Chapter Text
“What the fuck?” is all that comes out of Shigaraki's mouth. It’s the only thing he can say in response to such a grotesque scene. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He pulls his face away, ashy fingers turned wet with his own sweat, not bearing to look at the sight in front of him. Though what he turns to isn’t a pretty sight either.
Toga’s gone mad, hyperventilating as she shrieks and paces around what should’ve been their prize.
“That crazy bastard! He’s sick in the head, this was bound to happen. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. And I know crazy. This bitch–”
Dabi interjects, “So what’s the plan with this…body?” It's seriously nothing. People die all the time. Some just have too much pride and would rather do it themselves. Shigaraki and Toga were going nuts over nothing. If anything, they should be celebrating. It’s a victory for them. A UA student dying due to the failure of its own system says everything people need to know about hero society; though, Shigaraki’s shell-shock conveys a different message. He sighs, “I could burn it, you know? Get rid of the evidence.” The words slow down as he speaks, and he winces at the odor filling the room.
Blood, burnt skin, and vomit aren’t exactly pleasant aromas.
“We didn’t touch him.” Dabi’s words lay heavy with the tension. Because it’s true, to an extent. The blood of Bakugou Katsuki isn’t on their hands, and it was never going to be.
Twice – the culprit of the vomit – and Kurogiri were long gone. Guess it showed who their real friends are.
Shigaraki scratched his neck aggressively as his sweat dripped down his temple. All For One would kill him. How could he fuck up this badly? His instructions were clear – and Shigaraki delivered. Nothing should’ve gone wrong.
“It’s not my fault this bastard was crazy.” Shigaraki rasped. It truly wasn’t.
The three who were left stared down what remained of the boy who once told them to fuck themselves. For someone so loud, the silence left behind was quite deafening.
The past 4 days had been a mix of desperation and rage, from both ends. The league was wearing Katsuki down, and he knew it. Whatever they wanted, they would get.
Dabi didn’t shy away from his flames, burning Katsuki’s arms so, so, slowly, and barely edging on his palms. The same palms that would be stained with his own blood.
Toga wasn’t afraid to share her knives with Katsuki; She’d trace his skin and note how his blood matched his crimson eyes.
His eyes will never be seen again. In his last moments, Katsuki wished he had a mirror, or broken glass, maybe his own blood – anything that could reflect a part of who he is.
4 days of torture.
Each day created cracks in an already broken vessel. Katsuki had done everything right. He gave his blood, sweat, and tears to get into UA. It’s like the universe was playing a cruel trick on him; maybe karma was real.
The sparks that blazed from his hands at 4 years old set the course for his future. He was meant to be in the spotlight, the one who would be awed at and remembered. He wasn’t questioned or belittled. The world knew what Bakugou Katsuki had to offer, and it obeyed by opening its hands with grace.
So for the past 12 years, he’d eroded himself and pushed beyond his body to deliver. Because who was he if not a paragon? Everything was calculated. From his schedule in Aldera to his acceptance at UA, Katsuki knew exactly who he was and who he’d be.
And he refused to be a puppet to the league of villains. No matter how much blood they drew, how much skin they burned, how much they shattered his sense of reality, his pride wouldn't let them in.
But pride can only take someone so far. Katsuki was only 16. Sure, he could calculate the rate at which his nitroglycerin releases – but the actions of others will forever be unpredictable.
By the 4th day, he’d been worn down. He’d puked his guts a few times and had residual belief in the fact that no one would come to save him. He was Bakugou Katsuki after all; the boy whose pride was rooted in shame and fear. The boy who screamed at the top of his lungs to prove his worth; he didn’t need anyone or anything.
Toga’s face blurred into Twice’s, and Twice’s into Dabi’s. It was humorous how Shigaraki believed that Katsuki could understand them – and more so would agree with them – while under delirium and pain.
The smell of alcohol laced with malevolence filled the room as Katsuki stared up into the warm fluorescent lights. His weakened body sat on the wood, splinters digging into his skin. The ever-changing faces were only getting closer. Soon they’d reach him, and that would be that. He never succumbed to their wishes, and he never would.
It’s another calculation; the variables being his pride and life. Who was he if not the boy with an ego bigger than himself? It was his own sparks that started his life. How shameful would it be to die without trying, to die at the hands of another? Katsuki’s breath became shallow, his eyes widened as his pupils grew to cover the crimson.
Because Katsuki knows everything: the league wants to kill him, and they will.
But Katsuki can’t let that happen, and he refuses to give them a win.
Fuck this. Fuck his unkept promises for the world. They could take from another.
His pride and ego will always be too big for him. Too big for a 16-year-old boy with the gift of war on his palms.
He lifts his hands, covering his ears in the way a child does when scared. The oh-so familiar sensation of nitroglycerin dampening his palms comes once again.
It was supposed to be a calculation, but somewhere between the movement and ignition, Katsuki knew he was wrong.
The light came quicker than the deafening sound. The flash barely covered the brief image of Katsuki’s fear-stricken eyes and regret. His explosion came at the speed he chose, yet still far too fast for him to correct it.
And Katsuki does not survive in his own hands.