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Bakugou and Ochako forge through muddy water, past the scattered rubble and wreckage of collapsed buildings as they search for any sign of ‘survivors’; the goal for their natural disaster simulation. Periodic controlled aftershocks heighten the sense of reality, sending the duo flying into the water as the earth rocked and trembled underneath them.
With each passing second, Bakugou’s limited patience quickly wears thin but not because of the aftershocks. Instead, with each tremor Ochako would constantly fling herself around him and levitate away any falling rubble, managing to protect him from harm but also increasingly piss him off to no end.
The final straw comes when she suddenly calls out his name and tackles him from behind and out of the way of stray rubble, sending them both splashing into the water.
“Sorry about that,” she giggles, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head as he bobs back to the surface. Her carefree laughter only adds fuel to his fire and he quickly whirls around – teeth grit and fists clenched – to shoot her a seething glare.
“Stop trying to fucking protect me!” He howls.
(He howls for the little boy he was: “Gifted,” they had called him, “he’ll make a fine hero one day.” He had believed them).
“You don’t need to protect me!” He wails.
(He wails for the young man he is: “His attitude is a problem,” they had cursed him, “he may not be fit to be a hero after all.” Fuck them. He would show them. He would show them all.)
“All right?! I don’t need any of your shitty-ass help! Fuck!” He roars.
(He roars for the beast he will become. They are shackles around his neck: his pride and their expectations. He wondered which was heavier. He wondered which would kill him first).
And she looks at him with that wide-eyed gaze that made the blood roar through his veins and his heart slam against his ribcage. But the feeling wasn’t the constant anger he was used to. No — this was different. This was a warmth that soothed, a sweet melody that quieted the tempest that churned within him.
“We’re a team,” she finally says and these three words are enough to unravel him at his seams. His eyes widen, his anger dissipates and his fists uncurl and curl and uncurl again because he can’t understand; he can’t even begin to fathom or grasp what she means. But she explains for him.
“As long as we’re a team,” she picks herself up, water dripping off of her as she rises to her feet, “I’ve got your back.” She shoots him a reassuring smile and extends a hand toward him.
The déjà vu sends him reeling. She really is just like the fucking nerd, he thinks darkly as his eyes dart between her extended hand and her warm smile, but unlike with Midoriya, a part of him strangely wants to believe her words. She was strong, she was fierce, and she was a fighter and the part of him that respected that wanted to think that maybe they could be a team: ready to kick ass, take names, and save the world.
And he hates it.
So he snarls and slaps her hand away, sadness from the rejection briefly flashing in her eyes as hefts himself to his feet.
“Just don’t get in my fucking way,” he mutters and her eyes brighten at his words as he wades through the muddy water and angrily sloshes past her.
“I won’t!” Her voice rings from behind him, full of vigor and determination, and he briefly looks down at his hands again, wondering what would’ve happened if he’d taken her hand; if he had accepted her help.
Perhaps he would’ve been set free.
(— but the boy, the young man, and the beast within him all protest: no, no, no, surely he would’ve just been dragged into her depths.)