Chapter Text
Villains attack U.A. on the literal second week of their second year. Which seems a little fucking overkill, if anyone were to ask Bakugou. No one does though. Go fucking figure.
This is what Aizawa says as the security alarm starts blaring: “Everyone stay put.” He fixes them with a look that Bakugou assumes is supposed to scare them all into compliance. Yeah right. Aizawa shuts the classroom door behind him and takes off down the hallway.
This is how Bakugou chooses to interpret what Aizawa says: “Everyone who has the Quirk control of a two year old and still shits in diapers and cries at horror movies stay put.” Bakugou does none of those things. He has the Quirk control of a minor god and is not the sort of pissy baby that’s going to sit around while villains attack their school.
He pushes himself out of his desk and starts marching to the door.
“Bakugou! Aizawa-sensei said to stay put!” It’s Iida. Obviously.
“I fucking heard him,” he says, and doesn’t stop.
“Bakugou, don’t be an idiot,” Ashido pipes in. Because it’s Ashido, he lets her get away with the whole calling him an idiot thing, but only this once. “If you get in trouble we’ll all get in trouble, and the school year just started , and I don’t wanna -”
“Then fucking stay put, Racoon Eyes! Geez, I don’t remember asking for everyone’s damn opinion!”
“Bakugou please , let’s just -”
“You can’t just -”
“What if you -”
“Deuces, extras,” Bakugou says, flinging the doors open and savoring the way they shutter behind him. He doesn’t look back either, so he chooses to imagine they are all stunned into worshipful silence. At the very least, he hears Kirishima whisper, high-pitched into his own hands, “so manly !”
Here’s the thing: idleness and Bakugou are two things that don’t really work well together. He’s learned the hard way what the cost of not acting quickly, smartly, strongly enough is - being pulled through a portal, tied to a chair, forced to watch as the Symbol of Peace gives up the last of his strength because of Bakugou’s own stupid mistakes.
So no, he’s not about to sit around and wait for the villains to come to them. If the others want to, good for fucking them. Bakugou’s not the kind to be stopped just because a teacher told him to.
He can see them out the hallway window; a group of figures he doesn’t recognize spreading out across the quad. A few of the teachers are there already, and Bakugou sees the tell-tale uniform of a third-year or two thrown into the mix. See? He’s not the only one just trying to save their fucking asses.
He’s halfway down the hallway when someone calls his name. Or not someone. Fucking Deku.
“Kacchan!” He doesn’t turn around. “Kacchan, wait!” He doesn’t wait. He’s telegraphed his plan in his head: get to the emergency stairs, take them by two, smash any villains’ faces he sees along the way, get out into the courtyard, help the others. In no part of this equation does being lectured by Midoriya come into play.
A hand snags his wrist. He yanks his arm away, whirling around. They’re wasting time.
“Get out of my fucking way, Deku!” he yells. There’s a countdown in his head, ticking down over every second he’s stalling out here instead of getting to the thick of the action.
Midoriya is already glaring, but it’s less a glare of anger than a glare of determination. “I’m not in your way, Kacchan,” he snaps. “Come on.”
And then Midoriya grows the actual fucking stones to race on ahead of him.
“Hey! What the fuck! You can’t just fucking piggyback off of my plans like some -”
“I don’t recognize any of the villains. You saw them right, outside the hall windows? We’re at the disadvantage here because we don’t know any of their Quirks. Have you seen any use them yet? Are you stopping to grab your costume?”
Midoriya takes the stairs by two; Bakugou takes them by three, suck it. “Stop fucking talking!” he shouts.
“You should probably stop, at least to get your nitroglycerin tanks, don’t you think?” Midoriya throws open the door at the bottom of the staircase. “If we don’t know who we’re up against, it’d be best if -”
“What did I just fucking say!” Bakugou barrels past him, then looks at his internal countdown, then figures he has enough time to grab Midoriya by the front of the shirt, fisting fingers in his uniform and dragging him to a stop.
“Why the fuck are you here, to fucking rat me out to Aizawa at the first goddamn chance?” he growls.
Midoriya blinks, and his eyebrows furrow in at the middle. “Come on Kacchan, obviously not.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling particularly bold, he pokes a finger into Bakugou’s chest. “I’m here to watch your back.”
Bakugou sees flames. “I don’t need anyone to -”
Midoriya, because he’s a goddamn pain in Bakugou’s side, actually laughs. “Kacchan, you’re not the only one who can’t just sit back you know.” There’s the sudden sound of an explosion outside, and he seems to remember where they are as that stubborn look returns to his eyes. “Come on, they need help.”
Stupid Midoriya. Always fucking primed to steal Bakugou’s thunder. Tch. Whatever. Bakugou lets go of his shirt and runs towards where the mess of activity looks the most, well, messy.
Midoriya’s right: none of these villains look at all familiar. Bakugou’s guessing the ass wipes just woke up feeling bored enough to storm a damn high school. They don’t fight in any coordinated way; it’s more that they’re each doing their own thing, eager to cause chaos instead of actually follow some diligently worked out plan. Or maybe causing chaos is their diligently worked out plan. Judging by the way things are going, Bakugou wouldn’t be surprised.
There’s the taste of adrenaline, the sound of Midoriya shouting behind him, and Bakugou’s thrown into the middle of it, exactly where he loves to be. He catches glimpses of the rest of them - Present Mic screeching a few paces to the right, Cementoss dodging a hit from some guy in all black, Aizawa’s ribbons flashing out of the corner of his eyes - but most of his focus is at the end of his own fists. An explosion to the chest. A kick to the kneecap. A blasting punch to the face. Bakugou feels bones splinter in his knuckles; whoops.
The meatheads start to sense they’re getting their asses handed to them and peel off in little clusters, no doubt trying to break up the sheer force of the heroes when they’re fighting together. It works, but only because everyone’s more preoccupied with making sure the students are ok than sticking together. Bakugou sees one of the villains - a big hairy thing that looks part gorilla, part the ugliest thing he’s ever seen - race on all fours towards the dining hall. What a moron. It’s not fucking lunch time, no one’s gonna be in there.
Still, a target neutralized is a target neutralized. Bakugou races after him.
“Hey, shitstain!” he yells as he throws open the dining hall doors; Gorilla Shit is standing in the middle of the tables - half of which are knocked over now, nice going - and looking confused at the lack of students. Yeah, this definitely isn’t some League of Villains attack. This is more Band of Idiots type material, and Bakugou’s blood runs like fuel in his veins at the thought that they’d decided attacking a bunch of fucking teenagers was the way to go.
He feels an explosion building in the palm of his hands. Gorilla Shit turns around and lets out a roar of anger. He must not appreciate his new nickname. Bummer. He starts towards Bakugou, and Bakugou savors this moment where the heat is building in his skin, where every piece of him is hell bent on the one thing he’s always been best at: exploding shit. He uses his left hand to form a small circle in front of his right, and is about to let the feeling go when a blur of green shoots out from the far right with the sound of shattering glass and slams itself into Gorilla Shit’s side. The villain goes flying into the side of the wall, head smacking against concrete, and then collapses, knocked out cold.
The explosion building inside of Bakugou makes a noise of pitiful disappointment at not being utilized, and so he aims for a figurative explosion instead, rounding on none other than Deku himself, who is standing in the middle of the room, panting.
“Asshole! I had it fucking covered!”
“Sorry Kacchan, he was charging right at you, I didn’t know if -”
“Don’t fucking apologize! Fucking find your own goddamn fight, geez! I try to do one thing and you show up fucking breathing down my neck like some green fucking leach, I should -”
“Besides, what were you gonna do, blow up the whole dining hall? Aizawa would put you on house arrest for months! Next time you need to -”
“I wasn’t going to blow it all up! Maybe for some of us who can’t control our own Quirks it may seem a damn shock, but I fucking know what I’m doing!”
“Good, then let’s go! The longer we wait here -”
But Bakugou’s already storming forward, and Midoriya doesn’t back off like Bakugou desperately wants him to. He stands his ground, because he’s an ass like that.
“Stop giving me damn orders!” Bakugou growls, and he’s debating punting Deku into the next fucking dimension when there’s the sudden sound of laughter to his right. Bakugou is a thing of instinct; he whirls at the same time as Midoriya, hands already out in front of him, but even that takes a second too long.
Whatever hits him feels like nothing at first. It’s a blast of some weird powdery substance, and it gets in his eyes, in his mouth, up his nose. It tastes like chalk, feels like chalk too, and Bakugou has a sudden memory of exploding chalk sticks when he was five, lining them up on his driveway and blasting them in droves and kicking around in what was left of the dust.
“Have fun with that!” a female voice chitters happily. The dust in his eyes itches, but doesn’t really hurt; he can’t see too well, and he’s spitting up cakey powder on his tongue, but he hears as Midoriya takes care of whoever just chalk-bombed him. Or tries to take care of them, at least.
“What did you do to him?” Midoriya yells, sounding distinctly furious, but there’s another laugh and a popping sound and then the laughter is gone. Bakugou rubs his eyes; they feel gritty, and he huffs out a breath through his nose, feels the powder fly everywhere.
There’s the sound of feet hitting the floor as Midoriya presumably rushes back to him.
“Someone - I think they have a teleporter. Someone showed up and warped her away.” Midoriya’s voice sounds shaky; Bakugou still can’t see.
“Kacchan, Kacchan, are you ok?”
“Course I’m fucking ok!” Bakugou shouts, but even as he says it, a feeling starts needling in through his skin. It’s not a good feeling either, sort of like a million tiny bullets shot out of a million tiny guns, puncturing every exposed piece of him. He doesn’t say this, because he’s not a fucking baby. The damn powder’s still in his eyes and he blinks and blinks and blinks it away to no avail.
“Sit down, Kacchan, you need to sit down.”
“I’ll do what I fucking want!” His mouth tastes like copper; is he bleeding? There are hands on him. Belatedly, he realizes these are dumb Deku’s hands. Of course they are. Bakugou keeps shouting, not sure what he’s saying at this point, not really, but it feels good to shout anyway as the feeling starts intensifying and Bakugou is hit with the blind panic of what the fuck just happened .
“Hey, it’s ok, just - no, stop, don’t do that. Just sit here, ok? Can you hear me? Kacchan, can you -”
“I can fucking hear you,” he spits. His head is growing increasingly lighter, like it wants to float away. “I just.” He swallows. What had he been trying to say? Oh yeah. “I jus’ can’ see you.”
“You can’t see me? Kacchan, hey, keep your eyes open, don’t -”
“Wha’ ‘appened?”
His voice sounds funny. Midoriya’s on the other hand sounds wonderfully scared, because Midoriya seems wonderfully scared, all in the wobble of his voice and the frantic movement of his hands as they graze all over Bakugou’s chest and arms and face, looking for injuries Bakugou doesn’t know if he has or not.
“Kacchan, you just.” Then, louder, “Sensei! Sensei, come help! Kacchan got hit with - I don’t know, but he’s, he’s -”
“Stop.” Bakugou pushes out through a ten ton weight on his chest. He takes in a gulp of air. Why is he so tired? “Stop yelling.”
Midoriya doesn’t listen. “I don’t know what happened, there was this lady, she threw something at him or something, and I - I tried to grab her, but some guy teleported in and they were gone and Kacchan - I don’t know, he like, sorta fell over and I couldn’t find any injuries but he, he’s acting all weird and I can’t - I don’t know how -”
“Bakugou, where are you hurt?” It’s Aizawa’s voice, and it sounds like tight-lipped urgency. Whoops. Sorry Teach. Bakugou still can’t see. Is that a problem? Maybe Bakugou has never been able to see. Has he? He tries thinking back but all he feels is a heavy fogginess and the sensation of flipping over himself, again and again and again and -
“Sensei, why is he -”
“Bakugou, stay with us. Ok? We’re right here. Talk to me kid. Midoriya, find Recovery Girl. Hey, it’s gonna be alright, just -”
Something is patting his cheek. But the sensation melts down a funnel with everything else around him, and then Bakugou melts down with it.
.
When he wakes up, he’s connected to more machines than any person should ever have to endure being connected to. There is one in the corner. There is one behind him. There is one to his side. This one is within reaching distance, and it’s this one he decides to smash first.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down there tough guy.”
Turns out he’s not alone with the machines. Aizawa is sitting in a cheap hospital chair sipping cheap hospital coffee, one leg crossed over the other, like he’s been waiting all patient for Bakugou to wake up. Well fuck him, Bakugou didn’t ask for a damn audience.
“What, are you gonna rip this whole place apart?” Aizawa sighs, taking a long chug from the little paper cup. He scoffs at whatever he sees on Bakugou’s face. “Yeah, you’re not as unreadable as you think kid. Break any of this fancy tech and it’s coming out of your wallet.”
Whatever. Bakugou feels like telling Aizawa to shove it, which he just might, until he realizes he’s got a damn mask on too. Stupid hospitals. He reaches up, ignoring the wince in his arms, and rips it off. Aizawa lets him, watching with a narrow gaze as Bakugou takes inventory: he’s in a private room, because at least they weren’t stupid enough to shove him next to a bunch of other assholes, and even though the shades are drawn, it’s dark enough outside to be night. What the hell. Bakugou runs through his body, but the only real pain is the lingering suggestion of injury, like the burn leftover after he works himself too hard and tears a muscle or seventeen. Well, that and the distant pulsing in the back of his head.
“How are you feeling?” Aizawa asks. Screw him, Bakugou’s still too busy cataloguing. He’s in a damn hospital gown, which means someone took the liberty of changing him into one. When he fucking finds whatever asswipe thought for one second that -
“Kid, relax.” Bakugou doesn’t relax. If anything, Bakugou relaxes less . He can’t remember why he’s in here; he goes back in his head, rewinds time, but the last thing he’s got is Aizawa running out of the classroom. That was this morning, right?
Right?
“Hey, Bakugou.” There’s a beeping behind him that’s steadily increasing, becoming rapid-fire in his ears. “You gotta chill out, kid.” And then, because this is some surreal nightmare and Bakugou hates it so very much, Aizawa reaches forward, coffee cup discarded on the little side table, and pulls the strap of the stupid mask thing back behind his head. He uses his other hands to readjust the front of it over Bakugou’s nose. There’s a flash in Bakugou’s head - waking up in a muzzle, put in the middle of a stadium like a damn animal for show - but the mask blows a rush of cold oxygen at him. He soaks it in, and the beeping slowly steadies.
“There ya go.” A pause. “You’re an idiot, you know.”
Bakugou looks up. Aizawa sits back down, and now, Bakugou can see it. He’s tired. Well. More tired than usual.
“Now I’m gonna sit here and talk, and you’re gonna sit there and listen. Got it?”
Begrudgingly, Bakugou nods. The burn in his head feels louder now, accompanied by a stinging in his throat.
“Good. I’m not gonna kick you while you’re down, kid, but I’ll sum up the lecture you will be getting later into this: next time I tell you to stand down, you stand down .” Aizawa’s eyes are very, very red and very, very serious. Bakugou can’t make any promises, so he just stares back. Aizawa can take that however he wants; for now, he takes it with a long, labored sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.
“As for the other shit, long story short is you and Midoriya -”
And Midoriya, and Midoriya . Fucking Deku was there? Is he all machined-up in one of these beds too? Fucking nerd, that’s just like him, to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and blow himself half to pieces as a result, when Bakugou gets his hands on him -
“-who is fine-” Aizawa continues pointedly. Oh. Ok. That’s, fine. Bakugou’s face burns.
“-went barreling into trouble because that’s what you two do best apparently.”
Bakugou refuses to be put in a “you two” category with Midoriya, but it’s not like he’s able to say as much, so he settles for glaring at Aizawa, who ignores him.
“We still haven’t gotten specs on whoever got you, but Midoriya was very serious about his description efforts and between that and the bits of security footage we managed to pick up, well.” Aizawa pauses and Bakugou doesn’t like whatever name can be put to the look in his eyes.
“We’ll figure this out eventually.”
The machine behind him starts beeping quicker again. His head aches. Figure what out, exactly?
“Do you, uh, remember the last time you woke up?”
Bakugou shakes his head. Aizawa’s mouth becomes a thin line.
“Ok, well, here are your options. I can tell you what we think we know so far about the effects, or I can wait until we know for sure, or I can wait until your mom’s here.”
Wait until his mom’s here? As fucking if. Bakugou makes a face he hopes conveys as much and is debating ripping off the mask again so he can fucking talk when Aizawa stills his movement with a glare.
“Leave it for now. We’re still not sure exactly what the powder did to you, and you were having trouble breathing there for a bit, so just. Leave it, for once in your life.”
Bakugou’s not sure he’s going to, actually. But for now he lets Aizawa take the win. For now , but you know. Lose the battle, win the war. Aizawa gives him a long, long look, one that makes Bakugou’s skin itch. His mention of powder brings back a scrap of a memory, chalk all in his throat and eyes and skin. His body flames like it remembers the feeling, but he doesn’t get anything else on his mind’s end.
“As I was saying , this yet-to-be-identified woman hit you with her Quirk, you passed out and then some - I’m sure you’ll hear all about that part from Midoriya - and we got you here as quick as we could. Your parents have been informed, and your mom should be on her way.” Then, Aizawa leans forward, bracing his elbows on his own knees. “That’s the most important part, kid. We may not know everything, but for now, you’re good. You’re ok.”
He says this like Bakugou’s having some big crisis over it. He’s not. This isn’t his first time waking up in a hospital bed. It probably won’t be his last. So screw Aizawa for thinking he’s weak enough to get fazed by something so small.
“You made up your mind?” Aizawa asks. “You wanna get the half-baked answer now, or later?”
Bakugou jabs his pointer finger down on the bed twice. Now . Aizawa nods. “Ok, gimme a sec then.”
Aizawa stands up, and walks out, and Bakugou’s confused until he returns with the shithead himself. Fucking Deku . He’s still in his school uniform even though it’s damn nighttime, which gives the uncomfortable impression that he’s been here all day, or at least, ran right back here after school let out. What a fucking idiot. His face is a splotchy red in some places, eyes puffy, and Bakugou wants to maybe punch him in his goddamn teeth.
“K-Kacchan!” Midoriya looks like he’s about to cry again. Ugh, Bakugou’s in hell. Midoriya scrambles up and then hesitates halfway to Bakugou’s bed, and then scrambles the rest of the way to take the seat next to Bakugou. His hands twitch in his lap like he’s itching to do something stupid like reach out to Bakugou. Bakugou’s glare is at least fiery enough to keep him at bay.
“I’m - are you ok? It’s my fault! If I hadn’t been so distracted or, or stupid about it I. I didn’t even grab the woman who did it either, which if I had we would’ve at least known what the Quirk did for sure, but I didn’t , and I - Kacchan I’m so sorry ! Are you feeling better? You should’ve seen yourself it was, it was scary Kacchan. I’ve never -”
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says pointedly. Midoriya shuts up so fast it’s almost funny, face burning red. Bakugou wills his not to follow suit.
Aizawa looks from Bakugou, to Midoriya, back to Bakugou.
“Good?”
Bakugou nods begrudgingly.
“Remember, we’re not certain of anything yet.”
Bakugou nods again.
“Can you try to say something for us?”
Well. That’s an ominous fucking request. He reaches up - Midoriya’s whole body jolts like he’d rather take Bakugou’s mask off for him, which is the stupidest shit in the world and also so Deku that it annoys Bakugou physically - and ignores the twinge still in his shoulders and pulls the strap of the mask off from the back of his head. The thing loosens and he lets it drop into his lap.
There is a cold weight in the bottom of his stomach. Both Midoriya and Aizawa stare at him with expressions he’d rather they not be wearing, thank you very much. Bakugou swallows through a throat like gravel, then swallows one more time for good measure, then opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He moves his lips to the mimicry of a curse. Nothing comes out. He tries to say his name. Nothing comes out . He tangles his fingers in the stupid fucking hospital sheet and thinks of screaming at the top of his lungs, of burning a hole with his fucking voice alone right through the middle of the wall and jumping out of this fucking prison cell of a room where Midoriya and Aizawa are still staring at him like he’s some fucking science experiment. He feels it all bottle up in his lungs, a violent sort of acid that he’s always had a way of expelling. But it burns to the tip of his throat and can push no further.
It’s the weirdest fucking feeling he’s ever experienced. Accompanied with the now angry throb in his skull and itch to his skin, he’s pretty sure he hates it. A whole fucking lot.
“-ugou, relax,” Aizawa’s saying again. The beeper thing behind him is losing its actual fucking mind, and Midoriya is standing now, hands all reached out, and he’s the one that delivers the fucking punchline.
“It’s ok, Kacchan, look just, let me!” And despite everything about Bakugou’s current fucking circumstances that say touch me and you’ll lose your damn hand , he grabs Bakugou’s fingers in his own trembling ones and the rioting pain in his throat-chest-head recedes to a dull ache instead of a screaming staccato.
What kind of fucking witchcraft -
“Oh, sensei,” Midoriya says, eyes round. “It’s the same as last time.”
“You can hear him?”
Midoriya nods quickly, then he’s looking at Bakugou again and Bakugou’s struggling to connect the dots.
“Kacchan, try to um. Think something you want to say.”
Think something he wants to say? What sort of dumbass fucking request -
Midoriya, because he’s the actual worst, grins. “It works!”
What works? What the fuck? Bakugou rips his hand away, and Midoriya’s grin quickly drops into a frown.
“No, Bakugou, it’s -”
“This is our hypothesis, kid,” Aizawa says, cutting Midoriya off. He’s out of his chair too, standing by Bakugou’s knee, a hand on his shin like Bakugou’s some sort of kid who needs comforting. “Midoriya got hit with some of the powder stuff too. He didn’t react to it like you did, but. Last time you woke up, you weren’t making any noise either. Freaking out and everything. Midoriya grabbed your hand and, well.” Aizawa shrugs. “He said he could hear what you were thinking.”
Bakugou rounds his glare on Midoriya, who actually flinches away this time. “It was an accident, Kacchan, it was just - I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen or anything, and um, we tried it with the nurses and Aizawa-sensei and none of them could hear anything so uh, I guess since we both got hit, you uh. You got this part and I got, well. The other part.”
Nope. Bakugou is quite literally not going to deal with this shit. He wants to scream at both of them to fucking crawl off to a hole and die, but of course, he fucking can’t . The pain in his head starts to build again.
“Kacchan, I -”
“We’re working on reversing it. It should be easier once we identify and track down whoever did this. But until then.” Aizawa gestures vaguely to the both of them. “If there’s nothing else physically wrong with you at least.”
It’s not a foreseeable future Bakugou’s willing to entertain. He closes his eyes and shuts them out, and the ache to his skull grows, and Aizawa makes a noise like sighing and says “Midoriya, do you mind waiting outside?” and the door swings open then shut. Bakugou’s chest splinters.
.
His mom arrives a few hours later to yell at him for scaring her. This is normally the part where he yells back; the words fill up and rattle around in his head until he sees spots. Someone must sedate him or something , because then he’s asleep again and awake again and it’s morning. Some nurse brings him food that looks frankly disgusting, so he doesn’t eat it. Another one brings him a clipboard and the helpful suggestion that he write down how he’s feeling. He writes: fucking none of your business . She smiles tightly but doesn’t take the clipboard away.
Aizawa waltzes back in an hour later like he doesn’t have an actual job he should be at right now. That’s where Bakugou’s mom probably is, anway. At some point someone must’ve brought his phone, because it sits on the machine next to him and he’s already exhausted the entertainment it could bring. There are a lot of texts from his classmates that he ignores, and then one from his mom: katsuki, i had to go to work, asshole boss wouldn’t give me off. text me if shit happens, ok? for real. i’ll be pissed if you don’t. and don’t be difficult for your teachers or izuku. i’ll hear about it and then i’ll be even more pissed. drink water and be good, got it?
Bakugou doesn’t got it, actually. But whatever. The pain in his head spikes again and he debates throwing his phone across the room.
“All your vitals look good,” Aizawa says eventually. He’s looking at some papers in his hand. “They don’t really have a solution to the voice thing yet, but again. We’ll find the lady. For now, at least we’ve got an option.”
An option being communication via Midoriya, which is not an option at all. Aizawa gives him a flat look.
“Don’t make this a pride thing, kid. We already let the teachers and your classmates know. Some of the faculty wanted to keep you out of school until this resolves itself, and I want you to know I argued very loudly on your behalf because I figured you’d pop a fuse if you thought you were falling behind.”
Bakugou didn’t ask anyone to argue on his behalf. But Aizawa doesn’t say it like he wants a thank you. He just pats Bakugou’s knee again. “I mean, it’s up to you. If you wanna stay here, or go home, or something else.”
Bakugou shakes his head quickly.
Aizawa sighs. “I had a feeling you’d say that. We’ll get you checked out, get you a notepad or tablet or something to communicate with in the meantime. That work?”
Not really, but it’s not like any better options are presenting themselves. Bakugou nods gruffly, and Aizawa gives his knee a last pat before promising to get started with the check-out paperwork. It takes the rest of the morning, and then some of the afternoon as Dr. Suck a Dick runs him through side-effects to watch out for and symptoms he needs to report immediately and blah blah blah. They disconnect the machines and Bakugou follows Aizawa out. As soon as they make it to the parking lot, he rips off his stupid hospital band. Well, tries to. Damn things are fucking tricky. He ignites his fingers and pulls it semi-away from his wrist and blasts an edge off of it. Aizawa looks back at the noise and then rolls his eyes when he sees Bakugou tear off the broken wristband and then explode it fully in his hand.
“Come on,” he says simply, and opens the passenger door to his car, and Bakugou ignores the flames spreading up into his temples, presses his head against the cool window, and wants viciously to do nothing more than rip out his own faulty vocal chords and smash them under the soles of his shoes.
.
Classes are out by the time Aizawa pulls up to campus. “Want me to walk you to the dorms?” he asks.
Bakugou scowls.
“Suit yourself. I’ll check in with you later tonight. That’s not a question, either. You and Midoriya both, my office, nine o’clock.”
Whatever, asshole. Bakugou stomps away from him and ignores the sound of Aizawa’s sigh and hesitates for a moment outside of the entrance to the dorms. His chest aches with an awfully suppressed yell. Bakugou thinks he is 75% explosions and 25% shouting at people. So maybe, just 100% explosions of various forms. It goes against everything he is to be reduced to something that can’t yell at the world in the loud, indisputable way that feels good to do. It’s another version of winning, being able to stop people short with words alone. This, then, feels an awful lot like losing.
Too bad Bakugou doesn’t fucking lose. He’ll just have to be loud in every other way then. Fuck them. He doesn’t need fucking clipboards, fucking tablets, fucking Midoriya . He can handle this on his own, and if anyone dares to look down on him because of it, he’ll graciously change their minds with a foot wedged down their throats.
He throws open the door and half of the fucking class is sitting in the lounge like a troupe of morons. They all perk up at the sound of the door opening, and the implication that they were wasting their afternoon waiting for him is like bile in his throat.
The desire to scream at them for it is almost unbearable. He wants to call them all fucking idiots, remind them that half of their asses can’t afford to sit around fucking twiddling their thumbs or they’re gonna flunk out, or maybe point out that he’s not someone that needs a fucking welcome back celebration when he’s been gone for barely over twenty-four hours flat. The words boil and boil and there’s no release; the pressure is a physical pain, all choked up in his lungs and throat, a knife in his fucking head again.
“Bakugou!” Kirishima launches off of the couch, smiling hugely, but there’s a hint of caution to his eyes. Bakugou hates it. “Hey, welcome home dude. Aizawa-sensei told us everything that happened and stuff. So, uh, yeah. You don’t have to!” He winces. Oh yeah, because Bakugou couldn’t , even if he wanted to.
“I took notes for the classes you missed,” Yaoyorozu pipes up helpfully, standing up tentatively while the rest of them seem to know better than to storm him. “I’ll bring them to your room later, if that’s ok.”
No, it’s not ok. He doesn’t need her fucking notes. Doesn’t want their fucking pity.
“Are they putting you on house arrest?” Kaminari asks. “I mean, not to say we didn’t warn you -”
“Kaminari!” Ashido says, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow.
“What, it’s true! I mean I’m not trying to be an ass, but if he hadn’t -”
“Kaminari’s just trying to say that he was worried about you,” Sero says, shooting Kaminari a glare. His cheeks redden, and he scoffs but doesn’t correct him. “We all were, Bakugou.”
As if he fucking cares. They’re all staring at him expectantly - for what, exactly? His head to fucking pop? Is he supposed to magically find some way to explain himself to them? What did they want, a goddamn group hug? It’s not his job to make them feel better. A shot of pain lances through his head, and he grits his teeth. He feels his palms crackle promisingly, burning to do something to expel the feeling rattling in his bones, the fury that has no other way of coming out anymore. But he can’t do that either, or Iida will tell Aizawa, and Aizawa will lecture him again about using his Quirk inside of the dorms; or at least, using it destructively inside of the dorms.
“Bro?” Kirishima prompts carefully. “Hey, Sato cooked some dinner if you’re hungry. How about we -”
Bakugou isn’t hungry. He’s tired, and angry, and about to punch a hole in the wall. Some of it must show, because Kirishima nods.
“Or how about you go to your room, I’ll bring you a bowl. Or do you want me to come with you?”
Bakugou flicks him off, turns on his heel, and feels at least some pleasure at being able to stomp away. It’s not nearly loud enough. He hates it. Anger spikes in his eyes. It has nowhere to go.
.
Midoriya wasn’t there at the grand welcome. Fucking nerd probably knew better than to show his damn face so soon after last time. Bakugou locks the door to his room and does not sulk. He rips his blankets and sheets off of his bed just to have something to do, throws them onto the ground and then empties his backpack out on top of them and then dumps his stupid container of pens out and tops the whole pile of shit with his tipped over desk chair. His mom would call it childish, but it feels incrementally relieving to have the mess of his room at least semi-reflective of the churning mass of things tangling together in his chest.
He debates banging his face against the wall repeatedly, just to make noise, but his head is already pounding. What started as a steady headache this morning is now a roaring beast of a thing, flames that chase up to the back of his eyes and the flat of his forehead and the line of his jaw. It’s like his entire face is exploding, skull soaked in nitroglycerin and lit with a match as it destroys itself from the inside out. He just needs to sleep, or something. He doesn’t know how long passes with his face stuffed against his pillow, hoping desperately that the cool touch of it will soothe some of the pain, but the heat in his head burns everything in its path. He’s about to peel the skin off of his own fucking body just to see if that'll help when his phone rings.
He answers it and shouts an instinctive what the fuck do you want , only wait, no he doesn’t.
“It’s nine kid, don’t make me track you down.”
It’s Aizawa. Bakugou must’ve lost track of the time. He can't bring himself to feel too bad about it.
“Look, I know it’s kinda cruel to call you, but I figured you’d like it more than me sending Midoriya to grab you.”
Good call. Bakugou’s head is a furnace; the idea of what his hands could do to a Deku shoved unknowingly into his path is only moderately worrying.
“I'm gonna hang up now. Text me that you're on your way so I know you're actually hearing this.”
Bakugou hangs up before Aizawa can for the illusion that he has a modicum of control over this whole shitshow of a situation. He texts Aizawa too, because he doesn't want Midoriya sent on his trail. He throws on a sweatshirt, pulls the hood up over his head so everyone will get the message to fuck the hell off, and walks out of his room.
There's a tray of food outside his door, and Kirishima’s second grade handwriting telling him to please have some dinner! because I knocked and you didn't answer but you gotta eat bro!
Tch. Fucking sap. Bakugou puts the tray on his desk for later - spies rice and veggies and chicken, nice - and is lucky enough that no one bothers him all the way to Aizawa’s cramped ass office.
Midoriya's already there. His face brightens when he sees Bakugou and then immediately falls.
“Whoa, you don't look so good Kacchan.”
You fucking think? His head’s fucking split in half, the rage of it enough to curl his stomach and fists alike. Maybe it's from missing dinner, and lunch and breakfast too, come to think of it - scratch that, a whole damn day and a half of bo food. There's nothing in his stomach to settle the pain, and he's been frustratingly easy to reduce to this: a hurting, angry mass of a thing that can't even yell at Midoriya to get that stupid sympathy out of his damn eyes.
“Is this some sort of new symptom?” Aizawa asks with surprising patience, stepping out from beside his desk to squat down in front of Bakugou for a better look at his face. Bakugou kind of wants to knee him in the balls. “Where’s it hurt?”
Nowhere, assholes. Midoriya and Aizawa both stare at him with looks that say seriously, come on . Bakugou’s head gives a giant fuck you and stabs him right between the eyes. Bakugou doesn’t give up, but decides they’ll just be on his ass about it if he doesn’t give them an inch here. He gestures vaguely to his whole body - the unsettling pain that strings in his bones and crawls up his throat - and then decides to be generous and point more specifically to his face.
“Your head?” Midoriya guesses.
Wow, what powerful skills of inference. Bakugou nods.
“Did the doctors say this would happen?” Aizawa asks.
Bakugou shrugs.
“Yeah, they didn’t tell me anything either. It’s late, but I have a friend at the hospital. I’ll text her about it tomorrow. Do you want some pain pills?”
They can’t look down on him for that at least, can they? Aizawa reaches backwards, planting himself on the top of his desk to dig in one of the back drawers before returning with a small container of ibuprofen. He shakes the bottle, and Bakugou nods reluctantly. Even the motion is enough to pull on the ropes tying every piece of him tighter and tighter together until the eventual snap.
“Here,” Midoriya says, running over like an overeager little asshole to fill up a cup of water from the fountain in the hall. Bakugou downs the pills dry but sips at the water; it doesn’t quite ease any of the tension, but it feels nice on his throat anyway.
“Ok, status report. Midoriya, anything weird on your end yet?”
Midoriya shakes his head, wide eyes still fully focused on Bakugou.
“Other than the headaches, anything else weird Bakugou?”
Bakugou shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be here. He quite literally wants to be anywhere but here.
Aizawa sighs. “Look, I know I said you could go to school tomorrow, but kid, it might be best if you took a day off. You look. Not great.”
Fuck you too. Bakugou’s sure he looks fine. He feels fine. Everyone else can go to hell. Midoriya is still staring at him, face all crumpled in the middle. He’s holding himself like a balloon fit to pop. Again, Bakugou wishes he could yell at him, call him a dumbass maybe, anything but stand here and bear the weight of it with no defense other than a glare and a carefully selected middle finger.
Midoriya’s twisting face twists harder, and then he lets out a giant whoosh of air. “Kacchan, come on. Just. Just while we’re talking to sensei at least! I can, you know. I can be your translator! It’s not so bad! It might not even be just when we hold hands, maybe if I just touch you, or -”
Midoriya reaches out a hand, and Bakugou’s entire brain whirs in red alert as he skids out of the way. He hears his own hands puffing in the threat of a miniature explosion, and Aizawa groans.
“Midoriya, hold it,” he snaps. Midoriya is glaring at Bakugou now, and not really doing much to hide it.
“Come on, it might help!”
Bakugou doesn’t care if it fucking helps. Midoriya’s not laying a damn finger on him.
“Bakugou, I know you don’t wanna hear it, but Midoriya’s right.” Bakugou moves his glare over. Fucking traitor. Aizawa doesn’t budge. “I’m already taking you both out of hero courses for tomorrow at the least to see if you can get a better system working here. We don’t really know what’s going on, not yet, and the quicker you two can learn the ins and outs of this thing, the better.”
He lets the rest of it hang unspoken: that they have no idea how long they’ll stay like this, Bakugou forced into uncanny reliance on Midoriya, who he refuses to rely on at all, thank you very much. He’ll take the fucking clipboards and shit before this. But logically, he knows Aizawa has a point. If it’s going to be any more than a few days, which it very well might, Bakugou needs to know the perimeters of this whole fucking situation. Is it just when Midoriya’s touching him? Or just when Bakugou’s touching Midoriya? Is there even a difference between the two? Do only hands count? Or could Midoriya hear him just as well if Bakugou was strangling him? That he might be able to work with.
Bakugou’s stomach crawls at the other implications. Can Midoriya hear everything he thinks? Or only things Bakugou intentionally directs at him? He hadn’t been trying to think at Midoriya earlier, back at the hospital, but apparently Midoriya had heard that too. Can he feel Bakugou’s feelings too? Can he wander around in Bakugou’s brain, a touch enough to get free reign to everything that makes Bakugou Bakugou ?
The thought makes him shiver, the intrusion terrifying to even imagine. Bakugou keeps everyone at an arm’s distance as a personal rule. For dumb Deku, that arm distance becomes infinitely longer. Think ten million arms, if he has to go for a rough estimate. He’s not about to have that dumbass rooting around in his head, Or, well, if he is, he’s damn well not going to like it.
“Bakugou, at least for now, you gotta work with us.” Aizawa sounds tired again. Fuck it. These assholes really know how to get on his last nerve, don’t they?
Bakugou looks away, huffs, but even that lacks any sound. He faces the wall, and ignores the heat in his cheeks, and extends one arm out in Midoriya’s general direction. He’s not looking anywhere near either of them, thank fuck too, because stupid Deku’s face is probably fucking kartwheeling in excitement. His head drums like it’s waging war against him and his throat burns with all the things he can’t fucking say and then cold fingers wrap around his wrist. The touch is light, and then squeezes, becoming something a bit firmer.
“O-oh,” Midoriya says, and then the pain literally drains out of Bakugou. The release of it is so sudden that he feels his knees buckle with sheer relief as the awful persistence of it saps out of him like honey.
“Geez, sit down, kid.”
Bakugou feels weightless; it’s not that he wasn’t aware of the near-constant pain, more that the absence of it is so stark that his body can’t really process the change yet. His head feels wonderfully light and blessedly cool. The acid in his throat sinks away, all the words that had built up like fucking steam in a sealed teapot finally finding an exit to funnel their way out of.
Thank fucking fuck .
Midoriya makes a sudden laughing noise, but there’s a choke to it. Bakugou doesn’t mean to, but he closes his eyes, resting the back of his head against the chair that he’s - apparently been placed into?
“What? What is it?” Aizawa asks, sounding all worked up again.
“He just, um,” Midoriya starts. “His thoughts anyway. They sound a lot like how he talks normally.”
What a stupid thing to say. Of course they fucking do.
Midoriya laughs again, less apprehensive sounding this time. “He curses a lot,” he says as way of explanation. Bakugou lets out a silent snort.
“Can you hear everything he’s thinking?” Aizawa prys. Bakugou isn’t becoming part of this nerd-fest. He just lets himself sit for a bit, soaking in the not-hurting-ness of it all.
“I, well, I can’t really tell,” Midoriya says. “I, um. It’s kinda hard to describe, actually.”
No shit, Deku. Or have you had to describe fucking snooping around in someone else’s head before? Dumbass.
The grip on Bakugou’s wrist goes tighter. “I’m not - I’m not snooping !” Midoriya squeaks, and sounds genuinely upset about the accusation. To be fair, Bakugou hadn’t realized he would hear that. Can he hear this now? Is he tapped into every fucking wire Bakugou’s got?
Just to test things out, Bakugou thinks fuck you as loud as he possibly can. Midoriya splutters. Good to know.
“I know it’s probably a little rusty now - hopefully it’ll get better after you two practice a bit.” We’ll see about that, Teach. “But for now, Bakugou, can you, well. Can you try to tell Midoriya if you’re in pain? You just near fainted in my damn office. Is there something else going on here?”
Geez, these idiots are really dense, huh? Bakugou’s gonna have to hold their fucking hands for this whole shit process, isn’t he? Read the fucking room, this is the first time he hasn’t been in pain since this stupid thing started. Bakugou thinks it as hard as he can. Nothing else is going on, morons. My head was splitting fucking open and now it’s not. Read whatever the fuck you want into that .
Midoriya makes a little noise, stuck between something confused and something overwhelmed. “I, um. One sec, sensei. This feeling is, uh. It’s a bit to adjust to. My head’s a little full right now, just - gimme one moment to sort it all out.”
Poor Midoriya, he really got the short end of the stick huh. It’s not like Bakugou’s been rendered fucking silent or anything. Midoriya squeezes his wrist again.
“Hey, I wasn’t complaining! It feels weird, Kacchan.” He pauses. “Wait, can you hear my thoughts too?”
Uh, no? Should he be able to? Bakugou throws out a net in his own head to see if there’s any thoughts unaccounted for, but nope. He’s pretty sure they’re all his.
“Oh, ok, so it’s just me then. Ok, that’s. Yeah.” Midoriya laughs, nervous. “This is really weird. Anyway sensei, um, it sounds like Bakugou’s fine now? He said his head was hurting a lot earlier, but it’s better now.”
Bakugou’s version included a lot more fucks than Midoriya’s did. He will not be censored by this goddamn teacher’s pet.
“I’m not saying that to sensei!”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck - Bakugou thinks the word rapid fire until Midoriya lets go of his wrist.
“Kacchan, you’re being difficult!” Midoriya accuses. Bakugou finally opens his eyes. With Midoriya’s hand gone, it’s like the stiffness is already scouting out it’s return. The back of his skull makes a little twinge like a threat; fuck off, head. Bakugou’s not dealing with this again right now. But then again. He’s not about to reach for Midoriya’s hand. He looks at Aizawa, who is looking at him, and then at Midoriya, who is also looking at him. He glares as hard as he possibly can, and Midoriya’s face does a thing, and then his hand carefully reaches back out to rest on Bakugou’s forearm.
The suggestion of the pain promising to start building back up again fades away, leaving that same soft-edged feeling as before. So. In addition to the weird thought reading thing, Bakugou, what, will fucking explode if he goes too long without having Midoriya relieve the pressure of words building up inside him? Is that what this is? Doesn’t really make much scientific sense, now does it. Then again, he’s classmates with a literal frog and a guy with eyes on the ends of his limbs. So.
“Asui is not a frog, she just has frog-like abilities,” Midoriya corrects stiffly.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Deku dumbass. Midoriya rolls his eyes, but his hand stays where it is.
“Sensei, we’ll work to figure it out more tomorrow,” he tells Aizawa, who has been quiet for a bit now, content apparently to watch them figure this thing out and jump to his own conclusions. “I think me, uh, touching him -” Midoriya’s face goes red. What a loser. “I’m not! Ugh, sensei, sorry. I was saying that I think me hearing his thoughts sort of. Takes off some of the pressure? That’s how he described it anyway. I think that makes sense too. If it’s less like he lost his voice and more like the words are trapped inside him… then it makes sense they’d need an outlet, right? I’ve never heard of a Quirk like that. Do you think it’s just for speaking, or do you think it depends on the person, or maybe the application? Like, do you think for some people it will take away another sense? What if only one person gets hit? Does nothing happen until she hits the next person? Or is it a range thing, like I was the closest to Bakugou so I was immediately the one who the Quirk affected too. Maybe if -”
Holy shit, Deku can fucking talk. At the thought, he shuts up instantly, and Bakugou realizes it was likely because of him. Ha. That’s kinda nice at least.
“Ya know,” Midoriya says, and uh oh, he’s mad again, watch out. “I’m doing you a favor here! You could at least be nice to me!”
Nice Bakugou’s ass. This isn’t a fucking favor. This is his personal hell, and whoever’s responsible is going to fucking pay . Midoriya makes a noise like he disapproves, but doesn’t say anything.
Aizawa just blinks, nodding. “Ok, look, we’ll figure out logistics tomorrow. Right now, you both need some sleep. So do I, Jesus, I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Bakugou isn’t getting paid at all for this. Imagine that, asshole. Midoriya makes a snorting noise, and when Bakugou looks over, he’s got a hand over his face, hiding a sudden grin. This idiot and his fucking mood swings.
“Sorry, sensei, he just. Um, nothing.”
No go ahead, call Aizawa an asshole. Bakugou would love to see how that goes over.
“You just want me expelled, don’t you!” he says, facing Bakugou now. Nah, not really. If Midoriya’s expelled then how’s Bakugou going to keep proving that he’s the superior hero in this little equation? Duh. Midoriya blinks, and his face reddens. “You’re ridiculous.”
Fucking bold, coming from Deku’s ass. Midoriya opens his mouth to say something else, but Aizawa cuts him off with a raised hand. “What part of ‘need some sleep’ sounded like an option? Go on, get outta here.”
Ok, that’s enough of that. Bakugou yanks his arm out of reach, and while the loss of Midoriya’s fingers mean he’s sure the pain will start building again, he doesn’t fucking care. The nerd can stay out of his head for the time being. Besides, Bakugou’s sure he can find other ways to manage the pain. He’ll go along with Aizawa’s little plan for now, but the second Bakugou finds a more efficient substitute, he’s dropping the nerd’s ass for good.
As soon as they’re outside of the office, Midoriya lets out a long breath, then has the audacity to turn on Bakugou with a smile.
“Hey, at least we’re in this together!”
Bakugou could quite literally not disagree more.
Midoriya tries to walk side by side back to the dorms, but Bakugou’s having none of that shit either. Deku proves to be the worst by just matching pace with him when he speeds up, so Bakugou slows down deliberately and glares sharply enough that Midoriya gets the message. He huffs, but doesn't put up a fight, taking off ahead of Bakugou. Bakugou hangs back until Midoriya disappears around the curve, and then he shoots a look up at the moon.
It’s big and round, bright and happy on a clear April night. Bakugou glares at it too. Fuck off, asshole, he thinks. The moon does not, in fact, fuck off. Just his damn luck.