Chapter Text
Bakugou is not weak, but he's also not dumb. He knows that getting kidnapped f*cks you up. He knows that almost drowning in sludge isn't something that's just going to go away. He knows that being chained up in front of thousands of people wasn't okay. It wasn't what a hero would(should) do. Bakugou Katsuki knows that all that shit happened to him anyway. He recognizes that the school didn't give him any support when he was obviously being affected. But he can't change shit, and he's not gonna act like a whiny bitch over things he can't change.
So when nightmares came knocking on his door, he just punched them down again. When someone walked behind him, and he felt trapped, he just put more aggression into his stance. When someone called him a f*cking villain, he just snapped his jaws at them and moved on. He wasn't going to let some extra affect him!
For the most part, it worked, which, well, duh. Of course, it worked. It's him, after all. But sometimes, just sometimes, he can't beat down the nightmares. Sometimes they scratch and scratch at the door of his mind, and he just lets them in. Sometimes he would wake up in explosive sweat-soaked sheets, and his heart would pound while his eyes scrambled in the dark of his room, looking and tensing and watching for something. He was alert(NOT afraid, Bakugou didn't get scared!), and he was ready to blow some shit up! Except his body begged him not to. His body lagged and wore, and Bakugou knew that he couldn't. Bakugou is not dumb. He knows his limits.
So he would pace and pace and pace and pace and- yeah that. He would shift and fidget and sit down and get up and then dissociate for a while then blink back to then and there. It was okay, he was fine! But one night, Bakugou was thirsty, like really f*cking thirsty, so like the badass he was, he gathered his best 'get-the-hell-away-from-me' glare and walked to the dorm's kitchen in the dark. Now Bakugou didn't dislike the dark, don't get me wrong, it's just that sometimes, just sometimes, the shadows seemed to lunge and dance around him. Taunting him with echoes of danger.
So when he got to the kitchen, he wisely turned on all of the lights he reasonably could without waking anyone up. It wasn't that he was scared. It's just that when you sweat nitroglycerin and get startled, it leads to loud unwanted explosions! He was the best in the class, and he didn't get scared over his own fucking shadow! So Bakugou flipped on the overly confusing light switch (It's the circle type you gotta turn, not flip, but it only works if you turn it twice!). He walked to the f*cking fridge, and he got his f*cking water, and he turned off the lights, and he walked calmly to his room (no, he did not speed walk there) like the UA student he is!
Except the only fault in his plan was the perfect fresh ingredients for shrimp pasta. He didn't even like shrimps, but he hesitated to turn off the lights of walking away and let the food go unappreciated. None of the other extras knew how to really cook- well, one knows how to bake, but that's different- and the most they might attempt would be mac-&-cheese. It felt like a shame to let perfectly good food and money go down the drain for nothing!
And his body was moving before he could catch up, suddenly he was pulling the shrimps, and cream, and pasta, and garlic, and cheese, and everything else he may need. It was easy to fill up the pot, boil the water, season and cook the shrimp, and add the cheese and the cream. Bakugou's movements were practiced and f*cking perfect. Bakugou was a great f*cking cook!
The pot sizzled, and the shrimp smelled amazing, well, amazing for people who liked shrimp. Anyway, by the time it was plated and cooked and warm, he felt relaxed. He was relaxed enough to panic. Because he couldn't eat all this wonderful food he made by himself and someone would definitely notice if he left it in the fridge. And if they noticed, they would bug them again and again for food. And Bakugou didn't want to have to be the one who always made dinner because if he always made dinner, then he would have to wash the dishes. If Bakugou washed the words, he would be late to do homework. If he were late for homework, he wouldn't finish on time to go to bed at 8:30. If he didn't go to bed at 8:30, he wouldn't be able to take early morning runs. His whole fucking schedule would be off!
Bakugou tried to calm his breathing; he would figure something out he always did. It's not like he couldn't just trash it, but like hell, he would throw away something he made! It was times like these where he wished he could just hand his problems off to another. If he even had fucking problems, that is, but he doesn't because he's fucking better than the extras! If he can't handle it, then no one can. But he could handle it just fucking fine!
He suddenly has a very dangerous idea, one that just might work. I mean, if he leaves the food on Aizawa's desk, then someone would eat it, right? And they would taste how damn delicious his cooking is! And they wouldn't be able to pester him for food! The plan is f*king excellent!
It's hard for Bakugou to quiet his footsteps. Hard for him to slow his aggressive pace. But he manages. Manages to get to the classroom unseen and manages to leave to the food-filled container. Manges to get back to his dorm too.
This time, when he shuts off the lights, he doesn't hesitate. This time he falls asleep with no nightmares.