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Katsuki doesn’t see Todoroki fall and therein lies the problem.
Because Katsuki’s made it a habit of watching Todoroki, keeping an eye on him so to spe. Todoroki’s clumsy, and he’s accident prone. Or, perhaps it’s more so the fact that for a good while, it seemed like everyone was out to get him.
His awful father, his brother, any random villain of the week.
It’s only natural that Katsuki became protective of him after all that.
Their friends call it Todoroki’s “scary dog privileges”, Katsuki doesn’t know what the fuck that means.
He’s justified in his protectiveness because the one time he looks away from the fucker he’s going down hard.
They’re stationed at opposing ends of the city sector before the skirmish starts and he only just catches brief glances of red and white hair, fire and ice in harmony, about a hundred yards down from where he deals with his own villain.
Some wannabe with a mohawk made of fire because he can apparently only produce it from the top of his head.
It’s lame as fuck.
He doesn’t even think Todoroki would look good with one.
(It’s a lie. He probably would.)
He’s just barely got the handcuffs on the guy before a shot’s ringing out, reverberating down the street and echoing in the way only a gunshot can.
“Shot’s fired!” is parroted over the comms from every fucker on the field except–
Todoroki.
Katsuki leaves the villain facedown on the ground.
Todoroki’s collapsed onto his hands and knees in the road, head bent low enough that his forehead rests on the asphalt. He doesn’t so much as look up as Katsuki approaches and doesn’t so much as flinch when Katsuki kneels beside him, his knee pads the only thing keeping him from busting his skin open in his descent.
It’s when Katsuki brushes his hand across his shoulder blades does Todoroki jerk his head up and Katsuki’s able to see the raw fear in his eyes.
It’s then he notices the blood that seeps around his hand that’s pressed to his abdomen, already staining through the fabric of his suit and wetting his palms.
A gun lies abandoned just feet away but the shooter is nowhere to be seen.
“Quirk suppressing bullet,” Todoroki grits out as Katsuki lowers him onto his back, teeth clenched so hard the muscles in his jaw twitch. “Either the bullet kills you or the lack of a quirk on the battlefield does.”
He says it matter-of-factly, like he’s planning on–
“Shut up,” Katsuki hisses vehemently, both to Todoroki and the voice in his head, hands shaky but steady as he unzips Todoroki’s jumpsuit. “You’re not dying. Not today.”
“Didn’t say I was,” Todoroki deadpans, wincing when Katsuki has to rip part of his suit to get to the bullet wound.
He’d just gotten the thing dry cleaned.
“-was just explaining–” He continues, not minding the blood that fills his mouth with every word spoken and dribbles down the sides of his face.
“No more explaining!” Katsuki cuts him off, eyes anxiously flitting between Todoroki’s face and the hole in his side.
It’s bad.
The bullet’s gone, dissolved once it entered his body like all the quirk suppressing bullets do, and he’s bleeding freely enough for it to be concerning.
And Katsuki has nothing to stem the flow.
It’s the next flicker of his eyes up to Todoroki’s face does he realize his eyes have shuttered.
“Hey, hey–Todoroki! Stay with me!” Grabbing his chin with one bloodied hand, Katsuki taps against his cheeks, urging his eyes open. Blearily, Todoroki looks up at him and his eyebrows furrow in the way they do when he’s concentrating. “That’s it. I need you to stay awake, can you do that?”
“For you?” Shouto mumbles, blinking once before nodding his head, the blood from Katsuki’s fingertips smearing heedlessly.
“Yeah, for me.” Katsuki refuses to acknowledge how that makes his heart stutter. “If you die here, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Thought you said I wasn’t dying.” Todoroki says, and he’s slurring now.
“You’re not!” Katsuki says, squeezing his cheeks until Todoroki glares at him in annoyance.
“You don’t seem so sure, anymore.” And it would be funny, the way the words are pouted out through pursed lips, but the lips are bloody and his eyes are heavy.
Blood pools around Katsuki’s clenched hands and puddles beneath them, soaking into the knees of his pants and painting Todoroki a deep red.
“It’s not stopping, is it?” Todoroki asks when Katsuki’s been quiet for a moment too long. When Katsuki doesn’t say anything, he continues. “I can feel how much I’m losing.”
“You’re gonna be fucking fine–” His hands are so shaky, Todoroki’s skin so slick with blood, that his hand continues to slip from where it attempts to staunch the bleeding. “Where the fuck are the medics–”
“Bakugou,” Todoroki’s eyes are startlingly clear and he’s the most lucid he’s been since Katsuki got to him. “You need to stop the bleeding.”
“No shit,” Todoroki huffs in amusement at that. “I’m fucking trying–”
“Not like that. You need to cauterize the wound.”
“With what? In case you forgot, your quirk is down–”
“Not with my quirk,” Todoroki pauses, waiting to see if Katsuki gets it. He doesn't want to. “with yours.”
His hands slip on the wound again.
There’s so much blood.
When he finds his voice, it cracks on the first word and breaks on the last.
“I can’t do that. Todoroki, you–I can’t do that.”
“Bakugou,” Todoroki says his name gently, as if Katsuki’s the one in need of comforting, and when he tries to smile, it’s a small, sad thing. “I think you might have to.”
Todoroki hasn’t smiled like that in years.
And it’s then that Katsuki realizes Shouto’s lips are blue.
“Fuck. FUCK!”
He’s ripping his gloves off with his teeth before he can psych himself out of this.
“I’m not good with temperature precision,” Katsuki rambles and he can taste Todoroki's blood on his tongue. “I might end up hurting you worse–”
“I trust you.” Todoroki interrupts him easily, as if it’s as simple as that.
And maybe it is.
Pinching the wound closed with one hand, Katsuki watches Todoroki as he brings his other hand to cover the still bleeding injury. He cups the gentle curve of Todoroki’s hip, hand resting like a lover’s, and the touch is so intimate he wishes it would have occurred at any other time.
“I’m sorry, Shouto.” He whispers, allowing himself the vulnerability of a given name.
“Don’t be.” Todoroki croaks, and he brushes his fingers against Katsuki’s.
Katsuki can see the exact moment the pain starts to kick in. He has to warm his quirk up from zero –slowly– not knowing at what temperature exactly it’s going to do the job, and not wanting to push farther than that.
Shouto’s pale face takes on a flush and his hairline beads with sweat as the heat starts to hit him. It’s when he closes his eyes in pain, gritting his teeth, does Katsuki wish he gave him something to bite down on.
“It’s going to have to be hotter than that,” Todoroki tells him through bated breaths. The blood on his hands mixing with the blood on Katsuki’s own. Todoroki’s blood. “At least 150 celsius.”
“Fuck, okay. Just–tell me if it gets too much.” He says, and they both know Shouto won’t.
His quirk heats up and his blood runs cold.
Todoroki grabs onto his wrist and squeezes, long fingers leaving pale marks as he grapples for something corporal.
“I’ve got you.” Katsuki promises and he doesn’t know if it’s sweat or tears on his face right now but his vision blurs before every blink and all he can see is Todoroki suffering at his hand.
He can feel the wound closing beneath his palm and he bites back a gag at both the sensation and the smell of burning flesh.
“You’re okay,” Katsuki reassures, not knowing if it’s for Todoroki’s sake or his own, not allowing himself to look away from the agony on Todoroki’s face.
He won’t leave him alone in this.
Todoroki’s eyes close and Katsuki wills his quirk hotter.
The relief is so immense when he feels the wound finally, finally, start to close that when it closes completely, he almost throws himself entirely atop Shouto in his haste to get him to open those mismatched eyes again.
“Shouto, Shouto!” Patting at his cheek, Shouto’s face is streaked with blood, Katsuki’s with tears, and still he does not open his eyes.
“No, no, no–Shouto! Shou, please–” Shoving two fingers under his jaw, his hands slips before finding his pulse point and he holds his breath to feel better.
“‘m fine,” Shouto mumbles, still not opening his eyes. His eyebrows furrow and he squirms away from where Katsuki’s fingers press deeply into his skin. “Just resting.”
“You fucking–” Katsuki’s hysterical, he knows he is, but he can’t help the laughter that bursts from him as he grabs Shouto’s face in both hands and presses their foreheads together. The blood makes their skin tacky and Shouto winces at the slightest movement but he blinks open his eyes and they’re close enough that the tears Katsuki sheds don’t hinder his vision.
He’s all he can see.
And he’s alive.
“You’re crying,” Shouto lugs a hand upward before the movement deems to be too much and it falls heavily into Katsuki’s waiting hand that moved to catch it. He says the words like they’re a surprise, like he didn’t just almost die.
“No shit, I wonder why.” Sniffling indignantly, Katsuki leans back onto his heels and scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes. At Shouto’s confused expression, he huffs. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Shouto looks mournful when he opens his mouth next so Katsuki takes it upon himself to interrupt him with a “if you apologize I’m gonna kill you” and when Shouto doesn’t say anything after that, he feels vindicated.
It’s only after the medical team gets there does Katsuki pull his eyes away from Shouto.
They deny him access into the ambulance, something about the lack of room, and Katsuki might have argued any other day. Telling some nurse to get the fuck out but today he just steps back and watches them go.
Shouto’s alive.
He drops his face into his hands and breathes.
The gun is taken in as evidence but Katsuki knows it’s not likely they’ll actually find the fucker who did this.
The drive back to their apartment is silent. He showers only because he’s got Shouto’s blood in his hair and he watches the stream of water until it runs clear.
He scrubs under his nails hard enough until he’s not sure if the blood is his or Shouto’s.
The stillness of their home hits him fully after he’s clean, the white noise of the shower no longer there. He packs Shouto an overnight bag in silence. He packs himself one too. Shouto is everywhere; the color of the walls that they probably shouldn’t have painted but did, the throw blanket over the back of the couch, his bed’s a mess and he’s stolen one of Katsuki’s pillows and he has a photo of their class on his dresser.
He has a photo of Katsuki on his bedside table.
Shouto is everywhere he should be and yet he is not.
Even when Shouto’s there and not speaking, his presence is so loud that Katsuki hasn’t really been alone in years.
And he almost lost that all today.
If he goes five over the speed limit the entire way to the hospital, that’s between him and his car and inevitably Shouto when he tells him about it later.
Shouto’s awake when he arrives and he kicks himself for not going faster.
“I’m sorry I asked you to do that,” Shouto tells him as soon as he enters the hospital room and it makes him ache because he’s not even looking at him. He’s staring at the IV inserted into the back of and when he raises his eyes to meet Katsuki’s, they’re rimmed red. “I know how hard that must’ve been for you.”
Fucker didn’t even give him a chance to get comfortable before apologizing needlessly.
“Hard for me?” Katsuki scoffs and the lump in his throat only grows with each passing word. He walks until he’s standing beside the bed and doesn’t move, even when Shouto pats the space next to him. “You’re the one that almost died. That had your side cauterized with no relief
“It didn’t hurt,” The liar says. “You could never hurt me.”
“Fucking sap,” Katsuki mumbles, denying even to himself the heat that presses up against the backs of his eyes. “Scoot over.”
Shouto physically can’t, wrapped in bandage upon bandage and wire upon wire, but Katsuki can’t well slip into the too small hospital bed beside him too eagerly.
Still, Shouto makes a show of moving not one centimeter over and lifting an arm in invitation.
Which Katsuki accepts.
His head finds the same pillow Shouto uses and he lays on his side, facing him. Shouto turns his head until they’re practically nose to nose and Katsuki lays a hand over the bandages on Shouto’s abdomen.
Right over the bandages.
Right over the blood.
Shouto’s hand finds his and Katsuki is blanketed in his warmth.
“They said the only reason I survived is you,” Shouto's voice is soft, not allowing it to rise above a whisper. “Thank you, Katsuki.”
Katsuki swallows and Shouto’s eyes track the movement of his adam’s apple.
“You told me you trusted me.” Katsuki croaks, blinking hard.
“I do.” Shouto strokes a hand through Katsuki’s still damp blond strands and dries them, his quirk functioning properly now. "There's no one I trust more than you.”
“I almost lost you today.” Katsuki’s crying now.
“I’m sorry.” Shouto whispers mournfully.
“I really wanna fucking kiss you right now.” Katsuki confesses through tears and manages to blink just in time to see Shouto flush.
“Do it.”
Shouto tastes like blood and asphalt and hospital.
And it’s not even gross because it’s Shouto.
“If you–” Katsuki mumbles into Shouto’s mouth “-ever-” and nips at his bottom lip “--make me do that again, I’m gonna kill you.”
“That’s counterproductive,” Shouto whinges, biting Katsuki right back. “Saving my life just to kill me.”
“You’ll live.” Katsuki admonishes and kisses him until all he tastes like is Katsuki.