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It felt good to slide his gear-shaped pauldrons off his aching shoulders. Almost as good as what they accomplished out there today—saving those people, stopping those villains. And, he smiled to himself and gave himself a little imaginary pat on the back, he had been instrumental to the operation. The joint operation! He’d been lucky to find that hidden room, but because he did, the people trapped inside weren’t crushed when the house came down. He had saved them.
He winced as he pulled a clean shirt on, his breath catching in his throat as pain lanced through his chest to pierce his lungs. Okay, so maybe he had gotten a couple cracked ribs. That’s just part of the job of being a hero, and it was nothing compared to what he got going up against Rappa. He would swing by the agency’s staff nurse, and if he needed to, he could go see Recovery Girl when he got back to UA, no problem.
Breathing carefully, Kirishima turned to leave the locker room, tossing a wave goodbye to a hero and sidekick that they'd worked with on this mission. His hand was on the locker room door when a quiet conversation began behind him. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the low voices carried through the echoing chamber and pinned him in place.
“Remind me to never have students working at my agency.” That was the hero, Two Strings.
There was an answering sigh of disgust from the sidekick. “Today would have gone totally different if that little redhead hadn’t been in everyone's way.”
Slivers of ice froze Kirishima’s joints as his heart lurched and his breath stopped. Little… redhead? Did they mean… him?
“I couldn't believe it when he just snatched that girl out of your arms and started bossing you around like he was in charge or something. You think he’s trying to take credit for the rescue?”
“I don’t know, probably. Damn kids always seem to be trying to make a bigger and bigger splash before they actually go pro these days. I do know I wouldn’t be bleeding from this damn head wound if it wasn’t for him.”
“Kids like him have no business interfering with the work of real heroes. They’re useless at best and dangerous at worst.”
“Fatgum should really consider kicking that kid to the curb. He isn’t worth it.”
Kirishima’s mind reeled as he forced his joints to bend and move. He hadn’t meant to be in anyone’s way. He stumbled down the corridor. He’d only grabbed that girl because the roof had started to fall in; with his hardening, he could protect her better than anyone else. …Right?
“Hey, Lil’ Riot!” Fatgum’s usually booming voice sounded distant in Kirishima’s ringing ears. “Good j— You alright?”
Kirishima could hear the genuine concern in Fatgum’s voice and he clutched his tender side a little tighter. His mentor had lost some weight during the mission and his tattered sweatshirt hung a little baggy over his tall frame. Thick blond hair peeked out from under his rumpled hood and hung lank with sweat and dust across his forehead. The sleeves of his sweatshirt were shredded and there was a gash on his shoulder that still sluggishly seeped blood. Was that Kirishima’s fault too? Had he put Fatgum in danger? Panic sparked in his chest at the thought. He’d only ever wanted to protect Fatgum, to protect those civilians. Protect and save. That was his dream. To live without regrets.
How did he mess up this bad?
“You look pale, kid. Make sure you see the nurse before you head back to school, okay?”
Kirishima had to get out of there. “Yeah, I will.”
Kirishima stood on the train platform, his mind buzzing. The events of the mission flashed in his head as he looked for where he went wrong and saw all the things he thought he’d done well in a new and damning light. Fatgum was hurt. Two Strings was hurt. His ribs ached where his racing heart beat wildly against them. Who else? Who else had been endangered because of him?
The usually soothing rush of the train now added static to his thoughts. He began to recall other missions—had he really helped Fatgum out against Rappa? Maybe his mentor would have been better off without him, able to unleash his quirk a lot sooner if Kirishima hadn’t jumped in the way so fast. Just like at the beginning of first year when he’d gone after Kurogiri (or Shirakumo, or whoever he was now) too fast. All his classmates had been put in danger because of him.
Fuck. Who was he kidding? Kirishima held his head in his hands, staring down at his boots with wide, wet eyes. What had he said when he faced down Gigantomachia? “No one behind me is gonna bleed!” He snorted derisively, and clutched his side as fresh pain stabbed through him. Yeah, right. Even that had been a flop. The monster of his childhood hadn’t gone down for ages. Everything was destroyed. People died.
People died.
The train slid to a stop and Kirishima shuffled off. He was supposed to study with Katsuki today. That was good because obviously however much he had improved during his time at UA, it wasn’t enough. He would just have to work harder. Maybe he could study with Yaomomo, too. He could expand his physical training, too. He really couldn’t afford to be sloppy anymore. Not if it meant people were getting hurt and—
His chest ached as he started up the hill to UA. He needed to get started as soon as possible.
“What’s up, fucker!” The door burst open with a crack! under the weight of Bakugou’s kick. He stomped over to Eijirou’s bed and tossed his bag down. There was no answer from the redhead. Frowning, Bakugou looked over at him where he was seated at his desk.
It was obvious the idiot hadn’t showered after his work study; even though his hair was down, it was clumpy and stiff with old gel. Chunks of it fell forward, hiding Eijirou’s face from view and therefore Bakugou from his. Trailing up through the tangled strands were the thin, black wires of Eijirou’s headphones. Bakugou smirked.
Bakugou expected Eijirou to be surprised, to turn and laugh, and call him an asshole. What he didn’t expect, when he yanked on the little black wires, was for Eijirou to startle so violently his quirk activated, for him to turn with his brows tilted down, with his mouth tilted down, or for his voice to be filled with anger when he spoke.
“What the fuck, Katsuki!”
“What the fuck?” Bakugou snapped back, caught off guard. “You fucking started without me!”
“Yeah, so?” Eijirou wasn’t even looking at him anymore, busy picking up his dangling headphones and turning the music off on his phone. “I don’t have time to be goofing off!”
Bakugou could feel the anger spark inside his chest, always so near the surface, hot and ready to flare up at a moment's notice. “You’re always off fucking around with the idiot brigade, so I don’t see how ten minutes waiting for me is gonna kill you.”
Eijirou immediately paled, his full mouth drawing tight and thin. It didn’t look right on his face. “You wouldn’t understand. Not all of us were born already good at everything!”
“No,” Bakugou sneered. “You just decided you didn’t need anyone to get there, hah!?”
Eijirou frowned harder. “I’m just trying to get ahead!”
“Ahead of what!?” Bakugou’s voice rose.
“Everything!”
Bakugou felt disdain rise inside him and drip out his mouth. “You mean everyone.”
“You would know!”
“What the hell?” Bakugou reared back. This wasn’t like Eijirou at all. He’d never lashed out at Bakugou for his ambition. This wasn’t right. He and Eijirou didn’t fight like this. Blinking past his heavy breathing and pounding heart, he forcibly tamped his anger down to focus on Eijirou. Really look at him for the first time since he’d kicked open the door.
Eijirou looked…rough. In addition to his unwashed, clumpy hair, he had a jagged scrape over his cheekbone, and cuts and bruises littered his forearms. He must have been on a rescue mission and unable to harden his arms while holding civilians—that was the only time he got injured like that. His eyes were wide and fierce, but they shone a little too wet in the light from his desk lamp. Worst of all, he didn’t even look angry, he looked distraught. The corners of his mouth tugged down and he was hunched over himself defensively, as if he were waiting for Bakugou to attack him.
“Shit. Stop.” Bakugou backed up a step. “What the fuck is going on with you?” His voice was harsher than he meant it to be.
“Nothing.” Eijirou sucked in a big breath and squared his shoulders. “I just have a lot of work to do.” He turned back to his desk and picked up his pencil. “So if you aren’t going to help—” His voice caught, but he carried on as if it hadn’t. “Go away.”
That soft hitch in his voice helped Bakugou fight back the instinctive, venomous fine that trembled on the tip of his tongue. Eijirou, he reminded himself, was worth the effort it took to not be an asshole. So instead he simply said, “No.”
Eijirou whirled with surprise, his brows still furrowed.
“You’re fucked up about something. Tell me what.”
Eijirou didn’t answer him right away. Bakugou stared the redhead down, letting the silence drag out. Eijirou’s mouth was still pressed into a thin line, but as his eyes got wetter, his breathing began to jump and the shut tight line began to waver. Then a sob was tearing out of him and he clutched at his side, his voice scraped dry and keening as he tried to hold in the pain.
“Shit.” Bakugou, seconds away from planting himself firmly on the bed, was at Eijirou’s side in an instant. His hands reached out, hovered over Eijirou’s own. “You didn’t get patched up at all?” He pulled Eijirou to his feet with surprising gentleness. “Come on, idiot.” He guided Eijirou into the little en suite and got him settled on the toilet lid. Eijirou, shoulders heaving as he tried to get himself back under control, was unresisting. Bakugou tried to be careful as he slipped his fingers under the hem of Eijirou’s shirt and lifted it over his head, but— “Shit, Eijirou.”
A vibrant halo of red circled the painful deep purple bruising that spread over Eijirou’s side, shaded with stripes from the impact with his ribs. How the hell Eijirou wasn’t doubled over right now was beyond Bakugou. How was he even capable of taking a normal breath?
“I think these are broken.” Bakugou’s fingers ghosted over the bruise before pulling a wrap out of Eijirou’s first aid kit. “This is gonna hurt.” Eijirou attempted a halfhearted shrug and Bakugou leaned down to loop the wrap behind his back.
“I fucked up.” Eijirou was still looking down at his lap, but Bakugou could see the little wet spots where his tears dripped onto his shorts. “I thought—I thought I did a good job, but I was wrong, and—” Eijirou’s voice broke deep in his throat, and Bakugou swore to himself that he would kill anyone who made him cry like this again. “I messed it up. I was in the way. I got heroes hurt, got Fatgum hurt.” Tears dampened Bakugou’s hands as he secured the wrap tight across Eijirou’s chest. “They think I was trying to steal all the credit! I’m not! I swear I’m not! I thought I was helping!” He tipped forward into Bakugou’s astonished arms, clutching at his shirt and pressing tear stains into the fabric. A rage Bakugou didn’t know he could feel on behalf of another person boiled under his skin as Eijirou’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “I don’t know enough. I’m still not strong enough.”
Bakugou knew enough about the way Eijirou saw himself to know that this translated into a succinct I’m not enough and Bakugou also knew that it was bullshit. He continued to stay put, awkwardly and uncomfortably half crouched down, and let Eijirou soak his shoulder. The two of them had been close before—they were best fucking friends after all—but this was a whole new level of vulnerability from his unbreakable best friend. Bakugou held Eijirou and felt the thick muscles of the strongest person he knew tremble under his hands—hands that were far more comfortable hurting than comforting. He worked to keep his breathing steady and pushed his useless fury away (his therapist better be extra fucking impressed with the self control he was exercising today).
“Gotta show you something,” Bakugou said, quiet voice gruff. He guided Eijirou to his feet. “C’mon.”
Eijirou stood up with him, but didn’t loosen his grip or lift his head, so Bakugou carefully led him from the bathroom to his bed before untangling him and coaxing him to lay on top of the covers. Laying down next to him, Bakugou fished his phone out of his pocket as Eijirou curled and settled next to him, tucking his head into Bakugou’s shoulder.
When Bakugou opened the browser on his phone, the video from Hero News Network that he wanted Eijirou to see shone on the screen—it was the last thing he’d watched that afternoon.
“Pay attention.” He wished, for probably the fifth time since coming into Eijirou’s room, that he could be better at speaking gently. He hit play on the video and turned up the volume. After the HNN logo swirled off, a large and largely yellow hero filled the screen.
“...morning’s raid went as slick as butter on a hot pan!” Fatgum’s boisterous voice burst the quiet of Eijirou’s room. The interview clip cut to a shaky shot of the house surrounded by rescue personnel receiving frightened but unscathed civilians as they were evacuated from the building. Sounds of fighting and shouts sounded in the background. The clip cut back to Fatgum. “There were a couple of key players today, Two Strings and Remix, but it was Red Riot who really made this sting a success.”
Bakugou felt Eijirou jolt slightly at the mention of his hero name and he reached down with his free hand to give Eijirou’s fingers a quick, congratulatory squeeze. Eijirou grabbed at him and held on.
“There’d be a whole room filled with people buried alive if it weren’t for Riot.” The interview cut to another clip of the raid. This time there were obvious holes in the walls of the house and an ominous groaning. Five people ran out the front door, one right after the other, with their arms raised protectively over their heads. There was a crunch and a portion of the roof sagged. Screams replaced the shouting and then, with an eerie creak and a violent crack, the whole building collapsed in on itself. As splinters flew through the air and dust filled the empty space that used to be a house, a woman’s frantic voice raised above the rest of the din: “Red Riot is still in there!”
Eijirou’s grip on his hand tightened.
In the strange silence that followed the exclamation, a jagged figure appeared through the fine dust. Then another smaller, softer figure appeared… Red Riot emerged from the wreckage leading a young girl, no more than twelve, out of the remnants of the collapsed house. The camera zoomed in roughly, focusing in on the faces of Red Riot and the girl. When the little girl looked up and wiped the dust off her face, it was easy to see that she was entirely unharmed.
Bakugou fought back a grin filled with pride for his friend as he felt his shoulder grow damp again.
On the screen, the little girl shouted, “Mom!” and took off running as the clip once again cut back to Fatgum. “He’s really somethin’ special, that young hero.”
Bakugou shut the screen off and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, then rolled onto his side to look at Eijirou. Eijirou never let go of his hand, clutching it desperately. He wasn’t looking down or away, as Bakugou thought he might be, but instead lay there with his clumpy hair spread out on the pillow and his eyes open, wide and swimming with fresh tears as the old tears glittered in his long lashes.
“Eijirou,” Bakugou swallowed hard, determined to keep his tone from sounding harsh. “You are a hero. You know enough and you do enough, every day you’re out there.” Every day you’re here. “Whatever those heroes said—fuck.” Bakugou’s voice stuttered as Eijirou’s grip on his hand grew painful. He scooted forward so their knees knocked together and pulled their hands up to clasp between their chests. “Whatever they said was just them, just their issues. Not you.”
Eijirou’s eyes never wavered, big and wet and red as a maple leaf. He took a big shaky breath and held onto Bakugou tightly.
“You are amazing.” The words felt foreign on Bakugou’s tongue despite their truth. He’d have to change that. “And if you don’t believe me, listen to Fatgum. Or even… I’ll take you to see that other hero guy you like. What was his name? Fourth something. Fourth Arm or whatever. He’ll give it to you straight, too.”
Eijirou’s eyes welled up and he ducked his head, pressing his forehead against Bakugou’s chest and fuck. Shit. If only there were a problem Bakugou could blast, this feelings shit was—
“I do believe you.” Eijirou’s voice was small.
Bakugou’s thoughts lay as still as his body.
Eijirou wrapped his arm around Bakugou and buried his face against his chest as his shoulders shook. His muffled voice was thick with tears, but it didn’t shake. “I do believe you, Katsuki.”
Anything else Bakugou might have said left his mind as he exhaled. He hesitated and then, disgusted with his hesitation, brought his arm around to hold Eijirou. “Rest.”
Eijirou’s stuttering breath slowly, slowly eased and evened out as he fell asleep in Bakugou’s arms. Bakugou’s mind wandered as he lay there. Should he make Eijirou take a shower before or after he took him to Recovery Girl? He stroked his thumb absentmindedly over the ridges of muscle in Eijirou’s back.
Bakugou wasn’t the protecting kind of hero. He was the fighting kind, the ass-kicking kind. The absolute victory kind. He squeezed his arm a little tighter around his best friend, held him a little closer. …Maybe sometimes protecting was the way to fight. And if Eijirou needed protecting from himself sometimes, Bakugou was willing to fight that battle as long as he needed to.
*