair. But nothing clicks. Nothing makes sense.
I'm sorry, Kacchan, I'm sorry.
Katsuki had said it was okay, had absolved Izuku in a moment of harmony and enlightenment, and had placed Izuku's well-being and peace above his own. Naive in his ignorance, distrustful of the anxiety slugging through his veins.
Katsuki said it was okay, but what had he known?
With the lingering smell of death and frustrated destiny, with the coroner's small hand shaking his shoulder adamantly, Katsuki understands one universal truth as it comes into existence in his heart.
(Somewhere in his mind, Katsuki processes that the coroner, a blonde woman with fearful brown eyes, is speaking to him. Katsuki can tell by how her lips move, and her face is much too close to his own. He gets lost in between every blink of his eyes, and he cannot hear her over the empty sound of rushing blood in his ears.)
Katsuki told Izuku it was okay that he had died.
Katsuki told Izuku it was okay that he was leaving him alone.
Katsuki told Izuku he'd be okay with just that one kiss.
Katsuki knows better now: nothing about this shit show will ever be okay again.
There's no way.
Mina's entire body is shaking with exhaustion by the time they pull up to the parking spot of Katsuki's favorite trail. It's a lucky thing that he chose the one he and Ei frequented because tracking him via the agency's GPS broke at least two laws. She's tired from crying but manages to get herself under control at some point during the four-hour drive. She's nervous about Baku, his cellphone's ringing -which means that he has a signal, but he hasn't answered anyone's text or calls.
His car is immediately visible as they arrive, an obnoxious orange FJ Cruiser that Mina has given him no small amount of shit for. Its lights are on, bright through the drizzle.
Mina gives Ei a glance. Her friend's hair is down and sloppily tied up and out of her face.
Ei knocks softly on the glass, but Mina can see how hard Baku flinches anyway through the window. For a moment, his eyes trail over their faces and show no recognition. He's pale and wet, clutching on to the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles are bright. There's little more response until Ei tries the car door. It opens up slowly, unlocked as it was. It smells like dirt and burning inside the car, and Mina wonders if Baku's quirk has been acting up.
"Katsuki?" Mina's never thought of Baku and subdued in the same sentence, except for now in the slowness of how her friend turns his head to narrow his eyes at Ei. The movement seems reflexive, and there's no focus on his eyes as he acknowledges his name. Mina doesn't think he noticed that they opened the door. "We came to look for you," the redhead adds, voice soft.
Katsuki bites his lip, he turns his eyes heavenwards, baring his throat in a way that allows Mina to watch as he swallows anxiously. His hands remain in their desperate grip, to reality or to denial she cannot tell.
"Is Deku…? Did he…?"
Mina figured Baku knew; it only took one glance at him to know but hearing him ask broke something in her. Her eyes stung. Baku shouldn't sound like that, hesitant and resigned; no one should. Mina's respect for Eijirou doubles as her fellow hero straightens out, rests one hand on Katsuki's shoulder, and looks him compassionately in the eye as he says:
"He's gone, Katsuki."
Katsuki comes back to himself in Kirishima's car.
He knows how he got there, but the memories are foreign and blurry, as if they belonged to a movie he might've watched as a child instead of being just hours old. It feels like his day is just a made-up visual description from someone else's story, the type of thing the mind creates while in idle conversation.
Izuku's washed-out features feel like the only real thing in Katsuki's life.
"You okay?" Eijirou must notice that Katsuki's more aware now, or maybe he's just been asking him that all this time. Katsuki might grunt, or he might deny it, but Eijirou continues. "Bakubro," his voice is soft and pained, hesitant in a way that Katsuki thinks he's never heard it, "your hands are shaking."
Slowly, Katsuki looks at his scarred palms.
His palms are indeed shaking.
"Izuku's apartment," he mutters, transfixed on his trembling fingers. Katsuki fists his hands, but the grip feels weakened, the muscles unwilling or unable to channel any true strength. Even curled into themselves, the appendages do not stop their anxious vibration. Katsuki has the sudden impulse of blowing them up. For no reason, really. He thinks about what would happen vividly. Would the car swerve off the road? Would they be gone, in an instant, in a televised burning? Whispered about through the internet?
Mourned like Izuku is?
"Huh?" Kirishima's confusion snaps Katsuki out of that spiral of thought. (He doesn't necessarily appreciate it at that moment, but later on, he'd understand how lucky they'd been.)
"Izuku's apartment," he repeats. His voice sounds steady, always rough with the backing bravado of I have a plan. It's a lie. Katsuki has no idea where the conviction or the request comes from. He feels nothing, and he has no idea what he's doing or what he's supposed to do. "I wanna go," he clarifies when the car slows down for a stoplight, and Eijirou throws him a questioning glance.
"Do you… eh, have a key?"
No, Katsuki doesn't.
"Yes," he lies.
"Oh-kay then."
Uraraka isn't there, she doesn't work in the city but in Hosu with Tenya, both of them are taking a week off to help out with Deku's funeral. It doesn't sink in yet, not really, not even when she's forced to sit down on her office chair as her knees go weak. Instinctively, her hands go to her stomach, swollen like all pregnant women are 6 months along. Izuku was supposed to come to see her next week.
It's Shouto who tells her the news.
"Why are you so worried about Bakugou of all people?"
"Izuku... asked me to tell him something."
"To Bakugou?!"
"I think… I don't, I'm not good at these things as you… as you know, but Bakugou and Izuku have been -had been spending a lot of time together. I think they were…"
"Dating," she gasps out, "no way."
"I don't… really know, it was, so fast… I just…"
Shouto's calm dissolves into nothing, and Uraraka is left speechless and useless as she witnesses her friend cry for the first time in her life. She wants to do more, say more, help more, but grief twists her own insides, and there's nothing good to say.
His mom is at his apartment when Katsuki makes his way back.
Eijirou drove them to Izuku's apartment and then refused to let Katsuki break down the door. Katsuki had raged and raved, unsure and lost, none of the numbing buzz that had permeated their ride back present. He's not even sure why he wants to go in there. He just saw Izuku, Izuku's body. He's not going to be waiting for Katsuki at the other end of that door, no matter how viscerally Katsuki wishes he was. It doesn't matter that Eijirou didn't let him bust down the door; it's probably a good thing. Katsuki should be grateful for friends that put up with his temper, but when the red-hair makes to accompany him upstairs, Katsuki's red eyes must be a warning all of their own because his friend does not follow.
His mom's presence in his living room is probably Katsuki's karma.
"Katsuki..." her expression is quickly growing familiar for Katsuki. He's seen it in Eijirou, in the coroner, in Mina who accompanied the redhead to pick Katsuki up -drowning in his car at the bottom of a mountain. Katsuki meant to drive himself back, but hours went by, and he just… didn't. It's pity ; even the hint of it had once been enough to send Katsuki into a complete meltdown. Now, it washes away, pain too pale in the face of the wreckage left of his rib cage.
"What are you doing here?" he meant to yell, Katsuki did. Only soft, whistling words come out. He runs out of air before he can even insult her and only feels tired as he tries to breathe more deeply. Everything hurts. The knob under his hand is too cold. The air is too heavy. His hip throbs from where he abused it before, and experience foretells a serious bruise is already forming. He doesn't know why he bothers taking off his shoes, but his hip aches in protest when he does. Maybe it's just to avoid his mother's condescending gaze.
"What do you think I'm doing here?"
"Bothering me?" His mom must be serious because instead of raising to the jibe, she closes her eyes and seems to breathe out slowly. Katsuki watches her warily, sitting down in his raised entrance. His heavy hiking boots are off, and he should stand. Go… somewhere. His room? The couch? He stays rooted to the spot because what's the point?
Katsuki has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, of human lives, saving them… and taking them. Nothing compares to the crushing pressure of grief. His shoulders feel numb, back so stiff it might crack in protest if Katsuki does move.
"I'm here to see how you're doing, Katsuki."
"I'm fine."
He doesn't even have to look at her. His mother's incredulous stare slides viscously over his skin.
"What do you want me to say?" he crumbles under the pressure. He takes his sweet time locking the door and taking off his shoes in the foyer, but his mother is just as stubborn as he is, and considering Katsuki hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours, he has no doubt she's more rested. "Deku's fuckin dead. Talking to you or anyone about it isn't going to fucking change that. So whatever you thought you were going to try here, don't. I want to sleep."
He stalks off to his bedroom if only to put distance in between his mother and himself, not because he expects to find any rest.
"How is he?" Mina's voice is haggard on the other side of the phone. She's running on fumes, pulling an all-nighter, and then driving out with Kirishima to search for Katsuki. He'd seen his mother's texts, according to Miss Bakugou, but he wasn't picking up his phone. Radioing the agency for his location was a bust too.
"I've never seen him like this in my life," Kirishima answers.
"I can't believe Izuku's dead."
Neither can Katsuki.
Katsuki is one of the first people at the church. He refuses to let his parents drive him and snaps out of bed awake hours before the ceremony begins. He doesn't eat on his way out, and he debates the shower for a long time. He usually does these things without stopping to think about it, but they seem to weigh on him now, each of them an agonizing show of discipline and forced habit. He knows grief is supposed to get better with time, but as the days pass by, he thinks grief is also going to get a lot worse before that.
Deku's funeral takes place in the biggest church Katsuki has ever been in. It's all colored glass and dark wood. The contrast is jarring, gothic, and gloomy at the same time. The door is lighter than Katsuki expected as he pushes himself inside to be met with rows and rows of empty pews, barely catching himself from landing on his face. He barely makes a sound, but Miss Midoriya and Uraraka's heads twist to meet his surprised gaze. He barely registers that his former classmate is visibly pregnant.
Uraraka says I can be godfather, can you believe that?!
It'd been naive to think the church would be empty, but Miss Midoriya is the last person Katsuki wants to see.
Her son is dead, and Katsuki hasn't even had the decency to call her, not even his mother's screams had made him budge. What the fuck is Katsuki supposed to say? He feels like he owes her an explanation, which is the stupidest thing because Katsuki wasn't even there.
(And that might be what he can't put into words, why wasn't he there?)
He schools his features into a characteristic scowl, fixing his unbalanced stance and walking down the aisle. Karsuki never thought he'd get married, ever. He and Deku weren't even really dating. They shared one measly, stupid-ass kiss that might've been a vivid hallucination for all that Katsuki knows.
Walking down the aisle at his funeral makes acid burn the inside of his throat anyway, painting mockery and irony inside him with rotten blood.
Miss Midoriya is panicked, buzzing with unrestrained energy, late nights of crying and pain. Katsuki briefly thinks he might know what she's feeling, but he vanishes the thought. Miss Midoriya's only son passed away, Katsuki has no idea what that's like. They both miss Deku. They will both suffer his loss, but who the fuck does Katsuki think he is in Deku's life exactly? He'd meant to take a peek at the casket, drive the thought home early so he could scurry to the back, and avoid as many people as possible (until he had to fucking speak, of course. Thanks, mom, for that). He would have talked to Miss Midoriya (eventually), but now he has no other choice.
She raises a trembling hand to her wobbling lip as Katsuki walks to her; his stride is long and purposely and feels like he's borrowed it from anyone but him. His legs are shaking, but he wouldn't be able to stop himself even if he wanted to. Her hand reaches out to him, and Katsuki doesn't know exactly what he'd been afraid of as his own hand comes out to meet hers, clasping chubby fingers into rough calluses.
"Bakugou…" Uraraka mumbles out a greeting, a warning, or maybe just acknowledgment, whatever it is, it slides off Katsuki's back as if it had never even existed, possessed in his newfound mission.
Deku had called him dramatic before, but it's pure shame and guilt that drags him to his knees. He hides his face under Miss Midoriya's pale palm and chokes out the need for absolution.
For not calling her.
For letting Deku die.
For telling Deku it was okay.
"I'm sorry," he confesses, hoarse and deafening in the church's silence. Miss Midoriya's breath hitches lightly, her second hand wrapping around his own as he keeps his head bow on one knee.
"Oh, Katsuki," she gasps, promptly dragging her aching body down to the floor to meet him. Katsuki raises panicked eyes; Deku's mom hands off her cane to a bewildered Uraraka and doesn't hesitate to sink into her knees. Her green eyes are the exact same shade as Deku's own, and they hold Katsuki just as softly.
Few people have ever thought about the softness in Katsuki Bakugou, hard to see past all the smoke of being a living bomb. To the Midoriya's - who'd known Katsuki before his dreams and deliriums of grandeur - he'd always been the kid who cried when All Might was in danger and who carried Izuku all the way home when he got stung by a bee, even when Izuku was well enough to walk.
Kacchan is amazing!
Miss Midoriya presses her forehead against his, cradling his hands in between them. It's more comfort than he's allowed anyone to offer him, and for a moment, the burden eases as they share it. He towers over her, doubling her in weight, but Miss Midoriya feels the steadiest out of both of them, none of the jitters of before present now.
Deku told him he'd be nothing without his mom, and Katsuki got it then - thinking of his own old hag - but he gets it a little better now anyway.
"There's no way."
"Bakugou…" Uraraka's voice is rank with pity, "I understand this is hard, but… we need to..." her voice grows tight "we need to let Deku go."
Katsuki never liked the way she mutters that nickname. He's come to tolerate it from the masses; of course, fucking Deku had to share what Katsuki should've owned, but from Uraraka, it has always been particularly grating.
(Now's not the time. There's never been a time, and there never will be. It doesn't matter anymore.)
"No," he presses on stubbornly, careful to not tighten his hands too hard lest he hurt Miss Midoriya's gentle grip on him, "there's.. There's something…" he hasn't said it out loud to anyone, but it comes pouring out of him as whatever dam he's built to keep the pain away breaks three feet away of what remains of the person he loves most. "I saw him. He was right there."
"What are you talking about?"
"Deku," he gasps out, growing bolder in his affirmation, because maybe… "he was there, on my hike."
"Bakugou, there's no way…"
"Katsuki," Miss Midoriya chimes softly, interrupting Uraraka with little distress.
"I'm not crazy," he defends quickly, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm not. He was there."
"I know, sweetie, I know." She says instead, and when Katsuki looks at her face, tears are streaming down her pale cheeks. Deku had the same round face, but Miss Midoriya has none of his freckles, not even one. It's an honest expression anyway as her eyes soften with understanding. "He visited me too."
Shouto barely remembers anything from Izuku's funeral, but Bakugou's speech is burned into his mind.
"I… don't think I should be up here. I'm going to cuss too much for a funeral, and I'm shit with words and… and I think other people can do Deku a lot more justice, but apparently, because we've known each other since we were four, it makes sense, so, that's what you get.
There's… a lot of things that happened because Deku and I knew each other for so long, not all of them were good. We played and fought and fought and then worked together, and… we always pushed each other for more.
Deku… and well, everyone else really, though he was quirkless for a long time.
He wanted to be a hero anyway.
He'd stood up for bullies, studied heroes, and threw himself into danger just because it was the right thing to do, just because someone needed help. He never thought about himself, and it was probably the best and worst of him. What a heroic… what a fucking heroic flaw. You have no idea how much it pissed me off when we were kids.
Deku saved my life more times than I can count, mine and thousands of others. And I guess this is my fucking karma for mocking Endeavor when All Might retired.
I read online last night that Deku would be number one to the public forever, no matter that I…" his eyes close weary and burning, "hold that spot now." They open, red and furious. "Fuck you. The public? Deku… Deku is going to be the number one hero to me, forever. I and every hero who knew him are going to spend the rest of our miserable lives living up to the legacy he built. And fuck you if you think someone's ever going to beat him, no matter what a shitty ranking says.
Deku… would probably like you to know that it doesn't matter what quirk you have; what matters is… what you're willing to do for others and how hard you're willing to work for what you have.
It's easy to see him now and think that it's obvious that he was meant to be the number one hero. I'm here to fucking remind you that as a kid, Deku was a poorly-talented, good-for-nothing, weak nerd who overworked his ass off to be number one. Don't ever think it didn't take blood, sweat, and a lot of fucking crybaby tears before he succeeded.
His dream was not only to save people, but to do it with a smile, and let me tell you when there's stuff collapsing and you're bleeding and dizzy and stressed… that shit's really fucking hard.
But Deku was never deterred by the threat of tedious, painful work. No, he fucking thrived on it, no matter how many times he tried before getting it right.
That's what I learned from him. That is, it doesn't matter if you're not perfect the first or the second or the third time; what matters is trying until you get it and then trying it again, just to be sure. What I would've liked to learn from him sooner is…"
Todoroki takes in the moment in slow motion, perhaps aware he will never see a tear slide over Katsuki Bakugou's cheek ever again in his life.
"You shitheads need to tell people who matter that you love them. Every goddamn day, every chance you get. Drown them with love if you fucking have to but don't… don't let anyone die before you've said your piece.
Let me tell you, it fucking sucks.
If you're going to remember Deku, don't do it just via posters or photos or videos. Do it through the little things anyone can do to be a hero, do it by going for your dream regardless of where you come from, do it by living a life he would've been proud of.
That's what I'm going to fucking do...."
There's a moment where Bakugou trembles, his mouth opens as if he was going to say something more, but then doesn't. Shoto is sure he's not the only one sitting at the edge of his seat.
"Thank you, I guess."
Shouto's not sure what's more impressive, the speech or how much cussing he's just been privy to in a church.
Dying Will.
That's the name of the quirk that… that killed Izuku. As the name suggests, it allows the user a last regret before they pass on. Izuku's… Izuku's was Katsuki. Katsuki is not sure what that means.
Katsuki doesn't ask Miss Midoriya, not with words at least, but Izuku's endless patience and empathy had to come from somewhere. So his mother - even more heartbroken than Katsuki himself - takes mercy on him. Miss Midoriya shares that Izuku apologized too, for leaving her alone.
"I never wanted him to be a hero," she tells him, familiar green eyes forest green with guilt, "not really. I think he knew that, even though we never talked about it. I was always afraid of…" Katsuki doesn't need her to finish.
Of this.
Of Izuku passing on, which makes it sound like he just moved on to a better thing when the truth is that he's dead.
There's a particular flavor of bitterness to knowing that the man you loved died with regrets and that you were definitely one of them.
Katsuki agonizes over what that means because Izuku apologized to him. Katsuki was a fool. All this time… All this time, and he never committed, never buckled down, never willed himself to cross those last few steps. How different would life be? Would he feel better? Worse? Is it too far-fetched to think that if he and Izuku had been together, maybe the other wouldn't be dead? It probably is, but the possibility burns Katsuki alive as if something rotten has snuck into his bloodstream, dissolving him from the inside.
It hurts.
Grief strikes him like no injury he has ever received. Katsuki was almost strangled to death once. He's familiar with the feeling of dying, will never forget how dizzy and dark the world becomes when you can't breathe. He knows what Izuku must've been feeling in that clearing, an uncomfortable, resigned king of fury where it slowly comes to you: I'm dying. Katsuki didn't die that time. He got to wake up bloodied and bruised in a hospital days later to continue taking life for granted, to pretend he didn't want Izuku to stay with him in the hospital, that he didn't need it.
Katsuki had come close to losing everything, and he went right on living and acting like Death had butterfingers, and he'd keep missing him, him, and the people he cared about.
Apparently, Death was just waiting to make sure that when Katsuki met grief, it'd hurt.