Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's the news being put on that does it, honestly. It's nearly always the news' fault.

Now, class 2-A has been aware that the battle at floating UA was livestreamed with the highest tech the business course could drag up there, displaying the fight of their lives in gruesome deatail. It just became one of those things everybody knows but keeps silent about. Because how exactly do you cope with the fact that a war you had fought and been scarred and nearly died in could be viewed like any other video--reduced to something near a performance for a bit?

You don't, is their answer.

Until.

It's a weekend, but everyone is staying at the dorms. It's Mina who flicks on the television, which immediately cuts to an anchor speaking somberly in front of a greenscreened clip.

A clip of the battle.

"In memoriam of the devastation the..."

The man continues speaking, but he's drowned out by the instant clamor of the class. Tamaki Amajiki is shown on the screen, using his quirk to its fullest potential. Some of them are scrambling to find the remote, turn off the TV. Tenya and Eijirou are trying to usher Katsuki and Izuku away, the former of whom had already frozen, eyes transfixed on the shockingly clear images.

"Katsuki," Eijirou mutters, a tentative hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mon man, you don't have to watch it. Someone's gonna turn the TV off and we can move on. You don't need to force yourself to dig all that up."

Katsuki makes an odd jolt with his right shoulder, suggesting he was trying to move his limp right arm to shove Eijirou off. The redhead winces at the movement, but pulls his hand away. He glances down for half a second at the shriveled limb before turning away. Their whole class is getting awful good at turning away from things they don't want to see. Is it healthy? Not at all. But they're all in mandated therapy, so...

Katsuki tears his eyes away from the television, finally, to glare at his arm. He's in PT, they think there's a chance of him regaining use of it, but if he doesn't progress soon, an amputation and prosthetic replacement are the next course of action to prevent it from becoming a hindrance. He dreads the day, wondering if this is how Aizawa felt losing half his quirk's power.

And he usually feels selfish after that, because Izuku lost all of it.

And that thought, probably, is what steels his resolve.

Mina stumbles up to him and Izuku, the TV long since silenced and gone dark in his haze, already spewing a half-formed apology.

He shakes his head, an inch away from unresponsive in his slackened face, clouded eyes, and slumped shoulders. "I want to watch the livestream."

The chaos the dorm had descended into shuttered into silence.

"What..?" Kyouka croaks to the left of him. Katsuki understands her trepidation. She had fought All for One with Fumikage--she knew well to fear him. He isn't sure if she's afraid to see him again in the stream or if she's afraid to see the consequences of his wrath, but he empathizes either way.

"You don't have to," he mumbles. He's been quieter since the first war, but now he can't even find the energy to raise his voice above a whisper. This feels too tentative a time.

"Neither do you, Katsuki," Ochako cuts in, a worried crease to her brows. "I don't want to subject myself to reliving my battle. You don't look weak for wanting to cope another way."

He shakes his head again, this time more viciously. Some of the energy returns to his sapped bones. "I need to do this."

And the world is spinning a little bit, so he clasps Izuku's hand tightly in his and fixes his eyes firmly on the floor. "I need this."

It's startling to realize he does. Not only does he need to find some way to rationalize that he died beyond an adrenaline-fueled thanks to Edgeshot for his sacrifice, but he needs to see what happened from an outsider view. It all felt so overwhelming, experiencing it, that he got tunnel vision, a singular focus developed for each painful spark against his skin. He needs to see how the battle went when he was dead, or after All for One obliterated his own body and it was just Izuku against ShigAFO left.

"Okay." It's Izuku's voice. Comforting and mild and the only thing Katsuki ever needs to hear. "We'll watch it together then. I really should catch up on what I missed."

And Katsuki considers arguing, insisting that none of the blame fell on Izuku's shoulders for being dragged away, but he's destroying himself before he can heal too, isn't he? He's trying to be less hypocritical, anyway.

The class sits down. The television is switched back on, but this time the livestream is connected to the screen. It loads to a jarringly crisp scream from Best Jeanist;

"Deku isn't here?"

The boy's eyes grow hollow for a moment. Katsuki squeezes his hand. Green irises flash over to him, and they are okay again.

The frantic shouting proceeds as Katsuki remembers it--they were banking everything in Izuku being there, and Katsuki was helpless to do anything but explain that he had been pulled away.

"We don't have One for All?!" Jeanist continues, frantic. "How did this happen?"

Katsuki is the first to reply, voice strained but no less clear on the tape. "Hell if I know! He was dragged somewhere else!"

It's a bitter thing for the class to register the quality of both audio and video by their ability to read the panic on Amajiki's face.

He glances from the side of his eye, his pupils already only a dot in his anxiety, stuttering as he speaks. "Th-th-this is really bad, right?! Having him here was one of our key assumptions!"

The guilty look returns to Izuku's eyes. Clutching his hand tight enough to cut off circulation doesn't seem to work, so Katsuki chooses instead to lean over to murmur in his ear; "Not your fault, asshole."

Sure, he's trying to let Izuku work shit out on his own time. Doesn't mean he's not about to be the world's most aggressive support system.

Nejire and Mirko speak almost on top of each other. 
"We gotta let everyone know!" Nejire calls, quickly tailed by Mirko's vicious exclamation.

"Whatever! This party's already started, so let's rumble."

"We just gotta go toe-to-toe with history's deadliest villain ever!"

Silence, silence, silence. The students are quiet as the scene continues to play out before them--a zoom on ShigAFO's face as he, with piercing calm fury and lust for destruction, observes the arena, before dropping down. A krak, krak rips through the television when his quirk tears through a spot on the ground.

BWOOM. ShigAFO is flung into the air with the ground his destruction had touched, a faint 'huh?' picked up. Krmble, the ground groans as he flails up to the electro-magnetic barrier. His muscles visibly lock up, spasming as he forces his hand into a fist.

Jeanist intervenes as soon as he begins to regain that little control. "Oh no you don't! There's a gap in your seams!!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, scoffing lightly as he sits on the couch, rewatching it all go down from the safety of the dorms. He hadn't really noticed the first time, but could the guy really never let up with the jeans metaphors?!

A few people glance at him oddly, so he verbalizes the thought. There are a few stifled snorts, and he's pretty sure he hears Denki say, "Am I even allowed to laugh..?
" and he has to duck his head with a 'tch' to hide the small grin that curls his lips.

Jeanist continues, narrating the function of the barrier. "...Even someone who's superhuman will be helpless, if only for a brief moment."

Easily, looking inhuman, ShigAFO tears himself from Jeanist's hold. His lips move soundlessly, working out a question. "Is it a mechanism to keep my decay from spreading?" he asks, grinning gleefully, eyes devoid of anything. "No matter," he dismisses not a second later. "This scheme will be your ruin, Jeanist."

"We're floating up in the sky, yeah?" he comments casually, flipping back to let Jeanist's cords run and SHWING right against each other, missing him. "The ground here is a precious resource, and you're practically giving it away for free!"

"You needn't worry," Jeanist declares, looking as proud and menacing as a hero of his type can be as he gestures behind him with a thumb--to the direction the camera is coming from, where the whole operation behind the scenes to make UA float were occurring. "We are replete with that particular source."

"Have you truly not figured it out yet, Shigaraki? Is your brain short-circuiting from that shock?"

The comment draws a few more startled laughs from the class, Katsuki and Izuku in particular finding joy in Jeanist's blatant disregard for someone who considered their strength so far above his own.

"This arena...was constructed solely to defeat you. It shall be your coffin in the sky."

The words sink into their skin, a shiver up their spines at the finality of it all, the significance of each syllable knowing the statement rung true. A grave dug by each of their hands--

"It was all made possible by a sixteen-year-old," Jeanist continues to speak.

Hatsume Mei's genius, they recall as Jeanist explains her work with Nedzu to make UA float.

"...The remaining problems were a lack of materials due to the ravaged economy."

A reference to Momo, whom many send furtive glances and nods of thanks to.

"The tight turnaround for the construction."

Credit to the same heroes who had assembled Troy so quickly and expertly, the architects of their refuge.

"...And the prodigious amount of energy...required for the mechanical systems and electro-magnetic barrier."

Denki whoops, turning to give Hanta's raised hand a celebratory slap. "Oh yeah, dude!"

"Great work to all of you behind the scenes there," Mezou says. "Your work might not have been broadcast, but it's very much appreciated."

Momo and Denki both send the boy shining grins.

"Everything we built and worked toward...is powering this tomb of yours."

Jeanist's tone of finality snaps their attention back to the screen.

"Not for honor. Not for glory. No, those of us here making this work...do it to ensure that the world will see tomorrow. We are those...who stand against the doom you bring!!"

A cheer, loud and bright as they haven't had quite the energy to summon until then, rips through the class. It's why they are training to become heroes, the reason they fought in the wars against the Paranormal Liberation Front and risked their lives despite the boos and calls for the fall of hero society by the public. They wish to bring a future to the world, to gift a new sunrise to a world that is lush rather than barren.

Jeanist says it as succinctly as one can say; they stand against the doom ShigAFO wrought, and will stand against any villain who seeks to wreak havoc upon to beauty of the world.

ShigAFO's voice is uncaring as he cuts into the determination that had culminated at the end of Jeanist's speech. "So proud of your toys..." He extends his hand, a vague yet foreboding action. "...but not for long."

He doesn't win. They're all well aware. But the fear--knowing what he was capable of--has everyone sucking in a short breath.

Yet, as he always does--

Katsuki barrels into frame. "Joke's on you!" he calls through a nasty grin. "Or didja forget that crappy game of ours back in Jaku?!"

Katsuki laughs loudly, pretending he hadn't cringed, imagining the world of pain he was about to experience then. All he can think of, despite his front of haughtiness, is he has no idea what's about to happen. I had no idea what was about to happen.

And any idiot could take a look at his current state and tell you the confidence he had gone into that battle with was entirely unwarranted. His class knows something had happened. They don't know what happened. He's sitting there, and Katsuki is starting to not want them to. His eyes are hollow and clouded and his death feels like a private thing, something he needs to keep to himself and cry silent tears over on days where the chronic pain starts to feel like it's happening again, making him doubt Edgeshot's assurance that the ties keeping his organs together won't come undone. When he feels the utter humiliation he had experienced, dragged up as though he was not even worthy of ShigAFO's hand gracing his skin before being swatted away to die like some gnat.

And the thought fills his head as he hears Monoma's voice ring through, and Mirko's question and a response he vaguely recalls giving with panic in his eyes.

And he feels shame. Shame, shame, as ShigAFO's voice echoes hauntingly.

"I used to think you were so cool...you turned out to be quite the letdown...Eraserhead.
"

Shame, as he recalls that same voice saying such similar words to him. He was a shame, an awful shame. He hadn't joined the League, he could've been so useful, but his progress was ultimately uninteresting. He was such a letdown, the only worthy part of him his association with Izuku. Did that not ring true? Had his last thought before death not been of how far behind he was, chasing Izuku's back?

Shame

shame

shame.

It rips through his chest, a feeling like the pierce of his heart exploding. It's awful, just like him, the way his guts roil.

Shame.

Chapter Text

Katsuki shoves his mind back to the land of the living. Not the time for shame. The time for shame comes when he sees it all in ugly, nasty clarity on the pristine TV screen in the safety of his dorm common room. Right now, he prays to the gods that have always failed him that nobody noticed his spiral. It seemed so large, like everything is spinning, the ground is falling out underneath him and he's some cursed mix between falling dandelion fuzz and a tabletop spinner. 

Spinner, yikes. Katsuki makes a mental note to check in with Mezou and Kouji, he'd heard that wasn't an easy sector. None of them fuckin' were, but... maybe he'd shove some okonomiyaki in their faces or something.

The hands warping and growing from ShigAFO's being--what is difficult to call a body--surge forward. There are large hands branching off into smaller ones, individual, grotesque fingers sprouting a ring of five around them, and all matters of touch that are horrifying in some primal, instinctual way. Something no one needs to be taught to fear. 

Someone yells out, "Woah!" as Katsuki is submerged in the waves of flesh. Horrid, unnatural flesh. The owner of the voice becomes clear as Katsuki continues to yell, "What the hell... is this creepy crap?!"

Katsuki still remembers the feel of it. Being covered in it. Several people cry out, echoing the same sentiment he had felt in the moment, though lacking his blind, fucking desperate trust in that got-your-quirk asshole. 'Shit,' essentially. The same kind of tenseness fills the room. Fear. ShigAFO still had them afraid, a bunch of sixteen-year-olds who'd never done a damn thing to him. Katsuki wonders idly if he was proud.

Part of him is vindictive at the obliteration of that thing. Part of him was almost. Almost. Reminded of the feeling of green, putrid sludge. 

Currently, reflecting on the moment and seeing it from an entirely objective, unaltered view. It's similar. It's a near fucking thing. But like hell will he admit he still gives jackshit about something that happened in middle school.

...

Maybe he isn't as 'better' as he thought.

Whatever.

"Phantom Thief!" a voice calls, desperation barely tinging their tone. Nothing unusual, in the situation.

The camera pans to Monoma, tears flowing from his eyes the same way they would Aizawa's.

The sight aches the class slightly. It's so odd, to not see Aizawa in that position of unwavering protection, immovable opposition of those who wished harm on them. It stung almost like grief.

"I'm still staring!" Monoma calls back, his voice breaking slightly but the determined furrow not leaving his eyebrows. "Erasure is still in effect!"

"Is it not a quirk then?" Edgeshot. The camera angles itself to catch the hero, whose glare holds an analytical glint as he stares up at ShigAFO. 

Katsuki feels a bit of grief strangle his lungs. Edgeshot chose to die in his place. He said Katsuki's was not a life they could afford losing, his own apparently the better exchange. It's not his fault. Everyone would say it's not his fault. Logically, this is not his responsibility. It's not like he tried to kill himself. And what good does self-blame even do?

Stop tuning the fuck out idiot. You wanted to watch this shit. Watch.

He's distracting himself. He doesn't want to hear ShigAFO's leering voice again. 

"...Just my body on its own," he continues to gloat in a mockingly casual tone. "The same way my hair...or nails grow longer. The body must adapt to ever-evolving quirks. This new form that humanity acquires...is the next step for a super-powered society...in line with the singularity proposed by Garaki." As he speaks, he poises himself in the air, crouching, maneuvering his mutated hand as if it's a club; a weapon of his choosing rather than a physical attachment to his body. In the same few moments, his voice twists into something almost shaky. His tone rattles in a way that could in no universe be construed as fear or uncertainty.

"This is so fucking nasty, I'm not even gonna lie," Hanta blurts. 

It lightens the atmosphere slightly.

"You're so right man. I did not need the mental image of all his creepy ass fingers with press-on nails and extensions," Eijirou chips in, shivering dramatically as they talk over ShigAFO's further denouncement of hero society.

Mina cries out, scandalized at the sentiment. "I can't imagine being the poor nail artist! And he probably wouldn't even tip well!"

Shoto nods, wisely. "I can't imagine he would fit in a normal doorway, either..." 

Katsuki huffs. Idiots. (His)

Mirko's simplistic prosthetic digs into the ground beside her flesh foot as she skids back. "I need some spares!" she yells, sliding by a box risen from the ground and nabbing what looks like a piece of heavy weaponry from it. "Dynamighty! We formed this team for this fight, so get your act together!" she calls over her shoulder.

Katsuki, though he's tried to be less temperamental, still feels a tick of petty annoyance rewatching it. She could at least get his hero name right if she wanted to scold him like a child! Still, embarrassment won out over indignance as he watched himself stomp into frame, entirely not serious enough for the situation. He feels a stupid heat rush to his face and ears, ducking his head slightly so he doesn't have to face his own childishness.

"The name's Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight!! And you got a lotta nerve lecturing me!"

God, who the fuck did he think he was, talking to a top fucking five pro like that?! He genuinely admires Mirko, a hell of a lot more than some other pros regardless of rank, but his stupid coverup ego for his stupid inferiority complex the therapist he still can't remember the name of likes to bring up all the damn time. The asshole should wear a fucking nametag or something, because he isn't even intentionally being a dick. He cannot remember the shrink's name. Or what they fucking look like, at all, apparently, aside from those distracting antennae.

Alright Bakugo. You've done plenty of deflecting, are you ready to address the problem now? their annoying voice echoes in the back of his head. Fuck this, the therapist is haunting more than just his nightmares now!

He's going to fucking face this shit. He's not a coward. 

Good. Try to distance yourself from the--negative thoughts. He had been very vehement in not using the term 'self-hatred'. It was petty, and he knows he's going to be forced to dissect exactly why at some point, but for now he can distance himself from those thoughts too. He imagines all the shitty things he things about himself as a bunch of complaints, printed on letter-sized paper and organized in neat filing cabinets, but otherwise insignificant. Nothing more than paper. Then he imagines himself doing Izuku's weird fucking bunny-hop things backwards, away from the stupid fucking filing cabinets and all the nonsensical bullshit they had to say about him. It feels fucking ridiculous to bunny-fucking-hop away from this stupid shit, which is kind of the point. It's all silly, trivial stuff. Not anything he needs to be sucked into his own head about, fuck this.

He's listening with half an ear when he catches his and Mirko's--Rumi, she told him Rumi was fine--snap at Jeanist (He refuses to call his mentor Tsunagu. It feels gooey and far too informal for his mentor. He's purposefully dodged that point of conversation in therapy for a while. He'll figure it the fuck out himself first.)

"You want some too?!" Katsuki and Mirko yell, snapping their heads up with almost identical expressions.

"Your reply ought to be 'sure'!" Jeanist snarks back, appearing thoroughly tired with the duo already. 

The small exchange, though Katsuki pulls away from himself enough to notice their were already fond smiles curling his classmates' lips, is enough to drag another round of hearty laughter and teasing from the class as there's a lull in the footage. The camera scans the battlefield, but its passing over ShigAFO sombers the class quickly. It's over, yes. But would the tension that lines their shoulders at the implication of the second war and all it came with ever leave them be? Unlikely, at least any time soon. 

The camera pans to Monoma, whose voice is frantic. Aizawa is kneeled next to the chair Monoma is seated in, a hand clasped over the teenager's in support. "Sensei, I swear I'm doing it right!" he pleads. "I haven't slipped up in any way!" The angle of the camera doesn't reveal the exact movement of his eyes, but he's leaned forward, obviously searching for some nonexistent flaw.

Ochako, in reach of the remote, grabs it to pause quickly. Almost everyone startles, most eyes snapping to her after a moment to realize what happened. 

"Sorry guys," she starts, gnawing carefully at her lip. "I just.. felt like that was an important place to stop."

Tsuyu is the first on the case, Mina close behind, sliding to the floor next to Ochako and Tsuyu. "Anything stick out?" Tsuyu asks, voice even as typical.

"I just," she flusters momentarily, waving her hands around wordlessly. Katsuki kind of gets it, but not really. Watching Monoma, who a lot of the battle, looking back, hinged on, so panicked that something had slipped his control on a quirk he barely had a handle on that would cost lives was. Off. He wasn't sure what it was about it. But something about that felt wrong. "He's, like, a kid. And we are too," Ochako rushes to add, flipping her hands through the air again. "Like, he looks like some kid I'd see at the mall on a Friday afternoon playing with the huge chess set, yet he's sitting there, stressed out of his mind that he's going to be blamed for costing lives. I just, I guess I'm trying to have my little therapist moment, but it was really fucked that we had to do that and just, I don't know, move on. Like, I understand we were out of options, but it feels so bizarre to be able to say that I became a war veteran at fifteen. Or that all my friends are vets too."

She huffs softly, somewhat incredulous. "I don't know. Felt important to point out that Monoma shouldn't have had that pressure on him. None of us should've."

"Is there, like, a secret, second therapy that I don't know about?" Rikido asks, blinking. 

That gets a laugh from Kouji, who hasn't really been as outwardly reactionary this whole time. 

"I'm genuinely wondering, Ochabro!" Eijirou says in his obnoxiously upbeat, genuine tones. "That was really touching and well thought out!"

Ochako blushes at the praise, waving it off with a comment that she was just thinking out loud. Mina loudly declares that she has the nicest and smartest friends in the world, shoving her head into Ochako's lap, who readjusts without protest. Tsuyu just leans on the girl's shoulder, probably sucking up her body heat like the little leechy amphibian she is. 

"Sorry to have interrupted. I'll unpause it now," she continues sheepishly, reclaiming the remote and unpausing the broadcast. Katsuki valiantly pretends the return of the buzzing of battle constantly in the background doesn't make him queasy. He deludes himself into thinking he isn't already missing the brief respite (and insight) Ochako's commentary had provided. 

"I know that! You're good!" Aizawa reassures him, hand going just barely white to signify a squeeze.

The class untenses slightly. Aizawa was always there, that unfazed protection and support, even if not directly with combat. He was holding Monoma's hand, and reassuring him he was doing all he could do.

"Y'know, I'm not his number one fan, but maybe we should invite the dude over sometime. Shit sucked majorly, and not a lot of his classmates understand it the way we do," Kyouka suggests, the lazy drawl in her voice signifying she isn't joking but wouldn't fight being shot down.

Shockingly, Eijirou is the first to agree. He has a huge grudge against Monoma, for whatever reason, but he says, "Yeah, I hate his guts, but it helps a lot to be surrounded by people who can empathize firsthand with being in such a shitty situation."

A couple more agreements spray through the room, and the lack of objections basically make it unanimous. Plus, Hitoshi was friends with the guy, so he could save them from any awkward tension Kendou would normal fix, being his self-assigned babysitter.

"Eraser!" someone yells from out of frame. The camera turns, but the view of the person is obscured by the metal structure, hiding their face. It's not a voice anyone immediately recognizes. "Midoriya's making contact!"

The angle snaps back to Aizawa and Monoma, Aizawa speaking frantically into his earpiece. "Midoriya?!"

Monoma, in the back, stumbles out a nervous, "Damnit, Class A! What're you doing?!"

"Where are you?!" Aizawa continues, voice genuinely, openly, worried. His face displays the same.

"If I wasn't so high on adrenaline at the time," Izuku admits, "I probably would've pissed myself hearing Aizawa sound that worried."

A krakl, kzt, kzt, is heard as the buzz of Midoriya's voice presumably filters through the earpiece. 

Though the camera wasn't privy to Midoriya's words, the other heroes were. "We have to warp Midoriya back to us!" It's Tamaki, eyes locked onto Edgeshot, who replies cooly.

"No, we can't. Monoma can only activate one copied quirk at a time. Switching from Erasure to Warp Gate to retrieve Midoriya would take around ten seconds..."

"Eraser!" Jeanists's voice cuts in, finger raised and eyes deadly. "You've realized it, haven't you?! Those innumerable...growing, spreading hands...if all of them are capable of activating his Decay...then the moment Erasure is undone...we're finished."

Can they just not have joy?

"I understand that fear is just about the opposite of rational thought," Momo says quietly, nothing more than a whisper necessary with the pin-drop silence of dread blanketing them all. "But we must remind ourselves that victory was attained. This is something that is better to face, that I am relieved to be facing with you all here together, but we must not let the fear of what was suffocate what is."

"Extra fucking therapy, I swear on it..." Rikido mumbles, shaking his head slightly and swiping a hand over the back of his neck.

"I believe," Tenya says with a proud smile, "Momo is simply that good of a leader for us on her own natural empathy and intuition."

Similarly to Ochako, Momo waves off the praise with some embarrassment. She's collected herself from the flaming trash heap of no self-worth she was at the start of the year, but could none of these fuckers (he refuses to acknowledge they are no longer extras to him) just take a damn complement and get a fucking ego?

Katsuki sighs heavily as the camera pans back to Monoma and Aizawa.

Monoma has an honest-to-god pout on his face, tears flying up with his hair like he just got told his mother died. 

"Midoriya," Aizawa's voice returns. Firm and apathetic again. "Sorry, but you've got to make it here on your own."

"Until then," Jeanist says, standing tall and proud at the front of his little unit, hand flexed out and tensed for battle, Mirko perched like a demon on a swinging rope, Edgeshot to his left, Tamaki and Katsuki poised menacingly to his right, and Nejire taking up the rear already charged up. They have an intimidating aura about them. Not particularly one of power, though they are obviously not weak. They stand ready to die. Conviction emanates stronger than any intimidation they could have tried. "...we must strive for victory without One for All!!"

"Hell yeah!!" they cheer, sans Tamaki, who goes;

"Sure, Jeanist..." before correcting himself even more glumly than typical, "I mean, hell yeah..."

Katsuki finds it in himself to snort. "He sounds even less fucking enthusiastic in person," he gripes lightheartedly. Suneater has his respect.

Denki shoots him a desperate, withering look. "More miserable? How do you get less enthusiastic that that..??" he despairs, gripping his hair dramatically.

"We'll never know," Shoto commiserates entirely apathetically, shaking his head as though he'd ever felt enthusiasm in his life.

Denki falls to his knees.

Chapter Text

Okay! So this was going to be 353 - endeavor. howev3er, my computer is a PUNK ASS MOTHERFUCKING BITCH, and decided to stop fucking working and UPDATE WITHOUT ASKING ME, right as i was about to click save as draft on the FINISHED FUCKING CHAPTER with a whole extra bonding scene of hitoshi&katsuki and some introspection and the class haVING LUNCH AND it all fucking deleted. a whole two hours of my fucking time, wasted. nOW, THE THING WITH 353 IS THERE IS LITERALLY ONE PANEL OF INSIDE FLOATING UA, WHERE KATSUKI SAYS 'I NEVER EXPECTED ANYTHING LESS OF YOU...todoroki' I AM NOW CHOOSING TO SKIP OVER THIS CHAPTER. FUCK FAMILY FEELS. IM NOT WRITING THAT BULLSHIT ALL OVER AGAIN JUST TO HAVE MY CENTURIES OLD FUCKING LAPTOP SHUT DOWN BEFORE I CAN SAVE IT. IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY FIGURED IT OUT, PLEASE FORGIVE THE WHACK ASS FUCKING FORMATTING. THIS LAPTOP IS OLDER THAN I AM. I SHOULD HAVE THE NEXT REAL CHAPTER OUT SOON AND I'LL PROBABLY KEEP THIS UP SO PEOPLE UNDERSTAND WHY I SKIPPED THAT. SOMEONE FUCKING KILL ME RIGHT NOW. ALSO I CANT TURN OFF CAPSLOCK IM SORRY. 

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Chapter Text

"I never expected any less of you... Todoroki," Katsuki said with a too-wide grin on his face.

Shoto had snickered, thanking Katsuki smugly for the vote of confidence. Katsuki huffed and turned away, self-conscious of such unabashed praise of his peers. It was out of character, at least his character in class.

They had taken a break after that, by Tenya's suggestion, to eat lunch. An unsaid knowledge hung in the air despite the lighthearted atmosphere curated for lunch, that things were only going to get worse. 

Katsuki couldn't summon his voice from the depths of his throat, having exhausted it all calling everyone for lunch over their ruckus. He hides around Hitoshi most of the time, the boy understanding wordlessly Katsuki's need to see but not interact with his classmates'... mostly genuine exuberance.

During this time, Katsuki can't stop glancing at Kyouka. He doesn't actually want to stare rudely, understanding first-hand how squeamish people staring at his mutilated parts makes him, but her missing ear is more noticeable than ever. He doesn't know the details of her fight, but he knows something gruesome happened to result in her coming back to school half her power short. God, it's like those villains did it on purpose--making them lose half of themselves. 

(All of it, Katsuki reminds himself. Izuku lost all of it.)

He wonders if she wishes she could rewatch her battle with All for One. If she feels victorious, proud of how it went down, even if she didn't secure absolute victory. He wonders if she would be ashamed, knowing the entire world could at any point rewatch (poke fun at, he had seen the jokes people made, Shigaraki's foot in his hair, how he was below--) her humiliation by the enemy.

Kyouka is the most punk girl Katsuki knows. She probably took her ear being sliced off with grace and fucking fury.

She didn't die.

Katsuki tears his eye away from the patch of hair he knows covers nothing, ignores the movement of her left hand tucking hair back only for it to fall forward because there's nothing to tuck it behind, pretends he doesn't notice how uneven she looks with only one ear jack hanging down.

They've all gotten so good at pretending.

It's too short a time until they've run out of excuses to stall. He notices the way everyone sends furtive glances at him, trying to see how much more they can get away with to give him just a bit longer of a break, will he call them out on a spill? Izuku gets much the same looks, despite sending Katsuki those looks himself.

Because Izuku knows, and they don't know what Izuku knows, and it makes Katsuki feel sick.

Katsuki settles for using Hitoshi as a genuine body-shielding, hunching in on himself to hide away from view and unsubtle glances.

It's Rikido who sighs worriedly, relenting. "I think we should get back to watching, everyone," he says solemnly. "We want to finish this before dinner, probably." 

"Probably won't have an appetite," Katsuki scoffs under his breath. Hitoshi side-eyes him. Katsuki pretends he doesn't see.

Tenya and Momo, reluctantly, agree, corralling everyone back to the TV.

Ochako hands the remote off to Katsuki, who feels like he really shouldn't be in control of this. It's too tempting. Now he has the power to flick it off, no explanation needed, and hide away in his room for the rest of his life. He needs to do this, but he really, really, doesn't want to. He doesn't voice any of this, setting the remote down at his side gently after unpausing and clenching his hand into a white fist, his nails biting into his palms.

He's fucking fine.

"So, all you can do is flee?!" ShigAFO's voice taunts, his face splitting with a smile.

Rmb, rmb, rmb, rmb. He rides his own amalgamation of hands like Shoto wields his ice, a horrid mimicry of a surfer enjoying good waves.

The camera pans to Tamaki's horrified face, his eyebrows creased harshly and his teeth grit in fear. The hands rush toward him, and he's helpless but to release a cry as they flip him away. 

Nejire cries out to him, panicked. "Suneater!!"

Her drills rain onto the curling abomination ShigAFO controls, her face set into determined focus as rubble flies past her with a flik, flik, flik, wsh.

VWAA, the hands rush forward again, sweeping Nejire away very similarly to her comrade. "Ugh!" she yells, jerking herself out of the path of vengance.

"Shit," Eijirou mutters. "That crap is shooing them off like nothing. You're amazing to have faced that, guys!" He turns to Izuku and Katsuki with a thumbs up, his brilliant smile uncomfortably plastic. 

Izuku returns a lopsided smile, just as fake. "Thanks. Everyone fought and worked hard, then."

Katsuki turns away.

"Stay on your toes!" Jeanist warns, flying forward on string. "We have to keep moving!!" Mirko shoots forward, a hand reaching down to propel herself upwards off the flying mass coming towards her. Jeanist is briefly knocked away from his string, crying out, "Lest he swallow us up!!" He sends the edge of his rope to wrap around Katsuki's gauntlet, jerking him away from where he was about to be 'swallowed up'. 

A unanimous breath of relief escapes the room as Jeanist tugs Katsuki away from the heart of it, however brief that respite is. 

"Continue to evade, and target his core!!"

Edgeshot follows Jeanist's advice, thinning himself to a wisp and puncturing in and out of the hands, weaving through like needle and thread. "The surging hands are surely a massive threat," he explains, "but in exchange, he's forsaken that mobility reminiscent of All Might's!"

Finally, as he completes his PULP-THREAD THROTTLE, Edgeshot shoots away, reforming his body as the mass of hands is shredded to pieces behind him.

"Man," Mashirao admires. "Edgeshot is incredible."

"He asserts that this is not the doing of quirks, but rather  simple growth?" Edgeshot asks, returning to his thinnest form. "A dubious claim."

ShigAFO is quick to speak over him, still riding atop his own hand(s) like some absurdist's nightmare beachgoer. "The more the All for One quirk takes root inside me... the more my body adapts to the legion of stockpiled quirks within, along with various environmental factors. My body is searching... groping around for its ideal form," he explains snidely, his voice the leer of the devil. "Do you understand, Shinya Kamihara?"

"With this body, and this power..." He holds up a hand, splaying it open. The angle of the camera makes it look almost like he's cradling the far-off mountains. "All...will come to rest in the palm of my hand. Giving rise...to a world of my own, or one beyond me entirely."

He begins to rant, his tone liquidizing into venom, a poison slipped into your drink that's so putrid you choke as it slides down your throat. "Appearance, form, function... For a world split beyond any hope of a status quo...all that awaits is schism and destruction. These massive disparities...give rise to incomprehension. And that lack of understanding, in turn..." The camera, suddenly, flips to Katsuki, shoved aside by another rushing attack. His eyes are narrowed, glaring at ShigAFO's rambling. "...leads to dread and rejection. That's the present state of the world, no?" A flip back to ShigAFO's face as he speaks. "But under my rule, all will be united as the exploited class! All will be equal! Don't heroes yearn for world peace? Is it that hard to imagine actually taking a step toward that?!"

Izuku speaks up, quietly. "As fucked up as the way he was going about it was..." he acknowledges, "Shigaraki really only wanted to be a hero for the villains. All for One twisted that compassion into what he became."

It's a nasty truth, and Katsuki snarls in the privacy of his own mind, vindictively glad he stayed standing to watch All for One's demise. He had been so pathetic then, reduced to an incapable infant... Katsuki sometimes wonders what that powerlessness felt like to All for One. Because Katsuki understands the feeling of being helpless; but to be something so untouchable reduced to that... he hopes it felt like fucking shit, for all the grief All for One had wrought on the world.

RMMBBL, the arena cries as another rush of hands attacks Katsuki. He jumps atop it, pushing himself off and avoiding being swept away. "Look," he yells, loud and clear through the recording. "I dunno if that's Shigaraki or All for One droning on right now..."

He hunches over, his mouth tucked behind the high collar of his costume and a nasty look in his eyes. From his shoulders, a KREEE sounds as artillery emerges from the metal guards. Kashnk, kashnk, it goes as massive guns reveal themselves; a tool gifted by the support course. "...but either way, listening to it makes me wanna puke," he declares.

"Ever since Kamino! Nothing but yap, yap, yap!!"

Katsuki sighs at that, deflating. He isn't really much but hot air either. That fucking villain had done well to remind him. He didn't really defeat All for One. He isn't really anywhere close to the level Izuku had managed to surpass so quickly. He isn't really anything more than a scared little kid, looking around for someone to rely on and declaring through tears that he never cries.

It makes him fucking sick to remember, because now everyone else will know too.

Not to mention the stupid sappy shit he remembers spewing right after this. His face burns already, the tips of his ears going pink in dread.

SUPPRESSIVE HEAVY MOBILE UNIT: STRAFE PANZER flashes over the screen.

"Is it edited?" Tenya asks, expression scrunched. "I thought this was the original livestream."

"I think those business course students had someone pasting captions on the stream as they were recording," Momo recalls thoughtfully. "This is probably going to happen again on occasion."

Denki snorts. "Makes Katsuki look like some kind of action protagonist though, cool as hell."

"Tch," he scoffs. "I'm way fuckin' cooler than some lameass manga protag." The sentiment fills his chest with that gooey warm feeling anyway.

"Hope you're ready...to be swiss cheese!!"

Some asshole has the audacity to fucking snort. "That's the best you could come up with? Man, your one-liners are as bad as Shit for One's," Kyouka jabs lightheartedly. Katsuki guffaws, kicking her shoulders and jolting her forward in retaliation. 

"Asshole.." he mutters, not meaning it at all. 

"Gotta destroy his real body!!" Katsuki yells over the sounding BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM of his explosions. "All of us,  together!!"

The camera zooms to Mirko's face as she dashes forward, the lines of her body blurring slightly with speed. "What?" she scoffs. "As a team?!"

"While Monoma and Sensei have still got his quirks locked down with Erasure..." he mutters, likely only audible to the recording over the cacophony of battle. "While Kaminari's team...is still keeping this arena powered up! While Yaoyorozu and the rest...are still replacing the ground to stand on!"  

Katsuki falls silent. The focus turns to his eyes, cut so close that only the top half of his face is visible.

"It's so sweet that you were thinking of us, man!" Denki yells, grinning. Momo concurs much more sedately, resting a hand on Katsuki's shoulder briefly from where she's standing behind the couch.

"You wanna talk about some big disparity? Lack of understanding? Dread?" He whirls around, jetted by his explosions. "Guess what- I've long since taken all that crap to heart."

"Huh?" Hitoshi blurts. "You're agreeing?"

Katsuki grits his teeth. That whole dumb, sappy speech feels all the more damning now. He really loves to make himself look stupid, huh? "Just wait ten seconds, damn. I wouldn't just agree with his dumbass ideals. Why do you think he threw a tantrum and fucked up my face?"

The attempt at a joke falls flat, likely thanks to his unwavering gruff tone. Denki doesn't even snort. Katsuki huffs sharply, even more embarrassed, and ducks his head. "Whatever," he scoffs, praying they'll just magically forget everything they're going to see today.

A large explosion goes off, enveloping Katsuki. With pin-prick pupils, Jeanist calls out to him, "Bakugou!"

"And I've seen..." he continues, emerging fine. "...a real step toward progress, with all that."

"It might take time, but some people I know are trying...to push forward. Thanks anyway, but...you can shove your sermon...ya nutsack-faced handy-man!!"

Hanta chokes on a laugh, then bursts into tears. Mina, Denki, and Eijirou are quick to follow. Then Ochako, then Tsuyu, then Kouji and Mezou and Rikido. Kyouka is silent, but Katsuki notices her shoulders hitch. Tenya's eyes go misty, and he can hear Momo hiccupping behind him. Toru wails loudly, in her typical fashion. Mashirao sniffles, his eyes burning into the floor. Hitoshi turns his eyes away, knowing he's not really included but tearing up because fifteen other people are crying. Shouto makes a small 'tch' sound, his hair falling to cover his eyes. Fumikage mirrors this, though only closes his eyes rather than them being covered.

"That's," Izuku says, his voice shaking. "That's so sweet of you, Kacchan. Like, really. Even--" his breath hitches on a sob-laugh, and he buries the heels of his palms in his eyes. "--even with that, that particular way to wrap it up."

Katsuki harshly bites into the inside of his cheek, trying valiantly to stop from mimicking these stupid idiots crying over him saying a couple nice things about them. "Yeah, whatever." God, he can't raise his voice for shit. He knows it'll crack and he'll break and he won't--he won't be able to keep going after that. He feels sick. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to see, he doesn't need to grieve it properly, he needs to shove it farther down and never think about any of it ever again and remember what being happy feels like.

He'll do it anyway, won't he.

"Stop sulking and unpause the damn video," he barks, suddenly unable to recall it being paused in the first place. People are still sniffling, but the screen continues to move, a spinning, saturated tale of demise.

"Great Explosion Murder God...Dynamight!!" Jeanist yells.

Katsuki's face flushes. He used my whole, stupid hero name! It's a childish happiness, and he shoves it down as far as he can.

HOWITZER IMPACT: the screen shows. CLUSTER!