Chapter Text
It seemed like it would be any other Tuesday.
Katsuki woke up at 5:30 am, like he did every day, brushed his teeth, put on some joggers and a vest, went for a run. Shower, uniform, fucking itchy tie. He strolled into the kitchen, put the rice cooker on, began to cook his morning omelette. Most of the class weren’t awake yet, fortunately, so he had the kitchen mostly to himself; Todoroki was sat in a corner, hair ruffled, nursing a cup of coffee. They had an understanding in that way – they both knew better than to pester each other this early in the morning.
Just as he poured the egg mixture in the pan, the door swung open, and in stormed Aizawa. Frankly, even by his standards, he was looking rough. “You, Bakugou,” He said, voice gravelly and serious, “Come with me.”
“I’m making a fucking omelette,” Katsuki grumbled.
“Todoroki,” He turned to Half’n’Half, who was pointing at his own chest dumbly, “Yes, you. Either finish cooking the omelette, or bin it.”
“Now hang on just a fucking—"
“I’m not doing this with you today, Bakugou,” Aizawa cut in, setting the hairs on Katsuki’s neck on end, “Come with me.”
Katsuki couldn’t find it within him to respond. It was rare that anyone in 3A saw their teacher being very serious, but this was on another level. He was pissed off, and Katsuki could have sworn he hadn’t done anything to warrant it. He’d been on his best behaviour, God dammit!
He followed behind anyway, in silence, across the UA campus and towards the teacher offices. God, was it jarring as hell. He could feel his hands start to shake, and shoved them roughly into his trouser pockets, fiddling with a loose thread in the left as he went through the past few weeks in his head.
Sure, he’d broken the kettle by pressing the button too hard after Deku got a better test score in English. He’d owned up to that shit at the time, though, and it was definitely not the first time a student had destroyed a kitchen appliance. There was no reason for Aizawa to be so pissed about that, so that was out.
He had told Pikachu to ‘get fucked’ when he asked to copy Katsuki’s calculus homework. That was tame by his standards, so that was out too.
He went down the list as they walked, yet still he failed to think of anything he’d done to get this sort of treatment. It was like he’d killed Eye Bags’ cat or some shit. Completely excessive.
Aizawa led him to his office, and sat down, back straight in his chair. “Sit down, Bakugou.”
Katsuki complied, clenching and unclenching his fist in his pocket. The chair was cheap plastic shit, forcing him to sit with some sort of good posture as well. “What’s this about?” He asked finally, voice smaller, clearly confused though hiding his fear pretty well.
“This is about middle school.”
Fuck.
…
Nobody has a good experience in middle school.
Everyone is sweaty, spotty, hormonal and assholeish, and Katsuki was no different. Scratch that – he always had his mother’s perfect complexion, but he was definitely enough of an asshole to make up for it.
The punishment for being a middle schooler is, of course, having to live with the shame of your actions for the rest of your life.
And fuck if Katsuki isn’t ashamed.
He’s woken up by it in the middle of the night, sometimes – the feeling of your guts eating at you from the inside until there’s a gaping pit threatening to swallow you whole. He remembers rooftops, green hair and burning caramel. He remembers the looks from teachers – their faces twisted like they’re seeing something regrettable but necessary, as one of his faceless lackeys kicks the greenhaired boy on the floor, curled up around burned notebooks.
Certainly, Katsuki is marvelled every day at how Deku can stand to look him in the eye. He looks in wonder and amazement in how Deku hasn’t used his quirk to split Katsuki in two. Katsuki would’ve, though perhaps that’s a sign of just what a weak, vindictive little fuck Katsuki still is.
Katsuki knew it had to catch up to him eventually, yet that did not answer why it was catching up to him at 7:46 am on a Tuesday in the middle of his third year at UA.
“Oh,” is all that Katsuki can force out, after a very long time of staring past his sensei.
“You’re going to have to think of something better to say than that,” Aizawa replies, scowling, “if you want to stay here.”
Stay here? Katsuki hadn’t even thought of that. He thought his life was about to end, but that wouldn’t be enough retribution, would it? The universe wants to watch him squirm, like a worm on a hook, only to lose anyway. He supposed that was fair.
“I thought,” Katsuki said, “that would be it.”
Aizawa pursed his lips. “It would be it, Bakugou, though Midoriya insisted I didn’t expel you,” the word struck Katsuki deep in his guts, “I have a mind to have your hero licence permanently rescinded. I can’t force Midoriya to press charges.”
All Katsuki could do was nod. It was fair, after all. Licences had been lost for less.
“You’ll have to say something, Bakugou. Otherwise, I can only imagine what you’re thinking.”
“What the hell is there to say?” Katsuki spat, “You know what happened, right? There’s nothing I can say to justify it – not to you, me, or anyone.”
“Well,” Aizawa growled, “Consider me clueless. What happened?”
Katsuki wriggled in his seat, knuckles digging into his palms, tiny explosions popping in his hands.
“We were friends,” he said, finally, “when we were in kindergarten. Our mums knew each other, so we were friends. Used to go to the creeks and shit. He was slow as hell, but I guess little me didn’t give a fuck. He’d always scrape his knees and I’d wipe ‘em for him.
“Then my quirk came in. I could explode shit – I barely had to practice it. I could just do it one day. Everyone wanted to fucking see, and I guess at first I liked showing ‘em, but eventually it’s a lot. People gave me lots’a fucking looks and I didn’t know what they meant. I knew what they meant when they said I was strong, though. Destined for heroism. I remember… hating everyone. Wanting to be alone like it was before. I wanted to practice my quirk without the fucking gawking. And nobody gawked quite as much as Deku.”
“Call him Midoriya,” Aizawa bit out. Katsuki bit his lip but continued.
“D- Midoriya would never fucking stop asking. He’d write all about it in his little notebooks. How my quirk worked. How much I sweat, what caused it to ignite, ratios of sweat to nitroglycerin and shit. I didn’t- I don’t know how to deal with shit like a normal person. I’d just run away from him.
“Then some’a the other students noticed he was chasing me. We were, like, 8. He was fucking obsessed with other people’s quirks but didn’t have one. One of the kids pushed him over and told him to stop stalking people. I… walked away, but I know they beat him up because he was bruised and shaking when I saw him after lunch. He didn’t ask me anything then.
“But then when we were in middle school, and one day I… was on the roof. These kids wouldn’t leave me alone, but I didn’t fight them because that meant nobody else would fuck with me either. I never learned their names. But we were sat on the roof, and Dek- Midoriya was walking by and he left his bag unzipped, and all his notebooks fell out. One of them picked one up, and was reading it out, and it was pages about me and my fucking quirk, I didn’t know what to do, so I shouted at him and he cried, so I shoved him and exploded the book. He curled up around his bag with the other books and, and…”
Katsuki trailed off after that, like all his words had caught in his throat. He felt tears beading at the corners of his eyes and willed them to go back into his tear ducts. Aizawa was silent, but his gaze was piercing, and Katsuki wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Katsuki tried a good few times to keep talking, but he couldn’t make his treacherous mouth open or form syllables.
How many years had it been since he so thoroughly failed to speak?
“I see,” Aizawa said eventually, though Katsuki knew he didn’t really see at all, “Is that all?”
No, Katsuki wanted to say, there’s more. I did more. But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth, and he slowly felt all his brain’s systems begin to malfunction. It was like his brain fogged over and Aizawa was speaking but he didn’t know what he was saying. For fuck’s sake, he’d been doing so well for so long, yet here he was again; he was eight years old, wanting to be left alone, wanting people to shut the fuck up about his quirk, wanting teachers to step in, wanting to move far away, onto a mountaintop, where he could climb the cliffs, read books, practice his quirk.
“… do you understand, Bakugou?” No, of course I fucking don’t, Katsuki wanted to scream, yet all he could do was rock back on his chair, pulling at that loose thread in his left pocket, nails digging into his palms, biting his lip. Aizawa sighed, almost like he realised it was a lost fucking cause, “It seems not. I have to talk to some people. Stay here, and I’ll come back.”
And with that, the door clicked shut, and footsteps slowly became quieter and quieter until Katsuki was on his own.
Fucking hell.
…
Eventually, Aizawa did come back. Somehow, he looked even more tired than he did before. Katsuki had managed to calm down some, but the lining to his pocket was wrecked, and his hands were red and raw.
“I consulted Principal Nedzu, as well as Midoriya,” Aizawa said, sitting down, “Nedzu is willing for you to stay in the school on probation, but only because of Midoriya’s opinion, as well as the evidence of improvement from your two years here.”
Katsuki let out a deep breath and nodded.
“I am going to list out the terms of your probation; your options are to accept, or you’ll be removed from the course and have your hero licence permanently removed. You’d be allowed to sit a general studies exam in spring and graduate.” Aizawa pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
“The probation terms are as follows: number one, you are hereby banned from using your quirk on site without justifiable cause outside of hero lessons. Number two, you will be referred to a psychologist, and are obliged to follow the plan they set out. Number three, you are not to be alone outside of your room, and thus you will have either a pro hero or a permitted student with you at all times. You are certainly not allowed to be alone with Midoriya, and any online harassment of him will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”
Katsuki blanched and swallowed down any dissent, nodding. Of course, he’d lose the chance to be left alone – the one thing that could ever calm him down. That meant no more runs, no more breakfast alone. He wanted to cry, but frankly, the shame would be enough to make him throw himself out of the window.
“Good. Do you accept the terms of the probation?”
What choice does he have? “Yeah,” he said, “Can I have the day off?”
This seemed to be the first time Aizawa’s expression faltered at all. Katsuki supposed he’d never wanted to take a day off before, but frankly, there was no way that he’d be able to focus in class; he was better off lying in bed and looking at the ceiling, hoping that he’d wake up from this nightmare, or that he’d be eaten by the bedsheets.
“I suppose,” Aizawa said, “I’ll escort you back.”
Katsuki was out of that fucking room as quickly as humanly possible, Aizawa behind him.
…
Aizawa took him as far as the dorm kitchen, then fucked off. It was empty, thank fuck.
As anyone could have guessed, Half’n’Half had just binned his omelette. It was a waste, but it wasn’t like Katsuki was going to be eating anything anyway. He trudged back to his room, flopped on the bed, and stared at the nothing. He didn’t know what to do with himself.
What do you even do on a weekday when you’re skipping class, feeling sick, and cannot leave unaccompanied? Not a fucking lot, it appears.
He did check his phone, though. Half’n’Half had apologised for binning his omelette. The eggs had begun to set, anyway, so it wasn’t like it could be put in the fridge. Katsuki still had a reputation to uphold, god dammit, so he responded with a middle finger emoji and 2 explosions. Shitty Hair had asked where he was, but Katsuki couldn’t find it in himself to respond. What do you fucking say?
So he locked his phone, lobbed it across the room and put his pillow on his face so hard he was nearly smothering himself. He didn’t know how long he laid there, honestly. Maybe he should’ve just bailed and done the general exam. He’d fucking ace it, and he’d make a kickass detective. Or mountain hermit. But which one? Fuji was too fucking cliché. Maybe Mount Haku. Far enough away that nobody would bother visiting, yet close enough that he could come back eventually.
Scratch that. He might as well move to the fucking Alps.
He was forming a mental list of what he’d pack and how he’d transport it all when there was a knock on the door.
“Hey, bro? You good in there?” Shitty Hair’s stupid concerned voice came from the hallway, “I have notes for the morning classes. Can’t promise you can read ‘em, though…”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki replied, “I’m sick. Don’t come in.”
He should have known that was stupid to say.
“Damn, man, are you alright?” Shitty Hair asked, barging in anyway, “I’ll put your notes on the desk. And I’ll ask Lunch Rush to make you something good for lunch!”
“Don’t bother.”
“Too late, I’m bothering!”
Katsuki groaned, but that only seemed to encourage him. “Rest up, bro! You never miss class, so it has to be serious.”
He couldn’t bring himself to disagree, so he just grunted. That seemed to have the desired effect, though, since Shitty Hair gave him a saccharine smile before fucking off, presumably back to their—his—friends.
Still Katsuki didn’t find it within himself to stand up and look at the notes. Frankly he couldn’t give a fuck what he missed. A dark fog had descended over him so thickly that he couldn’t fathom it ever being light again.
He’s still a melodramatic fuck.
…
At some point he must have passed out, because it was like he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the sun had set.
On his desk was a lunch box from the food hall, and a sports drink. Shitty Hair had stuck a post-it note on the bottle with a shittily-drawn flexing arm on it and some message about feeling better soon. Even though Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to read it, he couldn’t help but appreciate the thought from the red-haired moron.
Eventually, if for no other reason than to set his alarm for the morning, Katsuki managed to drag himself out of bed to grab his phone. Of fucking course, the screen was cracked. Fucking fuck. Now he had to hide that from the Hag. He didn’t fancy adding to the bollocking he knew he was already gonna get for the in-school probation thing.
Still, the thing turned on. There were a couple texts from Shitty Hair and co., as well as one from De- Midoriya.
Shit.
Deku 🖕🖕🖕: Hope you’re ok Kacchan. Didn’t mean for this to happen
Deku 🖕🖕🖕: It was because of an investigation into Aldera, pros got ahold of the CCTV
That would do it, Katsuki supposed. Still, Katsuki left him on read, blocked his number and deleted his contact. He had no choice, really. It stung, somewhere deep in Katsuki’s mind. That damned nerd had been in his phone for damn near a decade, yet it was over like that.
Katsuki didn’t really feel like eating, but he forced some of the food Shitty Hair had brought him down his neck anyway.
There was a knock at his door.
Katsuki really didn’t know if he wanted to answer; especially without knowing who it was. Still, whoever the hell it was knocked again, pretty insistent on being heard.
With a grumble, Katsuki got up and opened the damned door – it was probably good he did, too, because it wasn’t one of his shitty classmates.
“May I come in, Bakugou?” Midnight asked, without a whisper of her usual smug look on her face. Frankly Katsuki still wasn’t willing to be within 5 feet of the woman since the first sports festival, but it wasn’t like Katsuki had a fucking choice, was it?
“Take your shoes off,” he grumbled, stepping aside, “and don’t sit on my bed.”
She quirked an eyebrow, a silent ‘you think you’re in a position to be making demands, you arrogant little bastard?’ written on her face. Still, she complied. She wasn’t in hero uniform, so at least the shoe-removing process didn’t take half a fucking hour.
“I have a list here,” She said, sitting down in his desk chair, “of staff and students who you can be with. At least, during this probationary period.” She thrust a sheet of paper at him. Katsuki took a cursory glance. Thankfully, none of the students assigned as his babysitter were the chucklefucks from class 3B; though he still wasn’t happy with the selection he’d been given.
“As I’m sure you can see,” She said, “Aizawa, Present Mic, All Might and I are on a rota to escort you to and from class each day,” He felt a curl of nausea in the pit of his belly, “But if you are to go anywhere outside of this, you must be with one of the listed students…”
His options weren’t great. Presumably it would’ve been too easy for one of his usual people to be on the list. No Shitty Hair, no Raccoon Eyes, no Pikachu, or Soy Sauce. He had shitty Half’n’Half, Ponytail, Birdbrain, Glasses, or Tail. Fucking delightful.
“… as long as one of them is in the room, you may spend time with your usual friends as normal.”
Apparently, she’d been talking. She seemed to realise what she was saying was going in one ear and out the other, though, since she soon fucked off and left Katsuki alone in his room again. Now with this stupid list. Did he even have those idiots’ numbers in his phone? What was he supposed to do, text them every morning like ‘hey fucker I don’t like, do you want to escort me so I can fucking eat today?’? Fuck that.
He looked back at his phone. It seemed Icy-Hot had messaged him.
DO NOT RESPOND: It seems we will be spending time together again. Do you want to get breakfast with me tomorrow? 😺
Shit.