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Katsuki wasn’t sure whether to call it luck or a lack thereof when he woke up slumped over the steering wheel, blood dripping down his face, his vision blurred with a steady ache rising behind his eyes.
He shook his head, then stilled quickly when that made everything worse. With a groan, he pushed himself off and slumped back in his seat. His head plopped back against his backrest, which made his stomach swim. A streaking agony ran up and down his spine, and the heaviness of his limbs was quickly morphing into a deep ache.
What. . .
He blinked and brushed blood from his eyes. Green and brown surrounded him in the darkness. Glass was shattered across the console and the hood, which was all but wrapped around the trunk of a large tree. His breath hitched seeing the metal twisted in such a way, like it was nothing but molding clay. A flash of a memory made his vision go white; rain pelting down, tires screeching, his friends screaming—
His friends. Oh, fuck, fuck. . .
He snapped his neck to the right, ignoring the pain it sent racing down his spine. His eyes found a red mop of hair in the passenger side, only Kirishima had been sitting in the backseat between Mina and Sero when they’d left from the movies. He reached for Kaminari, whose body hung limp from his seatbelt, neck hanging forward with blood streaming down his face from a wound Katsuki couldn’t see. The only light he had to go off of was the one remaining headlight, and that too seemed to be fading out quickly, blinking weakly.
He reached over, ignoring the lightning that burst across his stomach, and pressed his fingers to Kaminari’s throat. A faint pulse fluttered against his palms. Relief flooded him, and he twisted around to check on his other friends, which made his vision go white. For a moment, he was weightless, then he blinked his eyes open, hunched to the side with only his seatbelt holding him up. He used Kaminari’s seat to push himself up with a curse. How hard had he hit his head? It didn’t matter. He had to make sure his friends were okay.
Mina was leaning against her door, the metal wrapped around her leg and arm like a mold. Kirishima was all but strewn across her, face pale and slack, and for a moment, Katsuki felt like he couldn’t breathe until he saw the stuttering rise and fall of his best friend’s chest. Sero was hurt the worst; his arm was bent at an angle, and the roof and the wall of the car were completely caved in, effectively pinning him with jagged edges. None seemed to have impaled him badly, but Katsuki could only hope he didn’t wake up thrashing.
He peered at the caved-in roof, and memories began to flood his mind. He remembered his friends laughing and singing as they made their way back from the movies, remembered watching the road like a hawk and not seeing the puddle before it was too late and they were swerving off the road, crashing through the railing and flipping, flipping until. . .
He glanced at the tree wedged into the front of the car.
Fuck.
Okay. Okay, this was bad. He sat back in his seat, blinking black dots from his vision. His limbs felt heavy.
Fuck.
Fuck.
None of the others were awake, but just in case, he tried calling out to them without reply. Maybe unconscious was the best choice for them. Then at least they couldn’t make their wounds worse.
He reached automatically for the center console, where Kaminari’s phone had been charging, only to find the charging port empty except for shards from the windshield. The phone companies couldn’t make good enough chargers these days to withstand some battering? He cursed, shoving blood-soaked hair from his eyes as he squinted around the car, trying to locate the device. He twisted around to peer in the back when pain burst across his stomach, and he cried out.
When he glanced down, that made a whole lot more sense.
Judging by the hole in the door, somewhere in their tumble, a branch or something had punctured the door long enough to tear a deep and jagged wound across his stomach. Blood stained his pants down to the knee, and his seat was soaked through. He raised a shaking hand to the wound, a part of him worried that one wrong movement would send his intestines spilling out. Then again, he’d been twisting around enough already, so it was probably fine.
Fine. Yeah right.
The rest of his torso was in no better shape. His hoodie was in tatters, and thin pieces of wood were lodged through it into his skin, which he didn’t find surprising since they’d rocketed right into the thick woods on the edge of the road. What worried him the most was the thick piece of wood stuck directly under his ribs, and now that he knew it was there, he could feel it through every movement he made. Gritting his teeth, he reached behind his back, and his fingers brushed wood. Yeah. Clean through. The fucker had impaled him.
He let his head fall back and screwed his eyes shut.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Kaminari let out a wheezing breath and a small cough. Katsuki perked up, but Kaminari made no other indication of being awake.
He had to get these guys out. Surely one of them had a phone on them? Kastuki had given each of them a lecture on driving while using their phones after Kirishima sent his mom a message while waiting at the red lights. He’d snatched it away (‘put the damn phone away and drive before I throw you out and run you over myself’) and left Kirishima clutching the wheel with laughter. It had backfired on him with the squad consequently deciding they “only felt safe in his ride” so he became their personal chauffeur.
A lot of good that did for them, huh?
Heat licked across his body, but a deep chill was starting to set in. From the blood loss, maybe. They’d had the heater on to fend off the autumn cool, but that, along with the rest of the damn car, was broken. From the twisted and broken rear-view mirror, Katsuki could make out the road behind them, up a hill. No other cars were around. They’d decided to take the latest show time for the movie, something about Kaminari wanting to prove he wasn’t a bitch and could watch a horror movie past seven pm. He’d spent the entire movie whining and hiding behind Mina’s shoulder while Sero would poke him randomly to spook him.
No cars around, and they were far enough in the ditch for anyone driving by to see them through the rain pelting down and the thick branches of the trees covering them. He’d have to get help to them some other way.
“Alright,” he grumbled, reaching down with stiff limbs and unbuckling his belt. It took a few tries to wrestle over his arm as each movement made his body feel like it was being fed through a meat grinder, but after a few well-placed swear words and long moments of blinking dark spots from his vision, he managed to find himself free.
The next step was the door. The glass was splintered with long lines forking through the entire thing like a spiderweb. The door itself had taken a hit during the tumble. Besides the large hole, there was also a large dent in the middle, and another thick branch had punched through the metal and remained embedded several inches into his leg. As if he needed another place to be bleeding out from. He grit his teeth and pulled his leg free, letting out a string of curses as fire licked down his leg.
Some luck was on his side, because the door opened easily enough, if only needing to be pushed a little harder than normal. The car was tilted down the hill and slightly to the right, but once he got a leg swung outside, the rest was easy.
Holding a hand to the wound on his stomach in case his innards really did decide to fall out, he rose to his feet.
His nose slammed into the ground harshly, and white agony burst across his torso. He threw up, and the butter popcorn he’d stolen from Kirishima when he’d been hiding behind his hands from another jumpscare spilled over the wet earth. The world spun a thousand miles an hour. Surely not even the crash itself had felt this disorienting?
He pressed his hand to the wound on his stomach, and warmth spilled past his palm, and he pressed his hand tighter to the wound. Hot flaps of flesh hung around his fingers, and he pushed himself up. He would have to deal with the wound himself, but at least the piece of wood impaling him would work as a plug for long enough for him to call for help.
C’mon, he urged himself and pushed himself to his feet before promptly falling back to his knees. He cursed, clawing his fingers into the mud. The rain had slowed from where it had been earlier, but already his hair was plastered to his face. The hillside he’d tumbled down suddenly looked far less achievable to scale, the grass smoothed flat into slippery lines, and the dirt dug loose by their descent.
Katsuki rose to his feet but kept himself bent enough to rest one hand on the ground to keep himself steady. He started making his way up the hill, feet slipping and curses falling off his tongue with each step. It was like someone had decided to employ an inch-thick screwdriver and drive it into his flesh across his body. He was definitely bleeding from somewhere he couldn’t see. His world tilted, and he caught himself against the side of the car. The top of the hill where the jagged remains of the barrier loomed looked no closer—if anything, his fading vision made it look further away.
He needed to do something about that first.
Fighting every instinct to climb up the hill and start waving his arms until someone found them, Katsuki leaned his side against the car, careful not to disturb the piece of wood lodged through his solar plexus. He reached down and, with great difficulty, pried off his socks. Biting the neck of his hoodie, he bent down, bunched up one sock, pressed it to the wound on his thigh, and wrapped the second sock around it tightly. He couldn’t tell if it was the rain or the blood, but the sock was soaked through in seconds.
There wasn’t much he could do about the piece of wood; leaving it alone was probably his best option. But the slash on his stomach couldn’t be left untended.
A ringing started in the back of his head. He ignored it and reached down to unbuckle his belt. Wincing as he wrapped it around himself, he bunched his hoodie as best he could and pulled the belt tight around his midsection to hold it in place. It was pathetic, but it was the best he could do.
He wanted to peer in through the window, but he was on Sero’s side of the car, which meant the warped metal obscured his view. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of flagging down a car and coming back down only to find his friends cold and motionless in the wreck, but he had no choice. He had to get help. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could save them on his own.
He started up the hill again, dirt lodging under his fingernails, blades of grass slicing his palms as he gripped them for holds.
He had only the light from the flickering headlights to go by, which left him all but blind. Only once his fingers grasped the metal barrier did he realize the flaw in his plan to flag someone down. His clothes were dark from being soaked thorugh and there were no street lights in this part of the highway. It had been a complaint in the area for years, even his parents had complained to the city several times, but nothing had changed. Standing in the middle of the road waving his hands wasn’t a good idea either unless he fancied getting hit and ground to paste against the asphalt. Maybe getting hit would get someone to slow down enough to find his friends, but he wasn’t going to jump to that plan immediately.
The trees on the other side of the road swam in and out of focus, and he swayed on his feet. move. He made his way to the patch of grass between the two directions of the highway. He’d have more chance of catching the attention of someone here.
But even as he waited, no headlights appeared in the distance. No distant sound of tires or even the rumble of engines from a bunch of assholes who thought the road was their own personal race track. Nothing.
His body ached. Every now and then, he’d blink, and everything would appear two until he shook his head to make it normal. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, this wasn’t working.
He glanced toward his friends, then back down the road and to where they’d struck the metal barrier. Tire marks skid into the railing, and a piece of rubber had been torn off by the impact and now hung off the jagged end. Would someone see it and come looking for them? Probably not.
He kicked the separator in frustration, nearly sending himself off balance. It clanged, and the sound was quickly muffled by the rain.
His friends were still in the car. He’d looked them over to make sure they were alive, but what about injuries? They’d all been bleeding. Had there been serious wounds he’d missed? Were they bleeding out while he stood here? He paced unsteadily. Glanced down the road. Back to the treeline.
Could they all be needing help while he stood out here like an idiot, getting wet and waiting for salvation that wouldn’t come?
Road. Treeline. Road. Darkness. Rubber marks. Rain. Treeline. Blood.
Fuck it.
Making his way down the hill was easier than climbing up, though the effort not to tumble down after the car pulled at his wounds enough to make him lose his breath. His belt refused to stay around his waist, loosening around the wound. He could no longer feel the blood flowing from it and decided to ignore it for now.
He propped the door to the front seat open with a piece of wood they’d lobbed off a tree as they crashed. He leaned in, fighting the nausea and the persistent ache in his head, which was starting to grow. It had been barely fifteen minutes since he’d seen them last, but somehow his friends looked worse, and somehow he was sure coming back for them had been a good idea.
“Oi,” he called out, hating the way his voice wavered. “You fuckers alive?”
No answer. He poked Kaminari’s arm. He didn’t twitch.
“Dunce Face? Pinky? Shitty Hair?” His voice broke. “Sero?”
Nothing.
His eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly. No time for that.
Moving any of them had the risk of disturbing any injuries they might have, not to mention possible spinal damage. If one of them had a wound that was being plugged or something was keeping them from bleeding out, the last thing he wanted to do was remove that. But they also might be bleeding out from a wound he couldn’t see that wasn’t plugged. The uncertainty was making his head swim, and he clutched the backrest.
It was only once he barely caught himself on the edge of Kaminari’s seat again that he realized he was fading fast, and if he was going to get his friends out of this, it wasn’t going to be by sitting on the road with his thumb up his ass waiting for someone to save them
Flagging for help wouldn’t work. He had to find a phone.
He peered down at his friend’s feet, reached into their pockets as much as he could without moving them too much, but he could find nothing. For the first time in his life, Katsuki wished he’d spent more time on the internet. He didn’t carry his phone around much, especially while hanging around his friends. It was more habit than anything. A habit that might end up getting them all killed.
He forced himself to focus. Moping around wasn’t going to help anyone.
His mind was full of cotton. Each thought felt like it was taking years to complete.
Think, Katsuki.
His eyes drew to the broken windshield and the large tree they had crashed into, which had embedded halfway into the hood of the car. The car would have come to an immediate stop and flung them all forward, and if not for their seatbelts, he and Kaminari very well could have gone out of the windshield.
He glanced at the center console. Maybe. . .
He was out of the car in a moment, tripping over himself as he made his way to the front of the car. The headlights were all but a hazy glow anymore and barely lit anything around. It would have to be enough.
“Alright, where are you, you fucker?” he asked, holding onto the shredded bark of the tree for support as he made his way down the hill. His eyes scoured the darkness, prying shadows apart, but rain was falling through the leaves and into his eyes, making him blind. He felt around with his legs, and even reached out with his hands and was about to give up when his foot caught something hard.
“Oh, thank fuck.”
He grabbed the phone and felt around its smooth edge. The corner had a sizeable dent and he prayed quietly please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken and pressed the off button five times. Nothing happened. He tried again, unsure if it was just his shaking fingers. A blank screen stared back.
“What the Hell?”
Weren’t these things made with a built-in feature for contacting emergency services even when the phone was off?
He ground his teeth and made his way back to the car, and settled into his seat. He tried pushing the buttons again, but nothing happened. He tapped the phone against his leg, pressed the buttons again, lifted it to his ear.
Silence.
He pulled the phone away, gripping it hard enough that it almost flew out of his blood-slicked hands.
“You’re the fucking emergency services, you don’t need a damn signal!”
He fought the urge to fling the phone through the window and pressed the on-button again. Nothing happened. Letting out a roar of frustration, he slammed the heel of his palm into the steering wheel and let the phone fall between his thighs before running his palms over his face. Then. . .
“Bakugo?”
His head snapped to the right, and he hissed as the movement sent waves of pain through him, but that was all forgotten as he watched Kaminari’s eyes crack open and him trying to lift his head. Katsuki’s hand was immediately out to steady his neck, ignoring how his bloody hands left prints on his friend’s skin.
“Hey.” The gentleness in his tone was unfamiliar to him. Kaminari’s eyes twitched, and he blinked, slowly, leaning the weight of his head into Katsuki’s palm before perking up again. “Don’t move, okay?”
“What. . . Where—“
“We crashed.” I crashed. I crashed us off the road, and now you’re all hurt. “Help is coming.”
Kaminari said something, but the words fell off his lips in a jumbled mess he couldn’t understand. His head leaned forward again, then perked up. To stop him from moving so much, Katsuki carefully tilted his head to the side. Kaminari blinked sluggishly, then his eyes focused on Katsuki’s face.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it. . .” Kaminari shifted, and his face twisted with pain, and he cried out. His back arched, which only seemed to make it worse, and he fell back with a pitiful sob. “Ouch, wha. . .what the. . .”
“I said stop moving, asshole!” He couldn’t stop the fear from inching into his voice. If it came down to it, his own strength was too far gone to be able to hold Kaminari down if he decided to start moving. He wasn’t going to let any of his friends risk worsening their injuries, so he had to calm the fucker down.
Kaminari’s eyes found the rear-view mirror and widened. Katsuki grabbed him before he could twist around to look at their friends.
“Bakugo,” he gasped, eyes frantic, struggling against his grip. “Kat, they—“
“I’ve got them, you hear me? Stop making it worse, Dunce Face."
“I— But—"
“Denki!” That made him still. Round, frightened eyes bore into his soul. He hoped that through his shock, Kaminari wouldn’t feel his hands shaking. “I’ve got them. Help is coming. You need to stay still before you end up killing yourself.”
Finally, his words seemed to sink in, and Kaminari slumped against the seat. Katsuki let his hands fall away, suddenly feeling utterly spent. Not telling Kaminari about how fucked they were probably wasn’t the best idea since he would find out soon enough, but he had to hope someone was coming since he couldn’t get a hold of emergency services himself. Someone had to have seen them go off the road, or driven by the tire marks and broken barrier while he was out. They had to have.
Kaminari groaned, screwing his eyes shut.
“Try not to move. I’m going to get us out of here.”
“Help is coming?”
“It is. At some point.”
“Bakugo—“
“Just trust me, okay?”
Kaminari pressed his mouth thin, but he didn’t look like he had it in him to argue, and frankly, neither did Katsuki. He could barely make out the features on Kaminari’s face without focusing. It felt like someone was bashing a hammer against the inside of his skull, and his throat was parched. His tongue was heavy in his mouth. His skin felt clammy.
He didn’t realize he’d passed out before a hand shook him. Kaminari’s frightened face stared at him from the other side of the car. He pushed himself up, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds once more.
“’m fine,” he said, words slurring. Shit.
Katsuki pressed a hand to his head, feeling the clammy coldness of his skin, then pulled away and stared at his palm. His fingers looked fuzzy. He looked at Kaminari again. The lines of worry on his face were blurred. He blinked, wiped his eyes, and came to the realization that his vision wasn’t getting better.
“Okay, fine, I. . . I don’t know what to do.”
“Wha. . .” It looked like it was taking all of Kaminari’s energy to concentrate. Not that Katsuki could say any better about himself.
“I tried the road.” He shifted on his seat, pressing on the wound on his stomach. The belt had slid off. The skin around the laceration was hot like fire against his cold fingers. “No cars. Can’t get this shitty phone to work.”
Kaminari seemed to perk up at that. “Give. . .t’me.”
He wanted to argue, but had no strength left. He handed the phone to Kaminari, who squinted at it and turned it over several times. The movement doubled and tripled until Katsuki was brought back by a weak but firm slap on his cheek.
Clearly Kaminari wasn’t going to be as gentle with him as he’d been.
“Stay,” he gasped, “awake.”
Unsure if he had the strength left in him to answer, Katsuki pulled himself into a better seated position, glancing through the rear-view mirror at the others. The only thing that eased the pressure in his chest was the puffs of air that moved Kirishima’s hair out of his face and the occational twitch of pain on Sero’s face and the way Mina’s chest rattled with her breaths. They needed help. Now.
A slap came from his right. Kaminari slapped the phone, his body sagging as each blow sapped his strength, but like a miracle, the phone flickered to life. Using both hands to hold it properly, Kaminari pressed the side button rapidly.
‘CALL EMERGENCY SERVICES’ popped up onto the screen with bold white letters, and Kaminari made a strangled noise and pressed it. The call beeped two times before it was picked up.
Katsuki snatched the phone before the dispatcher could utter a word, almost losing his grip on it in his hurry.
“Get your people out here,” he rasped. “My friends are hurt, we went off the road somewhere around—“ He racked his brain for the last sign he had seen, but in the darkness without street lights, he had no way of knowing where they had gone off the road. Desperation made his voice waver. “I—I don’t know where—“
The phone was snatched from his hand, and Kaminari spoke through heaving breaths: “Please, we. . .” He glanced over at Katsuki, and his expression twisted. “M’ friends are hurt badly. We need help. Can you trace the call?”
Someone’s breath was starting to rattle. It took him far too long to realize it was him. A hand was on his shoulder, but the pressure was far away. He could have sworn he’d reached for the phone again, but now his hand lay in his lap. He was no longer pressing on his wound. The piece of wood skewering him was making it hard to breathe. How much internal damage had he given himself moving around since he’d woken up?
His head nodded forward, and he snapped it back up.
No. He had to stay awake. He had to get his friends out.
His friends.
He glanced behind him. Mina. Kirishima. Sero.
A voice was speaking to him. He blinked slowly and turned his head, slumping back in his seat involuntarily, his strength utterly spent. He could no longer make out Kaminari’s facial features. His voice echoed.
“—kug? Kastuki?”
Fuck, no, they. . . He couldn’t pass out yet. He grasped the steering wheel.
“Th. . .” Kaminari’s voice rasped. “They’re not sure if they’ll find us. “ It took two tries to get his leg out. Kaminari grasped for his arm, but he was too weak. “Kat—“
“Tell them. . . to hurry. . .”
The next few minutes were a blur. He slipped and clawed his way back up the hill, no longer caring for his wounds. He pulled himself to the edge of the road and onto his knees, leaning heavily against the railing. He stared down the road, clinging to every piece of strength he had. Drops peppered the ground. They tried to lull him to sleep. He fought. Blinked his eyes open. Forced his lungs to breathe. Pulled his body up each time he fell until he could no longer, and then did so anyway.
And when lights finally appeared in the distance, flashing a radiant red, he raised a hand. We’re here. Come save us.
The lights were so close. Not yet on them. He had to guide them here.
But his body had finally reached its breaking point.
He hit the ground and waited. Waited for the lights. Waited for his friends to be okay.
His friends would be okay.
The sky was dark. The rain was gentle. The earth was cold.
Red washed over him.
He saw no more lights.
——————
Katsuki Bakugo dies two days later in the hospital. His parents arrive minutes after he is wheeled into emergency surgery and refuse to leave his side as they wait for their son to wake. It is on the second day that Masaru is returning with their refills of coffee when he is struck by his wife’s wails as a heart stronger than any other simply gives out, and there is nothing to be done. A cleaner will wipe stains off the floor later that evening, once a seventeen-year-old boy has been wheeled past them and down to the morgue.
Kaminari wakes up with fractured memories of cold hands and burning eyes, and his tongue speaks a name before he is fully awake. His mother sooths his hair and pushes back her tears; she’d heard another mother’s breaking heart days ago and cannot bear to subject her son to that which he cannot yet bear. That which he will never be able to bear. When the news breaks, Kaminari crashes and burns a second time, ragged sobs catching against his broken ribs as he clutches onto safe arms that cannot make him feel better this time. That cannot blow remedies on bruises because Katsuki is already gone and wishing does not work. She cannot make him feel better, not when he knows he should have fought to keep Katsuki awake, should have paid attention to where they were driving, should have never suggested going to the movie in the first place. He knows he should have gotten help there sooner. Should have saved his friend’s life. The failure sits heavy at the bottom of his gut.
Kirishima wakes up to his best friend dead. He cannot remember the last story he’d told Katsuki, only that he had scoffed and kept his eyes on the road, ever so careful when it came to driving with them. He wakes up certain that until the end Katsuki will have blamed himself for what happened, will have found a way to make it his fault that they ended up here. Even though they survived. Even though he hears Kaminari finally make a joke again two months later. Even though he learns to cope with what remains of their broken squad. Even though it had simply been a rainy day and a precarious road and careful just hadn’t been enough.
Mina wakes up cold and with the knowledge that something is missing. She knows it long before her father holds her hand, soothed her skin, and tears her soul apart. That night, she creeps through corridors that will not spread whisper of her tears, past prying eyes to the one person she has always been certain would be here, and now she can't be sure. Because if a piece of their dysfunctional puzzle could leave so suddenly, without a goodbye, how could anything be permanent? And so they curl against one another and hold out the broken pieces of their hearts and try to believe that life can one day be good again.
Sero wakes up with no use in his left arm. It feels as though everything that used to be on his left is gone; the familiar presence he would shove playfully, the spiky hair he would ruffle despite the tussle it would always lead to. Not unlike the world as their group now knows it, his chest will remain hollow on that side, heavy with longing for a presence that will not return to his life. Each movement in rehab, he tries to block out the voice in his head, barking at him to try harder, to learn it all again, to relearn to relive. Urging him on. He tells his physicians he’s too tired on those days. They know the real reason why.
Katsuki Bakugo does not wake up. He does not sleep. He stares at the stars peeking through clearing rain clouds, too far gone to see them twinkle. He watches the breeze shake the tops of the trees and shower him with droplets of frigid tears. He does not feel the dirt under his legs, the asphalt under his back. He does not grasp onto the world of the living, does not fight. He blinks. Breathes.
Lives until he can no longer.
And leaves without saying goodbye.