Work Text:
“What?”
She’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head, eyebrows furrowing and nose wrinkling. It would be cute if it weren’t so annoying. He hates repeating himself.
“Oi,” he says, irritation spiking. “You hear any of that?”
There’s a momentary lapse in her expression—some sort of guilt before she plasters on a nervous smile. Of course she hadn’t heard any of it. There she’d been again—somewhere out on Saturn’s rings, dazed and too concerned with things that were outside of her control to hear anything on this plane of existence. It may as well mean nobody else mattered.
Bakugou tutted under his breath, rolling his eyes petulantly.
“Where’d you go just now, Space Cadet?” he asks, despite the annoyance swelling. She couldn’t help it, he knew that. That’s why he shoved his hands inside his pockets, resulting in giving her a curious, albeit irritated stare instead. Lest she think he’s truly angry or bitter over it. She didn’t need to start apologizing over something so aggravating, too.
‘Lost’ was something etched all over Elsa’s soul. He’d already realized it weeks ago, but in moments like this, the flaw was overtly noticeable. She must feel comfortable enough around him to let that protective wall crack in these moments, but rarely did she start the purge without him interrogating first.
That was also aggravating, but he didn’t push. He didn’t want to chase her off.
“Sorry,” she said, that nervous smile pulling into a grin as he soured further. He hated empty apologies. She apologized more than she should—felt guilt over things rarely her own fault. “I’m just… thinking.”
Of course.
He raised an eyebrow before sighing at her silence and lack of continuation. Bakugou refused to pull teeth. If she wouldn’t budge, he wouldn’t keep insinuating for an answer. He knew she’d eventually cave and expel it all anyway.
“Yeah, well,” he finally replied to fill the silence, “keep getting distracted and you’re going to start making more mistakes. Gonna get hurt if your head isn’t in the right space.”
It was rare, but it happened on enough occasions that he took notice. Self-deprecating and self-loathing thoughts spiraled her into a tizzy whenever she started to doubt her abilities, whenever she started to compare herself to that half-n-half piece of shit she for whatever reason believed was ‘better’ than her. Just before she pushed herself too hard—before she made ridiculous, reckless attempts—hurting herself to get ahead of and outshine the ice-maker.
‘Rivals.’ What a fuckin’ joke.
He didn’t deserve her focus.
Bakugou pulled his hands out of his pockets, exhaling hotly and giving a sharp tilt of the head.
“Let’s go again. Lunch is in twenty minutes—we can rest then.”
The snow-hero pouted, but got to her feet with a long, drawn-out breath, relenting against exhaustion. They’d been training in the forest since after this morning’s roll call—several hours already—and she’d been complaining about her hands cramping up after a seventh failure of avalanche conjuration (something that was a confounding puzzle to him).
She was without a doubt in his mind holding back, though he didn’t believe it was due to him being her training partner. They’d already argued enough over the topic of him being able to handle her snow drifts easily as it was. Simply put, she was holding herself back—and yet somehow, not on purpose.
She must be terrified of that power if she couldn’t tap into it on her own.
Elsa lifted her arms skyward, groaning at the stretch while she warmed up for their next session. Exhaustion and despondence ebbed away into a content smile on her lips as her focus turned back to their training.
She was always like this, he thought. Even when she was tired and reluctant, clearly despairing at having to keep pushing on, she still didn’t quit. She wasn’t a quitter. She always got back up.
He respected the fuck out of that.
“I’ll treat you to those stupid pastries you were ogling yesterday,” Bakugou bribed, getting into a fighting stance. Her eyes lit up like he’d hung the stars in the sky; a rejuvenating spasm of energy wiping out any further complaints as she moved to the open spot, smile blinding bright.
His chest cavity seemed to concave and reform in the span of a second.
Fuck.
Too pretty.
Too easy to please.
It was as if she’d never had someone offer an ounce of friendship—of kindness—of human decency to her.
Like maybe beyond all of that outside worry and altruism she might feel the same way about him as he felt about her—but she just couldn’t realize it on her own.
“Okay, let’s go!” Elsa exclaimed happily, getting into her own stance formation so she could expend more bouts of frigid flurries his way. The forest bed was mostly coated by now—sparkling white powder padding tree branches, low-planted shrubbery, and lining the path in its crunchy texture underfoot. It was fucking freezing.
He ignored the chill, refusing to let the shivers work their way over his goosebumped flesh.
Elsa continued to stretch her arms in quick succession, warming up her back and shoulder muscles, cracking and wiggling her fingers—ready for their next round. She seemed lively and comfortable, even in this arctic terrain with a short-sleeved shirt.
Lucky brat.
Bakugou carefully moved away from her, readying his quirk to fire off safely in the opposite direction. He counted down like they’d been doing—another safety precaution—before letting out a chain of small explosions that blasted through the large snow piles she filled the landscape with.
Thrice more they went—her pouring out harsh winter blizzards in his direction to lower his body temperature until he couldn’t help the shivers racking through his limbs, and him trying to maintain a level of heat and sweat to keep his own quirk going, increasing the power behind each explosive detonation.
“Again,” Bakugou instructed, rolling a shoulder before getting ready for the fourth rotation. He blinked at the lack of compliant reply—at her silence, save for heavy panting—and turned back to face her. “Elsa? You good?”
She was shaking off her hands, panting hard, giving him a tiny nod.
“Just need a second,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
She didn’t look okay.
He scowled.
Quirks were so complicated when they were under-developed and primed. It was hard to get help with certain types of training because it was yours. You could study techniques and suggested methods from mentors who explained what worked for them, but you never knew until you tried what worked and what didn’t. Even if you had a similar or compatible quirk, everything was still very personalized.
He had no idea whether or not Aizawa’s suggested training for them was actually helping. She was supposed to be building up tolerance for her quirk use and stamina, along with her own desire to recreate a move she’d only performed once in her life. He was supposed to be training up his stamina to use his quirk in the cold, something he struggled a lot with—and something along the lines of ‘learning teamwork.’
Tch.
“You need to go see Recovery Girl?” the straw-blonde asked point blank. He’d rather know now than beat around the bush and have her feel worse. No point being stupid and dying over embarrassment.
Not like he could talk, though.
He had his own ego regarding things.
“Ah… I don’t know,” the snow-conjurer responded carefully, trying not to meet his eyes. She was still breathing heavily, looking a little pale. “Maybe.”
That didn’t sound good. That was as worrying as a straight-out yes coming from her, because rarely did she ever admit the need for help unless it was truly dire.
For whatever reason, she’d rather bleed herself all the way to the nurse’s station in solitude than lean on anyone to help get her there. Would rather pass out from an unchecked head wound, not wanting to bother a goddamn EMT who was there to help specifically those in need.
She was stupid and stubborn.
And he loved that fire in her, but it also made him want to strangle her sometimes.
‘Lean on me for once,’ he’d begged through non-verbal cues, and she relented then—but barely. And not without struggle.
Too proud.
Too egotistical.
He could relate, but even he had his own limitations. When you need help, you need fuckin’ help. It wasn’t going to aid anyone else if they had to worry about protecting your ass when you were in the middle of a fight because you were too stubborn to step out of the way earlier on. You can’t protect others if you can’t protect yourself.
She knew better.
“Let me see,” Bakugou’s voice was tired and gruff as he bit out the demand, walking closer to her side of the clearing. He stepped over a few tiny, broken tree branches as he worked his way closer to her personal space, lifting and holding out a hand, gesturing for her to fork over her own.
Grimacing, the snow-hero outstretched the palm with a little reluctance. Tiny pin-prick dots of red were beginning to bloom under thick, sparkling frost spread along the inner-skin of her hands. The phalanges were twitching short spasms, curling as the limb trembled in his open grip.
The explosion-maker frowned deeply, cupping her hand in both of his own, spreading some of the frost away with his warm thumbs. She made a face like it stung, but she said nothing regarding any hint of pain.
Too proud—or too scared to show further weakness.
She didn’t make to pull away.
Another irritable sigh left his lips as he gently stroked the edges of her hand, ghosting the outside rim of her palm with intent to soothe. The tremors in the fingers stopped, but the muscles all stiffened in his grasp. She was staring hard at their linked connection—eyes glossy, like she was both transfixed and trying to hold back tears.
Her skin was so soft. A stretch of smooth silk over hard, strong bones.
“Let’s go to the nurse,” Bakugou stated. It was no longer a question or a request. It was an instruction—a curt-clear demand that left no room for arguments.
She blinked up at him—pretty [e/c] eyes filled with worry and a tinge of relief. Why she wouldn’t want to go when it was asked as a potential suggestion, but would do so when instructed or demanded was a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
It was almost as if she felt like it weren’t really an option until he made it so. That she hadn’t the permission to do so of her own volition. She, herself, couldn’t allow that ‘weakness.’ Some sort of strange misgiving—that otherwise, until she had no other choice but to bleed out on the spot, she would deny giving herself aid.
It was beyond the point of ego with that, Bakugou understood well, but it was near-impossible to get her to understand his reasoning for why it was dangerous and stupid. Sometimes, when they argued over it, she didn’t even seem to realize what he was talking about—at what point she crossed into that desperate territory.
He eyed her guilty-looking face, lips pulling lopsided on his mouth as he fought down the words he wanted to demand regarding her reasoning. Insults, too, he diminished as they bubbled up regarding her well-being.
He just wanted her to be fuckin’ okay—safe—happy.
Rare was the feelings that brewed in his chest with each forced, broken look she peered his way. How do you protect someone whose demons you can’t physically fight? Who’s determined to fight that inner-battle all on their own? He didn’t have the capacity to explain his own feelings regarding the situation, nor was he selfish enough to try.
Besides, she’d just clamp right up if he said as much to her, and he didn’t want to fight. They were working on ‘healthy communication’ or whatever the fuck it was she’d rambled about last week. There was progress, but it was embarrassing when she put him on the spot regarding that.
He didn’t want her to feel the same.
Especially not now, not when she was clearly hurt and needed his help.
“C’mon, Slush Puppy,” Bakugou sighed out, dropping her injured hand—preventing the possibility of him grabbing it too tightly and causing more pain. Instead, the straw-blonde reached his arm around to lightly loop behind her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
He pulled her along, directing them towards the path they’d walked through hours earlier. She was quiet in her acquiescence, letting his warmth permeate her chilled skin straight through the standardized PE uniform.
Her gaze stayed on their shoes where she tried to keep up with his long-legged pace. She didn’t complain about the fast stride as she normally did—another worrying sign she was beyond her limits.
It’s only twelve paces or so before she begins to relax a little more, leaning against his frame as they step over a felled log that crossed the forest path. Still, she’s silent—lost in whatever thoughts that had her drowning just before they began the last quirk workout session.
Conflicted, the explosion-hero bites his tongue, but he wants to ask—wants to drag it out of her mind to purge so she can refocus on what’s more important. Who cared about the unchangeable past, or some nondescript future? Who cared when you have the present to ground yourself in the reality of? When this very moment was the one where you could work to bring yourself to your highest and strongest potential?
She should be focusing on him—someone who was determined to be the next Number One. Who gave a fuck about the Extras that came before or after, when he was going to crush them on his way to the top anyway?
She had more potential than to continuously grieve what happened in her past. She was strong—she was going to be a great hero someday, he just knew it. She was wasting that potential by letting it all cloud her judgment now—replaying whatever awful thing happened that she was remembering during this training session.
A tiny smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth as she watched their feet in unison crunch through thick, powdered snow—the sound scrunching as each boot imprinted the pillowy, white terrain beneath them.
“What?” He couldn’t help but ask.
Startled out of her train of thought, the smile wilted, replaced with her nervous laugh she sometimes did when she was caught doing something lame—like worrying about things she should know better than to think on. That goofy grin was back, then—self-satisfied and full of laughter that could rain out if only she’d let it.
Bakugou’s heart seemed to restart once she peered up at him—eyes bright and a happy lilt in her voice as she explained.
“Was thinking it’s a good thing you have such hardy treads on your boots,” she said, tone teasing. “Going to make it easier when we have to work together on the field. I won’t have to worry about you keeping up with me.”
He snorted, rolling his eyes, ears turning pink.
Maybe she did think about the future—a positive, honest one where he subsided—more often than he realized.
“Whatever you say, Snowflake.” He was uncertain how to take the seeming-compliment or the insinuation that traced inside her words, teasing or not. “I’m still going to have to worry about you dazing out for no goddamn reason.”
Elsa laughed again, and his stomach flipped over at the sound, his chest swelling with a twinge of pride.
He made her laugh. He gave her something to hold onto when everyone else had given her pain and doubt.
He’d kill to hear it more often.
“Guess you’re right,” she relented, laughter ceasing, but smile remaining. “Don’t worry, Hot Shot. I’m working on that too.”
💥 ❄️ 💥 ❄️