Chapter Text
The first thing that Katsuki notices when he wakes up is that he feels awful.
Scratch that.
His body feels like he was run over by a semi-truck and left to cook on the concrete at over 100 degrees.
His head is foggy, he can't think, and his limbs are heavy as lead.
And the worst part?
He woke up in a puddle of his sweat.
This is going to be a long day.
He pulls the covers off him, instantly shivering at the chill that creeps up his legs. Staying in bed sounds like a good idea.
But it's a terrible idea. He has class today.
He's just going to have to power through it, consequences be damned.
Katsuki drags his heavy legs to the edge of the bed, arms shaking behind him as his vision doubles in the room’s darkness.
The sun is only now coming up, and he was planning to do his morning workout before class, but that's apparently off the table now.
He can barely move.
Sweat drips off his face and to the ground, and he tries to lift his head as black spots dance in his vision.
The morning sun filters through his window, and in the darkness of the room, he sees a shadow in the corner.
It looks suspiciously like the Crusty Bastard.
His heart instantly leaps into his throat, and before he can even think about what he's looking at, he's throwing an explosion towards the corner while he turns on his lamp. He holds his arm out towards the corner again, just in case.
It was just an ironing board.
"God dammit," he rasps out, realizing his throat is a complete fucking mess.
He’s so fucked up.
Beep Beep Beep Beep, Katsuki jumps at the noise, and his head throbs at the shrill screech of his alarm clock.
Fuck. He woke up before his alarm clock.
With bleary eyes, he tries to locate his alarm; It’s not on his bedside table; it fell to the floor when he had panicked earlier in his quest to kill his ironing board.
He doesn't want to move. If he doesn't move, the aches in his body don't exist.
But he's not a quitter, so he tries to turn off the alarm with his feet.
It's a massive failure.
He might as well get it over with. He needs to move if he wants to act like a living human today. No better time than now. He bends over to pick his alarm off the floor, and the movement sends a wave of nausea through his stomach as the floor rushes up to meet his face. He's too slow to get his arms in front of him as he faceplants into the floor.
Great. The day is starting out fucking perfectly.
Fine, he'll just lay on the floor until he needs to leave for class; it’s not like he's an absolute perfectionist who plans his day out to the second.
No. This--whatever he has--isn't going to fuck up his day.
The shrill sound of the alarm continues to pierce his ears, and he looks towards his side to see it sitting right next to him.
It's mocking him, daring him to shut it off.
The buttons on the clock swirl around in his vision as he picks up the clock and stares at it intently, trying to find the power button on the damn thing.
He presses where he hopes the power button is, but it only increases the volume.
"God dammit," he rasps out and throws the alarm into a pile of blankets on the other side of the room.
He'll deal with it later. Hopefully, it shuts the fuck up and turns off on its own. Maybe.
But given how his day has just started, it’s unlikely.
How the fuck did he get like this?
He wracks his brain to remember if he ate anything weird or came across someone sick recently, but nothing comes up.
Shit.
None of the extras have been sick recently, so he probably got it from a stupid civilian.
Dammit.
It's always civilians fucking with him.
But that can't be right; he didn’t have work studies this week or last week, and he has stayed on campus the whole time.
He certainly caught something.
He and Deku had trained last night, and he had trained with Shitty Hair the night before; neither of them had mentioned that they felt off.
Son of a bitch, he hopes he's not contagious.
The alarm still rings from where it landed, and his head pounds from the constant blaring.
"Ugh," his throat is getting scratchier by the second. Nausea swoops through his stomach as he tries to get off the floor.
Fuck.
He needs medicine; luckily enough, he has a stash of Tylenol that he always breaks out when he overuses his quirk, soothing the migraine that often accompanies it with aching arms and blistered hands.
His body has adapted to having such a dangerous quirk, but there are still side effects if he doesn't watch for signs of nitroglycerin poisoning.
He doesn't think he has nitroglycerin poisoning this time; there’s no skin rash from what he can see, he's not itchy, and nothing appears swollen.
He still has the pounding headache and nausea, but at least he's in the clear.
Shit, he's wasting time; on a normal day, he’d already have started his morning workout by now.
But today is not going to be normal for him.
His routine is getting fucked up.
If he’s going to miss out on his morning workout, the least he can do is get ready for class early.
His limbs ache too much to move. If he can get to his bathroom and take some Tylenol, he might start to feel slightly better.
He has to move first.
Katsuki grabs the corner of his bed to help him stand up, his chest and right arm protesting. He sways where he stands as he leans over his bed in case he falls again.
His old wounds sometimes flare up, but never this bad.
He feels awful.
He waits for the black spots in his vision to clear before slowly walking toward his bathroom. Without the warmth of his bed, the cold air chills him to the bone, he's still dripping sweat, but now he's freezing.
He sways as he walks slowly toward his bathroom, his stomach protesting each movement, and he can feel something start to come up.
Fuck, he's about to puke.
Katsuki fishes for the bathroom light, instantly becoming blinded by the onslaught of brightness; his eyes burn as he looks for his toilet, going as fast as he can manage as he successfully makes it to the toilet before his stomach can expel everything on his tiled bathroom floor.
The smell is horrendous; his eyes water from the effort. He refuses to look.
His stomach clenches again, and he tips over the toilet bowl to vomit again.
Gods, can he even get to class today?
He has too. He refuses to miss class.
He's in class 3-A now; he’ll fall behind if he misses any time.
You missed months in second year; you’ll be perfectly fine.
Katsuki forces the thought out of his head because, unlike back then, he's not actively recovering from dying on the battlefield.
This shit is different; He’s still alive here.
His stomach stops its spasms as he finally opens his eyes to see what he puked up.
It's a nasty sight.
Katsuki closes his eyes again, reaching for the handle to flush everything away.
He wants to sit here, but he feels and smells like garbage.
He needs to shower.
But unfortunately, no one has a private shower. Now would be the perfect time to have his own private shower.
But no, he will have to go down the hall and mingle with the idiots.
He hopes none of them are awake. He doesn't want to be seen like this.
Katsuki slowly picks his weak body off the floor and leans on the counter, his arms shake, and his legs feel like jello.
Why is this happening to him?
Katsuki finally lifts his head to look in the mirror, his neck aching at the movement.
He didn't know what he expected to see, but it blew his expectations clean out of the water.
His eye sockets are sunken in; his cheeks are flushed red with heat, and sweat continues to drop down his face.
The jagged scar he got from the Crusty Bastard stands out on his face. He's as pale as a ghost.
His ruby-red eyes are completely bloodshot. His usually perfect blonde spiky hair is matted down to his forehead by sweat.
He looks like death.
He feels like death.
It wouldn’t be the first time, though; he’s excellent at coming back from the dead.
A twinge of pain cuts through his chest as he looks himself over, and he wonders if his heart is becoming affected by whatever he has.
It shouldn't be that bad if he's still alive.
He's also a master at ignoring things, the rational part of his brain is ringing with alarm bells to 'tell The Hobo that he's a walking zombie at the moment,’ but it's overridden by his drive to be the best.
And he can't be the best if he's cooped up in his room from a minor illness.
He hopes this thing is minor.
Bits of vomit stick around his mouth, the aftertaste forcing him to remember that he just threw up. His abdomen aches from before.
Right.
He needs to take Tylenol. Or several.
Slowly, he fishes through his cabinet to find the bottle, quickly unscrewing the cap when another spike of pain runs through his scarred right arm; his eyes twitch as the light burns his eyes.
Fuck, this is certainly going to be a day; he hasn't even made it to the showers yet.
Katsuki takes what's needed before he slowly walks back into his room.
It's a mess; blankets are scattered, and there's a wet spot on his sheets from where a puddle of sweat was.
His alarm is still ringing somewhere in his room.
He can't be bothered to find it, at least not right now.
Maybe after his shower, he'll feel slightly better.
He hates that he's skipping his morning workout.
It is wrong; it’s taboo for him even to consider missing a workout.
It's how he distinguishes himself from everybody else. He puts in more work than everybody else.
It means everything to him to be strict with his routine; now it's getting broken.
"Just this once," he grumbles, his throat still scratchy.
He needs to find his school uniform in the mess that is now his room; dammit, he'll clean it after class today. He doesn't have the energy right now to do anything but find his uniform.
He blearily looks around until he sees a stack of clothes on his desk chair. He always places them there the night before.
Damn clothes are the only constant in this shithole.
His tired legs drag the rest of his equally tired body over to his chair and then to the door.
The door to the outside world.
Who the fuck beside him would be up at six in the morning to shower?
Only him, that's who. That's why he knows the idiots will not be roaming the halls.
He’s got plenty of time before class starts, but he needs to move quickly; get to the showers and back to his room before everybody else wakes up.
That's the only thing he can't do—his stomach protests, and his vision blurs when he tries to walk faster.
Guess that's not going to happen until the painkillers kick in.
Fine, he'll just use the wall as a crutch, hoping no one sees him like this.
He opens his door and peers outside. The hallway is empty.
That's the first good thing that's happened to him since he woke up.
He creeps along the wall, silent as a mouse, hoping not to attract attention.
The showers are on the floor below him; he needs to get there sight unseen as he reaches the elevators and presses the button.
Ding! The elevator opens, and he scurries inside before the doors close. He could have taken the stairs, but he didn’t want to encounter anyone if he limped down the stairs.
He has a reputation to maintain. He is not weak.
He pushes the button for the third floor. Deku's on this floor, and he knows that if he catches him like this, he will insist that he stay in the dorm and miss class.
The nerd is unnaturally observant regarding his Kacchan, and he doesn't want to get into an argument about his current situation.
He's not sure if he could even argue. He'd be proving Deku's point.
That's why he's got to avoid him until homeroom.
A picture-perfect fucking plan.
The elevator opens to reveal the third-floor hallway.
Empty.
Just how he needed it.
The showers are right next to the elevator, so he quickly--which at this point is slow as fuck-- opens the door and makes sure the door doesn't slam behind him.
Success.
It only took him ten agonizing minutes where he's sure he left a trail of sweat on the ground.
Whatever. The extras will think he worked out; he’s fine for now.
The room lights start to shimmer before turning on; the dimness allows his eyes to adjust, no longer blinding.
He's going to need privacy just in case; he doesn't want to shower in the open like this. He's not an idiot, and he doesn't want to get caught.
He slowly walks to the corner of the room where the single shower stalls are and places his clothes outside on the bench before he turns the water on to medium heat.
His clothes still cling to him from the earlier sweat, and his aching limbs make it a mission to get into the shower.
Gods, he feels so fucking gross.
The warm water greets him as he enters, spraying his face and washing the grime off his body.
It feels so good—the first bit of comfort he's had today.
He doesn't want it to end.
There's a bench in there with some generic shampoo and conditioner.
It wouldn't hurt him to sit down and closes his eyes for a few minutes, would it?
It feels like heaven as he takes the weight off his legs, the warm water soothing them.
He can sleep here for a few minutes. No one should be here for another half-hour.
The warm water comforts him, and as he closes his eyes, he thinks he can stay there forever.
He won't, though; it’s just for a few minutes to get some sleep.
He needs it. He's absolutely exhausted.
His mind dozes off, and all his aches and pains wash away under the warm water.
~~
“I’m not sure-“
“Don’t worry; the homework was finished—"
Katsuki wakes to loud noises and a growing headache.
Fuck, he wasted his time. He hopes no one has noticed he's in here; he’s in a private shower stall, after all. No one would be stupid enough to breach his privacy.
Well, Mineta would, but that dumb fuck got expelled during their first year in favor of Shinso, so no, actually, no one would get into his space.
Gods, what fucking time is it? He reaches for his phone on the bench and turns it on; the screen tells him it's nearly 7 am.
Damnit, he slept for thirty minutes, and now everyone and their mother is in the showers.
If he stays still, no one will see him. But his shower is still running, and who knows how long the fuckers have been in here.
They’re sure to notice.
He needs to think of a plan to get out of here. He could stay where he is and wait for everyone to leave, or he could go now and change in his room and yell at everyone that stands in his way.
At least with the second option, he'll still make it first to homeroom.
Instantly, he turns off the warm water and puts a towel around his waist; the warmth starts to seep from his skin as ice begins to crawl in his veins, and dark spots dance in his eyes when he stands up too quickly.
This should only take a minute; no one will suspect a thing.
At least the nausea is gone for the time being; he’ll be able to get the fuck out of here much faster.
He pushes open the curtain and grabs his clothes on the outside bench in one fell swoop; all eyes turn to him as he musters up the biggest glare he can, daring anyone to talk to him.
"Bro, how was your workout? You’re usually not here this late--"
"Fuck off," his throat is still scratchy, but it's better than before.
"Bakugou, that is no way to treat your--"
Katsuki's not listening; his main mission is to escape.
"Your eyes are bloodshot--"
Nope. He's not going to respond as he reaches the door, clothes and his phone in hand.
The elevator is on the other side, and he's quickly pushing the buttons so he can leave faster, begging for no one to come after him.
No one does as the elevator opens and he gets inside as fast as he can, the doors sliding shut behind him.
He made it, for now.
However, he's stuck in a towel and starting to shiver from the cold.
He should have planned his escape better.
As the elevator reaches his floor, his heart beats faster in his chest. He's tired; that whole situation took all the energy out of him.
He feels much worse after that, his eyes begin to droop, and he feels like he’s going to fall asleep.
You can't do that motherfucker; you have class, and what would Deku think if he found you nearly naked and sick in the elevator.
Dammit.
He needs to get ready for class. His empty stomach growls. He needs to eat to get back the food he lost.
He's starving, but he doesn't want to return to square one with all the nausea from before.
He needs to eat something. He might still have a box of protein bars left in his room before he has to mingle with the idiots downstairs.
As the elevator doors open, he peers outside. No one is around.
"Fuck yes," he exclaims as he walks as fast as he can to his room, quickly opening the door and hiding inside.
He made it. It took forever, but he made it. He needs to survive for an hour at a time. But, if sweat continues to drip off him like it is currently, then the Sleepy Caterpillar would be suspicious.
There's nothing he can do about it; it’s his quirk; after all, he can't exactly turn off a vital part of himself.
Chills run through his body as another spike of pain races up his right arm this time.
"Motherfucker," he rasps out, trying to get his shirt on him, his limbs starting to ache more. His alarm clock has appeared to shut up; thank fuck for that; he’s not sure if he could have managed with the blaring of his alarm at this point.
He's started to sweat again; the cold chill has left him. His eyes begin to burn from sleep deprivation.
Oh. He is not going to survive today.
He had barely slept the night before, and with everything currently happening, he's only felt worse as the minutes dragged on.
"Where the fuck are those power bars," he grumbles, opening drawers with no success. He checks his backpack, filled with finished homework like the nerd he is.
Still, nothing that could help him.
He feels like he's been awake for three days with how bad he feels.
With a sigh, he picks up his backpack and roughly opens the door, slamming it shut behind him.
The hall and stairway are empty; he refuses to take the elevator this time in case he gets trapped there with someone who asks too many questions.
Getting downstairs is easy, but as he enters the common room and hears noises from the kitchen, he can feel his temperature rise.
How many times has he told them to stay out of his kitchen?
A thousand times by now. They never listen to him.
Putting a lock on the door that only he and Sugar Lips have the keys to would be an excellent idea.
Yes. He should do that.
A pulse in his head has his eye twitching and suppressing a groan, a light aura beginning to appear in his left eye.
Great. Just fucking great.
Perfect timing, you fuckmunch.
He doesn't have time for this; he’ll take another Tylenol right after he gets to homeroom before everyone else shows up because his ass is always early.
"Monoma, I can make you a cold soba--"
"That's certainly a breakfast--"
"It tastes better with sweet chili spread throughout, oh hi Bakugou--"
Katsuki's ignoring them. His brain has turned to mush, and he needs food. Fast.
"Bakugou, are you alright--"
"I'm fine, Icyhot," he tries to sound as normal as possible, hoping his voice doesn't give anything away.
He’s fine. Everything is fine.
Nothing is wrong with him; he caught something that should go away in no time.
Right?
"Oh! Is the God of Explosions feeling unwell? Shall--"
"Finish that and your head will no longer be attached to your body."
Copycat stares at him before his lips quirk up into a smile. "There's our gremlin." then he's flinging his toast towards Icyhot, who grabs it with his mouth and chews while staring right at him.
Bunch of fucking weirdos.
Katsuki goes towards the oven and turns the knob to a high heat; he wants to burn the whole fucking building down as he gets out eggs to make an omelet.
The kitchen light burns his eyes, and he closes them to give him some relief as sweat drips off his face and splatters on the floor.
Can he stop sweating, for fucking once?
The smell of his breakfast has him opening his eyes again as the golden yolk starts to run around in the egg white. He grabs a spatula to run it around the pan as he grabs a piece of toast from the cabinet.
Eggs on toast always help him feel better.
The stove heat usually is a good thing for him, but now, it's his worst enemy.
"Hey, Murder God, you‘re hot--" and he's throwing the spatula towards Copycat's head who runs away, cackling all the while.
"Bakugou--" Icyhot begins, amusement clear on his face.
Katsuki's not having it. At least not today.
"Fuck off," he says as he grabs another spatula from the drawer, willing his eggs to cook faster so he can get the fuck out of here.
Katsuki hears more voices from outside the kitchen, and he hears the sweet honey voice of the nerd he loves so damn much.
No. Leave now, Deku.
Fuck. He’s going to have to eat on the walk to homeroom. He had hoped he had more time, but time had been going too fast and slow as hell for him this morning.
Deku will start to ask him questions, and he wants to avoid answering them. He doesn't have the energy to answer them.
He eyes his breakfast, neck aching as he leans over the stove, legs trembling from standing there.
It's practically done, he just needs to scoop it up and place it on the toast, and then he's off. It shouldn’t take more than thirty seconds.
“Bakugou, why are you studying your meal like a scientist." He turns his eyes to Icyhot, feeling the muscles in his eyes begin to twitch at the ridiculousness that is the existence of the Half n' Half bastard.
"Why are you like this?" he grunts, glaring daggers at the idiot who only slurps up his disgusting noodles.
"It all started when I was born--"
Nope. He's out of here. His food is done as he flips the omelet onto the toast and grabs his backpack in one movement as he races out the door, his limbs protesting all the while.
"Oh! Hey Kacchan--" He sees Deku waving his hand from the corner of his eye; he’s almost out of here.
Sure, he'll ask questions later, but if he stops moving and Deku catches up now, he'll see the disaster that is his Kacchan.
He still feels awful. He doesn't want Deku to know or see that.
"Later, Deku," and he's pushing past the doors to the outside world, a cool breeze greets him as he starts his walk towards U.A., his breath rattling in his chest as his hand begins to spasm when he tries to take a bite of his breakfast, and he forces his hand to still.
He's hungry; nothing is going to fucking stop him.
His walk to homeroom is a delight; no one is outside yet, so he has a nice walk in the quiet of the morning.
It's just him and his aching body.
A tingle grows in his chest as he finishes his breakfast, and a cough escapes him before he can think.
Long, hacking coughs force him to put his hands on his knees and hack up a lung; he’s breathless by the end as he tries to compose himself.
Great, just another thing to hide from everyone.
At least no one was around to see him wheeze like the weak, pathetic coward he is.
Stop that. He doesn't want to miss class; he hasn't missed a class since he was revived when he was finally allowed to attend class. Sure, he was barred from training, but catching up on the missed homework was easy.
He studied ahead, after all.
He remembers when he refused to stay out of class, having to plead to the Sleepy Caterpillar that he wouldn’t collapse in his chair as they learned history. He hated falling behind; it made him feel useless, like he was only there hogging a seat while everybody else improved. It made him feel like Edgeshot saved the wrong person during the war.
He hated feeling like that. Yeah, he hated learning that yet another hero sacrificed themself to save his ass, but over time, he started to appreciate that Edgeshot saved him.
He began to appreciate the finer things in life that he had previously missed, knowing he’d been given a second chance.
As Katsuki makes it to homeroom, he realizes nobody bothered him on the way.
He's grateful for that; he doesn't know what he'd do if some asshole first-year students went after him again because their favorite hero, Edgeshot, saved him; he would probably have murdered them on the spot. They would have had it coming; The Hobo would understand his reasoning.
He's the only one in homeroom; the rest of the extras are slacking in the sickness department. Everyone should get sick because then they'd get to homeroom faster.
Or he’s built differently; his work ethic towers over the rest.
He had to work extremely hard to return to where he was before the war. Dying took a massive toll on him, after all.
The sun shines through the windows of the empty room, casting shadows in the corner. He could sleep here; Four Eyes isn't around to piss him off.
Yeah. Sleeping shouldn't hurt. He fucking needs it at this point.
He sits in his seat, folds his arms in front of him, and lays his head down to rest. He's out like a light within seconds, unaware that the Sleepy Caterpillar is sleeping behind him in his yellow sleeping bag.
~~
'Bakugou--"
Noise begins to filter through his ears, and he feels a light touch on his shoulder.
"Bakugou, homeroom is starting in five minutes-"
What?
That can't be right. He's still in his dorm room, sleeping peacefully.
But why does he feel so...off?
"Bakugou, it is improper for a student of this prestigious school--"
Oh fuck no.
He jolts awake instantly, his neck aching at the whiplash as he jumps out of his seat, his back popping from stiffness. Black spots invade his vision and his eyes burn as he tries to make out his surroundings.
Oh. He's in homeroom. He slept through everybody arriving, and now nineteen pairs of eyes, including Deku, are staring at him wide-eyed like he's a headless chicken.
The sudden movement forces a wave of nausea to course through his stomach, and he wills himself not to throw up in front of everyone.
"Bakugou, I am under the assumption--" Four Eyes starts his usual lecturing, swinging his arm up and down for maximum drama; the slight wind it makes cools Katsuki off. But he hates these lectures; he’s an academic marvel and should not be treated like this.
"Shut it, Four Eyes, none of your fucking concern--" His mouth is dry as hell as the words feel like cotton in his mouth.
He needs water.
"Language, Bakugou, or I will not hesitate to give you house arrest--" he does not jump out of his seat again, fuck you very much at the sound of the Sleepy Caterpillar's voice. He's not at the front where he usually is; the sound comes behind him. He turns in his seat to look, the rest of the class following, and his eyes widen when he sees his homeroom teacher glaring at him from his sleeping bag.
When the fuck did he get here? Was he always here? A chill runs down his spine at the thought of his Sensei seeing him walk into the room, looking like he was about to collapse at any moment. He never made a sound; apparently, no one knew he was there either.
They got terrible awareness for future heroes. Katsuki at least has an excuse, but even he's a bit embarrassed that he missed The Hobo sleeping in the corner.
"Aizawa-sensei! I apologize for not noticing you earlier--" Four Eyes looks close to tears, and Katsuki snorts.
"Calm down, Iida," the monotone voice of their homeroom teacher interrupts Four Eyes’ stammering, "Just take this as a lesson that you need to be aware of your surroundings at all times." everyone nods at the comment, knowing he's right, they can't let their guard down just because they're in school.
"Now, Bakugou," the Caterpillar slithers on the ground making his way toward the front of the room, "You don't look well. Should I message Recovery Girl that you're on the way to her office--" Katsuki does not want that.
"I'm fine, Sensei; I was up all night fucking studying and couldn't sleep afterward, is all." It's a lie. He knows it's a lie. He can tell The Hobo knows it's a lie from the way he's glaring into his soul. He forces himself to keep eye contact with him, unwilling to let himself lose.
"Very uncharacteristic of you, Bakugou, but if you say so--" and he's started his slither towards the blackboard, ready to discuss the announcements for the day.
He won. He might not feel like he won, but despite the swirling nausea in his stomach and the growing headache, he's gotten away for now.
He only needs to get through four more hours and training, and then he's home free to sleep it off.
Katsuki zones out as The Hobo goes over the announcements, his eyes twitching and sweat again running down his back.
He wonders what he looks like now.
He feels hot, he's probably running a fever, and his legs are killing him. A spasm runs through his hand as he tries to pick up a pencil, silently cursing and threatening to break it later.
His stomach grows, reminding him that he had barely eaten today, and his stomach seizes up in a painful cramp.
His heart starts racing in his chest, and it's beating fast enough by the time the first class begins that he wonders if it's just going to explode on him. Yet, he refuses to tell anyone. He's gone through things like this before. Yes, this may be different, but he's not going to give up yet.
For starters, he has yet to collapse.
He considers that a small victory. If it ever happened, he'd be unconscious and wouldn't have to make any decisions for himself. It's not what he wants, but he always goes one hundred percent. He refuses to give in to the sickness yet. He hasn't been given a reason for it.
Twenty minutes pass before he realizes he has been staring a hole through Present Mic in English, who thankfully never asked him what was wrong. He was sure he was called on once or twice but was left alone.
It's more manageable like this; leave him alone so he can fight this quietly. He doesn't want to be seen struggling. His throat is dry again, and he has already drank all the water from his bottle.
The classes pass quickly; he barely notices the eyes staring at him. Even they know something is wrong with him. He can see them whispering their concerns, but none reaches his ears as they are too clogged up.
Fitting, his quirk has fucked over his hearing for years, and now he can barely hear anything from this shitty bug he caught.
He doesn't notice anyone standing up until Deku touches his shoulder. Good job, nerd, you got a hand full of sweat.
"Kacchan, it's lunchtime. Do you want me to bring you something back for you, or do you want to come with?"
Katsuki blinked his eyes; everything had passed by in a blur. No one had bothered him; the teachers left him alone. His mouth feels like the desert, dry as hell. He needs to answer Deku, and his stomach growls, echoing through the room as several extras turn around to look at him, amusement clear on their face.
"I take it you're hungry, Kacchan--" The nerd starts slowly, vibrant green eyes showing a hint of worry. He hates making Deku worry, he almost wants to tell him, but his stomach rumbles again before he even opens his mouth.
"Bring the food here; I’ll catch up on sleep in the meantime," he stifles a yawn as Deku chuckles nervously. He's sure that he already knows how bad he's feeling; he just doesn't want to say it in front of him.
He loves the nerd, but sometimes, he wishes Deku would slap him over the head and tell him not to push himself so hard.
Now would be one of those times.
"Alright, Kacchan, I'll bring you something you love. Stay there, and I’ll be right back." Deku sprints off, leaving Katsuki alone in the room. Katsuki had no plans to move from his seat; if he moved, everything would hurt. He still has the Tylenol bottle with him, so he can take some with lunch before training begins.
Oh no. Training.
How is he going to get through training like this?
He'll figure it out. He'll go slower than usual. Sure, it'd be fucking weird for everyone else to see the powerhouse of the entire fucking school acting so different, but it's a risk he's going to have to take. He wonders what The Hobo has planned.
Katsuki lays his head on his arms, eyes starting to droop. He's so fucking tired. He's not sure how he's still conscious at this point.
Spite. He runs off pure spite.
His eyes begin to close, and the last thought before he slips into unconsciousness is that Deku will have to shake him awake to give him food.
~~
"Kacchan--"
Katsuki groans at the loud voice right next to him. he tries to move his head, but the tiniest movement causes him to grimace in pain.
"Kacchan, I brought you some food. Are you-"
"I'm fine, nerd," he grunts, words slurring in his mouth, "you just woke me up."
"Maybe you should sit out of training after lunch, Recovery--"
Katsuki’s eyes shoot open in anger at the thought of that plan. "I said I'm fucking fine, Deku. Let me eat, and I'll be good for training later." He can smell the pork buns through the bag that Deku had brought him. It's one of his favorites; it always makes him feel good. Maybe that's what Deku was going for. He doesn't want to look into his eyes to see the concern painted in those beautiful, vibrant green eyes that have followed him for years.
"Ok, Kacchan. I'll see you at training then." Deku slowly leaves the room, clearly hesitant to leave him alone.
He wants to be left alone. But he's not so sure he should be left alone.
That's just the sickness talking, you idiot. You will beat this; you always have. This shit is nothing.
He wants to believe those words, but with each passing minute, with each increasing pound of his head, with each muscle spasm and drip of sweat down his body, with his heart now periodically trying to escape his chest, he thinks he should ask for help.
But he also wants to train.
Fuck. He's got to make a decision.
He stares at his lunch, the delicious smell forcing a growl from his stomach.
He's hungry, and the nausea has gone away for now, but he knows it will return later.
He refuses to eat until he's made a decision, though.
"Fuck," his food shakes in his hand as his right arm spasms.
Is he even going to be able to train like this? Sure he will; nothing has stopped him before.
He'll go to Recovery Girl after training. Nothing bad can happen to him in training.
Right?
He’s not so sure at this point.
Anything can happen.
As he starts to eat his lunch and the warmth of the bun soothes his throat, he begins to wonder if he’ll be able to last a few more hours before he goes to Recovery Girl.
~~
Katsuki regrets everything.
He's currently in the locker room getting ready for training.
Scratch that; he’s trying to get ready for training, but he feels like a walking zombie.
He can barely keep his eyes open, his head weighs like a hundred pounds, and his legs shake as he stands in front of his locker. He doesn't know how he's still standing at the point.
He wants to go to Recovery Girl, but he promised himself he'd tough it out. He wishes he wasn't so stubborn right now.
He feels like he's going to die.
His stomach is churning, and he strategically places his body in front of a trash can in case he needs to throw up his lunch. No one else appears to be paying attention to him.
Good. He doesn't want to be put on display.
His hair is matted to his forehead from sweat, his school uniform reeks of sweat, and he's sure no one has come up to him in concern because they're used to him and the trails of sweat he leaves behind sometimes.
He wishes someone would notice right now. He wishes someone would knock him over the head and drag him to Recovery Girl. His ego is getting in the way.
He's sitting on the bench in front of his locker and moving as slowly as possible to not make his body hurt worse.
His limbs feel like lead.
"Hey Bakubro, you ready for training?" he hears Shitty Hair call out to him from across the room, and he wants to respond that 'no, he's about to fucking die,' but his mouth refuses to say it.
"Going to fucking kick your ass, Shitty Hair," he rasps out, and he hears the idiot hooting and hollering in excitement, unaware that Katsuki knows that, no, he will not be kicking anyone's ass.
He's kicking his ass for going through with this day.
His head pounds as he puts on his Winter costume; at least it'll absorb all the sweat he's currently losing.
He's probably dehydrated to some extent at this point.
The noise dies down as everyone else leaves the room to get to Gym Gamma, and he feels relieved that no one will see him struggling. Hell, if he collapses in here, no one will be around to help him.
He should get out there now. He doesn’t want to be left all alone if he’s going to collapse.
He tries to move faster as black spots dance in his vision and he sways where he stands. He pulls his massive gauntlets out of the locker and places them on his hands.
It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. He's got absolutely no energy. His arms are fucking weak as they shake with exhaustion, sweat starting to drip off his face and to the floor.
Well. There is only one thing left to do: walk to Gym Gamma and try to survive training. He doesn't know what The Hobo has planned, but he hopes he won't have to move around too much.
~~
He's not the last one to arrive at the gym, surprisingly. He really thought he'd arrive last with everyone staring at him, studying his every move.
Sure, he's usually first to arrive because he's always ready to kick someone's ass, but today is clearly different. Sleepy Caterpillar starts to go over the lesson, sole red eye landing on him as he speaks, watching his every move.
"Listen up, problem children," he drawls on in his usual monotone voice, his eye still trained on Katsuki, almost daring him to say something. Katsuki refuses to give in. "For today's training, you will be sparring one versus one," he hears oohs and ahhs and a bunch of other excited nonsense as his eyes go wide, and he goes pale.
This is not what he wanted.
This is his worst-case scenario. He's going to be moving around then, making everything worse for him.
"-- you will be allowed to use your quirks," and Katsuki's heart stops in his chest. He felt like hell the few times he used his quirk today.
It's been a while, though; maybe he's sort of stabilized.
Katsuki doesn't know what the fuck he's thinking; he can’t even hold a thought in his head at this point, his brain feels like mush, and his skull feels like it’s trying to cave in on him. Why is he honestly going through with this? "There is a fifteen-minute time limit for each round; I will pair you off now—” Katsuki’s not listening as blood rushes through his head.
He can't do this. He needs to tell The Hobo now. He's beginning to sway where he stands, and his head increases its pounding. It feels like his skull is getting stomped on.
He feels like he's about to vomit all over again.
"Sensei--" he barely manages to get out a whisper, heart pounding in his chest and legs feeling like they're about to give out.
Nobody heard him. He's unable to speak louder. His vision goes dark for a second.
He's scared.
He's so fucking scared.
He caused this for himself, and now he can't find a way out of it.
"Midoriya, you will face off against Shinso--" He's started pairing them off now; soon he will be sparring.
If anything, he hopes that he can last. But he's not so sure of it anymore.
"—Bakugou, you will face Monoma--" Katsuki's heart stutters as the words reach his ears in the fog of his mind.
Oh no.
Anyone but him. He's going to die here. Copycat only shows the quirks he’s copied at the last second, so who knows what he has planned. He tries to find Copycat in the crowd, but his vision is so blurry at this point that it's completely useless.
He knows that something is about to go very wrong for him if he doesn't speak up right now. "Sen--" is all he can manage before his throat closes on him, and Aizawa orders them to take their positions.
Fuck.
He can't speak anymore; he can't even tell Aizawa that he feels like he's going to die. No one else is looking at him.
He did tell them to 'mind their fucking business' earlier, but not to this extent. He hopes Copycat has a brain cell to notice something is wrong.
He'd been trying not to sway in front of people, trying not to appear sick, and he guessed that he did it perfectly because no one can tell the difference.
His legs feel like lead as he slowly walks to the circle to face Copycat, dread filling his stomach as a feeling of doom enters his mind. Sweat is rolling off him in droves, and his cheeks are flushed as hell, but his eye mask is covering it up. His bracers are dragging his arms down; he can't lift them anymore; he’s too weak at this point. He's got to take them off; he needs to take them off to show Copycat that 'no' he is not alright.
But he also doesn’t take the hint.
"No taunts today? I would have thought that I, the greatest student to ever set foot in Class A, would deserve some taunts--" Copycat's trying to get a rise out of him, but he feels that if he opens his mouth, he's going to vomit everywhere. He's trying to get him to notice, trying to get him to call this off, but Copycat doesn't take it.
"Begin." Sensei's voice echoes throughout the gym, and he pulls off his gauntlets as fast as he can while Copycat sprints toward him.
Shit, he's got Four Eye's quirk, but he knows there's a second quirk just waiting to be activated.
A chill runs down his spine as he lifts his arms to create an explosion, and then a massive spike of pain radiates through his head as the concussive blast hits him.
He gasps out from the lightning pain traveling through his body as the smoke dissipates around him, and then his vision darkens as he falls forward, his legs feeling like jelly.
He tries to bring his arms in front of him to brace his fall, but his limbs refuse to cooperate. Copycat emerges from the smoke, sprinting full speed as he lifts a knee to attack.
A rock-solid knee that he can’t defend himself from.
Oh. This is going to fucking hurt.
Copycat hits his face full force, and his nose cracks upon impact as white-hot pain travels through his head.
He doesn't feel his body hit the floor.
He barely notices the screams around him and a soft touch on his shoulder. "I didn't mean--" he can hear someone panicking above him as his hearing fades out with his consciousness, and the last thing he registers is blood flowing freely from his nose and someone yelling to get Recovery Girl.