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It was only a matter of time before peoples’ perceptions of him as a monster took their toll.
Bakugo wasn’t sure what they wanted. He trained - every day - until his bones cracked and his skin sizzled. He knew all the school subjects; his mind was as sharp as he could make it. He wouldn’t allow himself to taste perfection, because he knew that complacency and satisfaction was weakness.
Heroes couldn’t afford to be weak.
A hero protected and defended those who couldn’t protect and defend themselves. Didn’t they see that his goal to be a hero was good for them? He wasn’t doing it for his sole satisfaction!
Maybe Bakugo should have made that clearer. The more they hated him, the more the dislike button was hit on social media, the more the news anchors raged… the stronger the villains’ reasons to find him again was. It was an oversight on everyone’s part, even Bakugo himself. He hadn’t expected to be found. He hadn’t expected to be captured once again, and for three other students to be captured with him.
He hadn’t expected for all four of them to be the targets of brutal interrogation and fear-mongering techniques. He hated the villains for that - it was so much easier to resist them when he was alone.
Instead, Bakugo had to face the fear in Uraraka’s eyes at the sound of their cell door unlocking, see the barely-concealed pain and discomfort on Izuku’s face when the knife-girl drew her blade along her arm, leering all the while. He had to face the sounds of Kirishima’s screams when they pulled him into a side-room and pounded on him, over and over, until their hammers finally broke through his hardening quirk and shattered the bone.
And every day, All for One would pull him aside to a separate room, where he would ask him, simply and sincerely, to join their group.
Bakugo said no every time.
But it was getting harder. Each refusal was a meal one of his friends - for after this experience, how could they not be friends? - missed. Every insult led to broken fingers, broken wrists, bruises and cuts. Every day he spent clinging to his dreams of being a hero was a day his friends grew weaker, grew more frightened, grew more hopeless.
So when months had gone by, and Bakugo was dragged into that side room by All for One once more, he had a different answer on his tongue.
Bakugo was seated in a chair - the same metal chair, every time - with his hands handcuffed behind him. Once, those hands had been restrained properly for his quirk, but then an irritated All for One activated his quirk while his hands were together. His fingers were now blackened, broken, and useless.
All for One closed the door behind him and came to sit in his usual chair opposite Bakugo. The chair was the same as the teen’s, and in the beginning it had made him laugh, seeing the huge man seated on the tiny chair. Now, it did nothing but remind him how powerful the man was, how otherworldly.
“I’m hoping that today you’ll see reason, Bakugo.” All for One said pleasantly, crossing his fingers in front of him and angling his scar-ridden face in the teen’s direction. “It’s been nearly three months. Don’t you think it’s time to end this?”
Bakugo was quiet. He’d stopped yelling more than a month ago, when a wrongly-placed insult had resulted in his hands being ruined and no food for his friends for a week. The words were still on his tongue, but his dream was such a part of him, such an integral piece of his soul, that even now, he held back.
All for One waited a few minutes, then reached down to grab a handheld radio from his pants pocket. Holding it aloft, he clicked the side.
A scream, shrill and piercing, echoed through the room. Bakugo’s body jerked in his chair.
They were doing it again.
This was a recent development, torturing his friends over a radio in an effort to get him to yield. Sometimes the torturer, usually the knife-girl, would describe what they were doing in great detail. Sometimes they’d have Bakugo’s friends watch each other be tortured, and Bakugo would have to listen to Deku screaming for Uraraka to be left alone, or Kirishima pleading with the torturer to “hurt me instead!”
Today, it was just plain torture. Another scream - high and decidedly feminine - drifted through the radio.
Stop. Stop it now. Bakugo’s thoughts were panicked even as he sat rigid in his chair, breathing reaching greater and greater rapidity. Leave her alone!
“You could stop this now, Bakugo.” All for One smiled at him. “You could put an end to their suffering. They could be sent home, if you just join us.”
Another scream, this time ending in a ragged sob, flowed from the radio.
All for One was right. It was Bakugo’s fault they were here - he could set them free. A fourth scream, louder and more desperate from the rest, came through the radio. Something inside of Bakugo snapped.
“Fine.” He breathed.
All for One slowly turned to face him head on. “What?”
“I said fine.” Bakugo said, feeling exhausted. “You win.” A spark rose in him, giving him enough strength to hiss, “but stop hurting her.”
A wide, predatory smile spread across the scarred face. All for One clicked another button on the radio and said silkily, “Toga, hold off on the knife-work for a moment.” He turned his attention back to Bakugo. “You’re agreeing to join us?”
Bakugo took a moment to straighten in his chair, gathering the ragged scraps of his composure. He glared at the man. “If you let them go, and leave them alone - completely - I’ll join you.” He swallowed, hard. “I’ll be a villain.” The words burned in his mouth like poison, his every cell telling him to shut up. Training to be a hero was his life, it was his identity, and it was his soul.
But Bakugo would gladly sell his soul if it meant his friends could leave this Hell.
“This is a binding decision.” All for One said softly. “I’m a man of my word, and I keep my promises. If you join me, I can promise you that your friends will be set free” His voice took on a hard edge. “If you cross me, however, I can promise you that the consequences will be… severe.”
Bakugo fought the urge to shiver. “I understand.”
The others wouldn’t. They’d feel betrayed, like their sacrifice of pain and hunger, thirst and exhaustion would have been for nothing. They wouldn’t understand why he had forsaken them.
That was alright, so long as they were safe.
All for One stood, smiling broadly. “Good. I shall notify the others immediately of your decision.” He took a few steps closer to Bakugo. “In the meantime, you look tired, Bakugo.”
Bakugo blinked, unsettled by the sudden change in subject. “What?”
“You look like you need some rest.” All for One breathed, and out of his breath came a dark cloud, dangerous and frightening. Bakugo barely had time to rear back in his chair before the cloud descended upon him, slipping into his nostrils, filling his lungs. The darkness burned, restricting his air, and his vision swam.
The last thing Bakugo saw before losing consciousness was All for One’s smile.
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Bakugo woke up to find his hands unbound, the chair gone, and his body laying flat on what felt like a concrete floor. The stone was cold and unforgiving on his pounding skull and aching body. For a moment, Bakugo was stunned into stillness - still reeling from the forced unconsciousness All-For-One had placed on him.
Then, as awareness fully returned to his senses, he smelled it.
Blood.
The strong smell signaled the presence of a lot of the crimson liquid, cloying the air so thickly that one inhale churned Bakugo’s stomach and almost caused him to gag. Scraping his elbows and forearms on the concrete in an effort to preserve his wounded hands - son of a bitch those things hurt - Bakugo shakily drew himself to his knees, hating how the simple movement left him panting and sweating.
He immediately froze, his breath catching in his throat.
The room was dark except for a single light in the center of the room, the darkness gathering in clumps along the edges of the walls. Spotlighted under the single fluorescent bulb were three figures, motionless. Bakugo’s eyes took in the image, his brain only able to handle details that - when detached from the whole - were concerning enough on their own.
His eyes followed the pool of dark liquid, startlingly red against the pale floor. Their skin, where it hadn’t been slashed, bruised, and burned, was a horrible white. Too white. A white that spoke of bandages and hospital beds and sad, mournful expressions. A white that would make an EMP sigh and shake their head.
No.
Bakugo somehow managed to get to his feet, though he hardly felt himself move. A strange ringing had started in his head, transforming itself into a cry, then a scream, even as his mouth remained closed. Sensations seemed to fade. All that remained was the picture in front of him.
No.
Bakugo took a hesitant step forward, then another, then another. His burning lungs forced him to draw in a single, ragged breath, but that was all the icy lead in his chest would allow. He didn’t hear his footsteps echo in the room as he came to the edge of the spotlight.
It was the eyes that did it. They could have been unconscious - their wounds certainly would have warranted it. Unconscious people could bleed, unconscious people could lay still, limbs in awkward positions, coiled together in a pile under the light.
Unconscious people didn’t rest with their eyes open: red, brown, and green, staring up at him.
The screaming that had been building up in Bakugo’s mind finally broke free, exploding from his lungs with the force of a hurricane as he sank to his knees once more. He didn’t feel the sticky blood catch on his legs, didn’t feel the pain in his throat as his already-strained vocal chords seized at the sound. All he heard was the screaming, all he saw was them.
Uraraka, Deku, and Kirishima. The ones who’d been kidnapped with him. The ones who’d been with him as the weeks went by and they were starving, tortured, and scared. The ones who’d Bakugo had sold his soul to protect.
All dead.
NO.
Bakugo was barely aware of his actions as screams of rage and grief continued to tear themselves from his shaking frame, tears pouring down his cheeks. All he could think about was Uraraka facing him in the ring, determination and a fierce joy in her eyes as she gave the fight her all, gaining his respect forever after. Bright smiles, pink cheeks - the light she imbued in everyone she was around.
The light was gone now, forever.
And Kirishima, the boy who valued all the right things, the boy with the heart of a hero. The one who teased him and wrestled him and fired him up when he was down. The boy who comforted him when panic threatened to drown him, and who held their rag-tag group together tighter than Sero’s tape.
Bakugo’s best friend. Dead in his arms.
And Deku. Friends and enemies, rivals and allies. There had been days when Bakugo had wanted Deku kicked out of school, humiliated, and yes, even beaten to a pulp. But never dead. His insult in middle school was all talk - he knew Deku wouldn’t listen. Deku had too much life in him for that, too many tears, too many smiles, too much of a willingness to go above and beyond, plus ultra.
Deku was lifeless, now.
His hands didn’t feel pain as he gathered their bodies to him, holding them tight, desperately seeking some sort of warmth. All he felt was cold. This room was too cold.
Thanks for not holding back against me, Bakugo!
You’re so manly, bro!
You’re gonna be such a great hero, Kachaan!
He’d failed them all.
Bakugo barely heard the footfalls as they entered the room, and he didn’t care about the person who made them. His soul had shattered into a million pieces, the fight draining out of him as completely as the red staining his jeans. He barely registered the hand being placed on his head, touching the pale strands of hair, caressing and possessive. Once, he might have spat venom at the man for touching him, for what he’d done. Now, all he could do was clutch his friends to his chest and shiver.
“You said you’d let them go.” Bakugo whispered, hardly hearing his own words. The unspoken ones lingered between them: you promised.
“I did free them.” All for One said softly. “I freed them from this place. I freed them from their torment. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Bakugo closed his eyes, the weight of his guilt building upon his head and shoulders, towering sky high. He hadn’t specified, but let his foolish mouth and blind eyes allow All for One to slip around the terms of their agreement. It was his fault, like always.
“I’m a reasonable man.” All for One gently patted his head, like a young child. “I’ll let you grieve. But I own you now, Katsuki Bakugo. You’re one of us. In time, you’ll come to act and think like us. This day will be forgotten when you start to taste your victories, victories that the heroes never would have afforded you. You won’t feel this pain for long.” The hand withdrew as All for One left, clearly unconcerned with turning his back to the student. The man knew he had nothing to fear.
Bakugo, for his part, felt like he was becoming a statue. The cold of the concrete was slipping under his skin, sidling along his ribs, consuming his heart. The tears on his cheeks were ice. Bakugo welcomed the cold. It was only right that he was as cold as the teens curled up against his chest. It was only right that he try and share every bit of their fate that he could.
He was trapped, utterly and completely. He’d been dragged into the pit, and he’d taken his friends with him, never to come out.
I’m sorry.