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When Izuku finally gets to Katsuki, he only gets one single glance at his face and his mouth goes dry.
He falls to his knees next to Kacchan’s body. The entire right half of Katsuki’s face is blackened, to ash, almost. Rotting, and it smells like burning flesh. Like the aftermath of a forest fire, or a watered down fire pit. There's blood everywhere. It covers the entirety of the bottom half of his face, pouring out of his lips. Pooling in his collarbone, rolling down his shoulders, his tank-top costume bleeding crimson. There's a puddle of blood around his body. Izuku distantly registers that his hands are shaking, that Kacchan is not moving, tears still drying on his face. With trembling fingers, he feels for a pulse, tries on Katsuki’s wrist, and just below his chin, and—there is nothing.
Nothing. So, so quiet. Izuku’s entire frame is shaking. His bottom lip wobbles, tears bubbling up and rolling thickly down his cheeks. They drip off and fall on Katsuki’s hands. Too late.
Izuku drags Kacchan’s body into his arms, cradling him. In the back of his mind, the only sane part of him, is realizing AFO is still out there. He is here, but Izuku cannot bring himself to care. To feel any sort of fear towards that fact, because Kacchan’s heart is not beating, and Izuku’s may as well not be either.
He doesn't speak. His fingertips ghost over Katsuki’s lips and he cannot feel his breath. So unlike him, because his face is calm and unshaken. But Izuku would rather him have any other expression because this isn't Kacchan. Kacchan does not sit still like so, he does not lay down during a fight. Izuku’s gaze drifts from Katsuki’s burnt face—one of his eyes practically gone, the other glued shut on the half of his face not blackened—to a small slip of paper by his pant pocket.
Deku reaches for it. His hand quivers so harshly it takes multiple tries to get the paper in his grip. When he finally does, he brings it to his gaze, and comes very close to dropping it out of shock.
Grief, maybe.
It's the All Might trading card he and Kacchan found together when they were kids. Deku still has his own at his apartment with his mom. Katsuki’s— it was in his pocket.
It was in his pocket.
And Deku cries. He practically cracks his spine in half with the force that he leans over Kacchan’s corpse, tears after tears replacing themselves in his anguish. The feeling is unbearable, his chest hurts, he's bone-tired, and his jaw is so clenched it physically pains him. It's like a ripping. Pulling and tugging at his heart, like something inside of his chest trying to get out—ripping his skin open and dragging itself out. He wants to rip out all his bones, crack them to pieces, let himself die. But there is no relief.
Kacchan, Deku thinks helplessly. It is the only sound he can utter, even if no words leave his mouth. Speaking seems so hard, suddenly.
He clenches the card in his grip. He will not break it, rip it, but he holds it so close to heart it might as well be a part of him. Deku looks at Kacchan’s face, eyes blissfully shut, and all he wants is for him to open his eyes. To wake up. Please. Please, please, please.
It is at that feeling, that burning want for Kacchan to wake up, that he realizes he wants AFO dead. Dead at his feet, no life in his eyes. Dead. But instead of that, Kacchan is dead.
Sweat drenches Katsuki’s body. The nitroglycerin. It reeks of death, yet there's still a faint tang of caramel. Izuku reaches down for Kacchan’s hand, gripping it close to him, holding him, he will not let go. He presses the palm of Kacchan’s hand to his mouth. Nitroglycerin has healing properties, he's heard. Grasping at invisible straws, maybe. Izuku’s brain is so torn into pieces he can't even have himself to listen to reason. The practical voice in his head has gone silent. Why like this, he mourns. Why. You died alone. I was not there. No one was here.
His sweat was already covering his entire face—mixed in with the tears, the blood gushing down the corners of his mouth, his nose, his entire neck covered in blood. The sweat seems to smoke up in flames on his Cupid’s brow. Please.
For minutes, Kacchan sits still. Unmoving. No pulse. Izuku does not know how he has any tears left, yet they continue, gushing out of his eyes with unnatural pace. Deku presses his forehead to Kacchan’s, their noses a breath away. Do not do this to me. Deku’s arms are wrapped around him, one of his gloved hands cupping the back of his head. His blond hair is brittle and covered in dried blood. Izuku sniffles, his body still trembling. Anger floods his frame, an insane, concerning amount, almost protective anger. Deku wants to punch something, and yet, he wants to sit down and cry until he no longer can anymore. He would go after AFO, if he could. He could. But that would mean letting go of Kacchan, leaving him here, leaving his bloody corpse by himself.
Kacchan—by definition—is dead. His heart is not beating anymore. He is dead. And yet, when Izuku leans his ears close enough when he presses himself closer to Kacchan, he hears a gentle intake of choked-up breath.
Izuku sobs. His words are incoherent through his fingers and muffled by his own tears. Green eyes go wide as plates, staring at, waiting for Katsuki’s expression to miraculously change. His skin seems more clear. It was dangerously pale when he approached, but now, it seems to have become more colored. Izuku trembles in the wait, fingers candidly reaching for Katsuki’s shoulders, before they switch to cup his cheeks.
His good eye flutters open. They're bloodshot, pupils blown so wide you can't see any red.
Deku chokes. A hand clamps over his mouth. You're alive. You're alive.
Kacchan doesn't even seem to have enough energy to tease him for his tears, because all he does is weakly lift his fingers. Opening his palm to Deku. A question.
A simple gesture. Take my hand, it seems to say. For a moment, Izuku had lost Kacchan. He was gone. He wastes no time in gripping his hand in return—interlacing their fingers, doubling over so Deku’s head is in the crook of Katsuki’s shoulders.
Katsuki breathes. He can hear it—the gentle up and down of his chest, the relieved sound of it. Their hands are clasped between them. Deku does not speak a word; what could he say? What would he say? Screw the fight, Deku thinks in the back of his mind. I have to get him out of here.
Izuku is still holding the trading card in his other hand. Katsuki’s eye flickers to it, widens, before he looks to see Deku’s face. Izuku presses the card closer to him, and gives Kacchan a weak, shaky smile.
The blond’s vacant hand comes up—he pushes Katsuki’s hand back down, but Kacchan manages a faint glare at him. He releases his wrist, and Kacchan’s hand laces itself in Deku’s hair. It seems to take a considerable amount of his remaining strength to do so, but he doesn't seem to care. Deku’s tears haven't ceased, only slowed. They trickle down his cheeks, and Katsuki’s eye is trained on his face, as if watching it. The good side of his face makes a pained expression when shifts, and Deku can't move him, because there's a good chance that will kill him.
So he waits. Waits with his hand gripping Katsuki's and his body protectively guarding his weak, injured frame with his own.
Katsuki wakes up in a hospital bed.
Next to him, Deku is slumped over the bed, with his forehead pressed flat against Katsuki’s bandaged stomach. Their hands are clasped.
There's a gauze wrapped entirely around his right eye. His entire right side of his face; he can't move his other arm, his legs hurt—his heart seems to burn. Erupt into flames.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. It's like his throat is the Sahara and hasn't been rained on in twenty years. He grips Izuku’s hand a little harder, as if to give him a sign, and Izuku’s eyes open in surprise, albeit sleepily.
Katsuki barely has time to do anything before Izuku jumps up and wraps his arms around him—he's careful to mind his injuries, like he's memorized every single one of them. He smells like cinnamon, the sterile scent of a hospital, a mix of caramel—although that might be himself. He has no idea how long he's been out, how long ago he died on the battlefield, crumpled into himself, drenched in blood.
And Izuku was the one who found him. Izuku was the one who brought his sorry ass back to life. It's a blur, that memory. Katsuki knows he was in so much pain he couldn't speak, like now. He has small glimpses of their hands being clasped and Katsuki’s fingers threaded in Izuku’s curls—but that's about it.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers next to his ear. It sounds like he's not even talking to him, more like he's speaking to himself. “You're alive. You're alive.”
Izuku chokes up. "AFO is gone. I took you back as soon as I could; I had to wait for help because if I moved you on my own, it'd kill you. Sensei was worried."
Katsuki weakly holds up their hands.
“Yeah,” Izuku’s voice is breathless. “Yeah, I know.”
He cocks his head in question.
Maybe it's the years of knowing him, but Izuku seems to know exactly what he's talking about. He spins around momentarily to pluck his All Might trading card—the one he found with Izuku by his side, who got one of his own—off a nearby table. He presses it into Katsuki’s palm. Izuku’s eyes are glimmering. It's then he notices they're bloodshot with use, with tears. “You kept it.”
Katsuki nods slowly.
“I didn't think you kept it,” Izuku admits, quiet. Katsuki listens with rapt attention, even if he's only using one ear—the other covered with bandages. “I just- after middle school..”
The blond looks down, at their hands. He swipes his thumb across Izuku’s knuckles, a silent show of comfort– he is not good at words, anyways. Izuku swallows at the action. “Kacchan.”
He gazes back up at him, his one remaining eye blinking like a cat.
Izuku moves closer to him, opposite hand bracing against the wall, near Katsuki’s head. He dips his skull, and it lightly bonks Katsuki’s own, pressing their foreheads together. It parallels when he had just woken up, because of Deku.
He breathes. Deku breathes. That is the greatest gift Katsuki can receive.