Chapter Text
He didn’t know how old he was when he figured out that what his parents did wasn't normal. That dads actually played with their kids, they paid attention in fact. That Moms were sweet and always fixed up injuries, moms didn't cause injuries.
Only bad moms caused injuries.
Parents don't call you worthless. They don't ‘forget’ to feed you or make you sleep outside. Even when snow touches the ground, freezing him in place before they are forced to fetch him. Parents hung pictures on the fridge, report cards, crafts, little notes, important papers. Parents remembered your name because they cared. Not to just show face to others.
Maybe it was when he first met Mrs. Midoriya as a child. She was everything his mother was not. Sweet, caring, loving. It was the first time he felt not like a burden. That his company was actually wanted, not a nuisance.
He did nothing wrong. He was fairly sure about that. So why did he always blame himself? Do everything to suck up to his parents when they would just cast him away like a worthless bug. A tick that followed them around, a tick that needed to be removed. To be squashed under a shoe.
At the moment he was walking home. Head phones that he found in a dumpster, was blasting into his ears. With his back pack slung over his shoulder and grocery bag in hand, he neared his house with anticipation. Purposely slowing his stride, turning up his music, and putting both straps of his back over his shoulders he straightened his posture. He tried to keep his chin up as he opened the front door.
Taking off his head phones and quickly setting the bag on the table, he tried to escape his mothers wrath.
Mitsuki leaned against the wall next to the stairs. Glaring at Katsuki as he tried to sneak up the steps to his small room. She picked at her nails, a seemingly innocent act, while admiring the fresh new coat on the sharp claw like structures. She sneered in disgust when looking at Katsuki's dirty figure. The sweat running off him, the messed up uniform, and haphazard tie that seemed to be thrown on. She didn't know how right she was with that last one.
“You are late? What took so long?” She crossed her hands, giving her full attention to Katsuki.
He tried his best to look his mother in the eyes. Stand straight, do not gulp, no sign of fear. She would abuse that. Make him terrified and beaten before sending him out again. Be respectful, use ma’am, and do not stutter. Do not stutter. He took a shallow breath before answering.
“The supermarket closest to us was closed, Ma’am.”
“Excuses.” She stalked over to Katsuki inspecting his explosive hair. A trait she hated had been given to him, with her slender, soft fingers. Katsuki tried not to flinch. “Why didn't you run home?”
“I didn't think to.”
“Hmm, is that right? You didn't think to?”
“Yes ma’am.” His skin crawled as he looked at his mother. He was the same height as her now, but he was still so scared. Always going back to that little boy, he knew in her presence. That fear, the adrenaline rush. The way his heart squeezed and thundered before he needed to breathe again.
“And I thought you were smart.” She gripped his hair in her hand; nails digging into his skin and dragged him over to the kitchen counter. “You worthless brat.” She grumbled among other things while turning on the stove. “I thought I taught you better. You were doing so much better at staying silent.”
“I'm sorry,” He grunted out while doing his best to stay calm and to not freak out. He hated being touched. Especially by this woman. His mother. A bitch who made his life a living nightmare, at any possible moment.
“That's it?” She clicked her tongue and got out a pair of tongs. “You know what happens when you're late without a decent excuse.” She rested the tongs on the flames and pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. When the metal was red hot, she pressed it to his skin.
He clenched his teeth and let out a grunt. Doing his best to endure the pain, to not move as the metal hit his skin. The smell of burning flesh entered the kitchen as she pressed the metal all over his arm, over the old scars and adding new ones to the list. He tried not to let the tears fall from his eyes as his vision blurred.
It felt like forever until she put the tongs in the sink and turned off the stove. Giving Katsuki a moment to crumple against the counter, cradling his arm, as her nose turned up in disgust.
“That won't do. You weakling. How could you ever be a hero if you can't endure a little pain like that? You should be used to it you brat! Get out of my house!”
He dashed over to his bag as his vision swam. He tossed it over his unburned arm and ran out of the house with Mitsuki yelling at him. He slammed the door behind him with a bang and ran down the streets.
Houses, apartments, stores, restaurants, everything passed him by, but he barely registered it as he ran through the city. He felt tears running down his face as he hurriedly wiped away the never-ending flood. He didn't know how long he ran before his adrenaline went down. The sun was going down by the time he stopped in the middle of an alleyway. Away from the bustling crowd of people. Enough to fall to his knees and let the tears fall.
The skin on his arm was messed up, worse than all the other times. Big bright blisters ran rampant on his red skin; small patches of blood dropped off him in the spots she went deeper than the others. A small puddle of droplets formed underneath him as he gasped and tried to blow onto the wounds. It was a stupid idea but it hurt. It really fucking hurt.
He regretted not grabbing his medical box from his room before running out. He doubts that Mitsuki would have let him, but he should have at least tried. He was banged up enough to begin with.
He fell asleep in that alleyway. Resting with his outer jacket used as a sling for his burnt-up arm. Red tracks from his tears were left on his puffy cheeks. His bag was kept under his feet as he scrunched up into a tight ball with head rolling to the side. Every now and then he shifted uncomfortably before continuing to scrunch his face up to face whatever demons in his sleep.
The roof over him, a figure was watching. One with burns, too. Silver metal piercing together the burnt and unburnt skin. His black hair barely reflected the city light as he dove into his long black coat pocket for the burner phone. He dialed Shiggy's number, almost a hundred percent sure that that crusty bastard was still awake.
On the second ring, sure enough that scratchy voice entered his ear.
“What do you want?” He asked angrily.
“ Morning to ya too.”
He sighed. “Out with-it Dabi.”
“Fine. You remember that kid we kidnapped. Kat, something?"
“Katsuki Bakugo. What about him?”
“Found him in an alleyway. He's hurt pretty bad and looks worse than a Nomu on a good day.”
“I'm sure you're exaggerating, but can you bring him in?”
“Can do, bossman. I'll be there in maybe thirty minutes.”
“Kurogiri will prepare the medical room. Any other injuries besides the arm?”
“Kid probably has more mental issues than last time-”
“Physically.”
“Nope.”
“Good. Bring him back fast. Who knows how long he has been out there.”
Dabi clicked off and jumped off the building. Landing in a crouch in front of the boy, sleeping fitfully. He gently carried him, threw his arms across the many alleyways and abandoned streets. Handing him off to a waiting Kurogiri whose face scrunched up at his arm. At the new scars making way with the old.
Dabi stood by the door frame as the misty man wrapped up his arm like Bakugo was a mummy in training. He didn't budge. Didn’t wake from his slumber. Even as Kurogiri carefully removed his shirt. Taking in all the scars taking place, Dabi looked away to give the boy privacy as he thought over him in his mind.
You don't get that many scars from hero training. Not so many places so, so purposeful. Like a messed-up artist on a canvas. Who would use Bakugo as a canvas? And for how long would they have been doing it? Some looked old while others looked worriedly new. His face scrunched as his mind went to the only possibility he could think of.
He was pretty sure Katsuki would die before joining a gang, and most gangs don't do that anyway, cops would never harm a minor. The heroes have at least some standards, Bakugo would never let another kid touch him- or anybody for that matter.
His face hardened as the realization came through.
He walked to Shigaraki’s room and slammed it open without a knock.
“Dabi, you-”
“We need to talk.”
-ONE YEAR LATER-
“What happened?”
“Nothing fucking happened.”
“That bandage says otherwise.”
Katsuki scoffed at the bar. Looking away from Kurogiri who was cleaning a glass across from him. The others were asleep strangely. One of the rare nights that only the two of them were up. The rare nights that they were in each other's silence, talking quietly as the rest slept fitfully.
“Nothing happened, Gi. I’m fine.”
He set the glass down and stared at his ever-moving misty eyes right into his. Making a shiver overtake Bakugo slightly. “You can lie all you want. But you and I both know something happened. What happened?”
“Fine,” Bakugo could practically feel Kurogiri’s wanting to roll his foggy yellow eyes. “I got in a fight.”
“What type?”
“I just got into a fight, okay? Nothing special.”
“Mhmm. On the contrary." He picked up a glass, peering through it at Katsuki as he cleaned it. “A regular civilian or sidekick did that? You don’t get hurt from something small like that. You're careful and aware.
You don't get hurt.”
“Well maybe I was lacking. It happens to all of us.”
“I can tell when you lie, Katsuki.” Bakugo looked up at his rarely used name and the small slits peering at him. “So, who was it?”
He stood up and slammed his chair back into the bar. Stalking out, getting so close to the door, to his ticket to avoid this conversation. “It was no one!” He yelled behind him, solid boots treading up dust in his wake.
“Was it him?”
He paused. Hand resting on the door frame. Gripping it tightly as he willed his heart not to pick up. Failing miserably in that matter.
The silence stretched. Kurogiri hummed.
He closed his eyes, holding back a flinch. Body tense at the talk Kurogiri is bound to recite him. Willing himself not to pick up and run like what he used to do with his parents. Kuri would never hurt him. Kuri would never hurt him. Not even if he did something terrible.
“I see… sit down.”
Bakugo cursed under his breath before stopping over and sitting down across from him, like how they were moments before. Kurogiri set down the glass lightly. Unwillingly, he flinched. Not at him, Kuro would kill himself before hurting Bakugo. At the memories of tense glasses on wood. At the bottles smashing at walls before shards were scraped deep into his young flesh.
He walked around the bar and sat next to Bakugo. Tentatively lifting his misty hand up to his back. Sighing softly when Bakugo looked down and away from Kuri. Rubbing smooth circles on his back that made Kat’s eyes welled up slightly. He quickly ran a hand across his eyes before clearing his throat slightly. Kurogiri took his hand off.
“Deku… you fought him?”
“Yeah…” his voice cracked the slightest bit. Deku, Izuku Midoriya. He was training with Endeavor and Shoto. Scanning the streets like a hawk with that stupid mask covering his face.
He was in the convenience store. Seeing if Bagu had any new drops or any new food for them. He was walking out with a better pair of hearing aids and a new candy- along with some info about the hero’s- when Deku spotted him.
“How do you feel?”
God, how did he feel? This was a kid who used to worship him. Used to trail us every move. Yet couldn’t see how shity Katsuki’s parents were. A little kid who Mitsuki would want as her real son. Who his father wanted to laugh with, who taught Izuku how to ketch. All while he was inside with his mother, listening to how he was an intolerable shit and he should just die already.
“I don’t know.”
“Katsuki- “
The worst part is the way he looked at Bakugo after he saw him. It has been a year since he faked his death to himself actually. And boy, he was still pissed. His eyes glowed a dark blackish blue- green, as black whips circled around him.
Avoiding damaging his hearing further. He fled. Avoiding the fight entirely in the chaos of Deku's powerful quirk.
Destroying part of a nearby abandoned office building, letting the dust blind him, he tried to flee. Not before, one of the whips struck his head though. Another going almost straight threw his arm.
“I’m fine Kuri.”
“As you wish. But remember, all of us are here.”
“Thanks. I guess."
“You need to go to bed. We have work tomorrow.”
He looked at the time. 2:35.
He stood and pushed in the chair. Waving behind him haphazardly as he left the room. Calling back at him, “You too. See you tomorrow, Kuri.”
He reached his room. Pulling open the old door to reveal the monstrous state, he left it in when he came back. Dirty clothes mixed with clean. Bloody towels all about along with medical bandages and disinfectant.
He walked to his bathroom and looked at himself. Really looked at himself. He looked better.
Better than he ever thought he could be.
His sunken eyes were no longer as concerning. His pale features have turned into a more healthy tan. His hair felt fuller than ever. He didn’t have many bruises beyond what was expected in his line of work.
Beyond all of that. He was developing smile lines. So faint and seemingly insignificant. Yet, when he smiled, it all came back. When he rested, a hint of them remained. Like a reminder of him, a reminder of his progress.
Along with that he had gained actual muscle. He was bigger now. Stronger and bigger than he would have ever thought with who his parents were. He must have shot up almost a foot in a year. His waist was bigger, stronger.
He looked healthy. So god damn healthy.
He basked in the silence that his room allowed him. Faintly hearing Toga’s soft snores a room over. Toga has helped him so much. She seemingly notices everything.
When he would skip meals, be angry, on the verge of a panic attack. She would help, in the kindest way someone can.
She listened.
Listened to how he hated himself, then hugged the life out of him. Gave him compliments on something new every day. It started out simple, ‘I like your hair, your blood is tasty, you're really cute!’ To deeper ones like, ‘I admire how you can get up in the morning. No matter the day before you always rise with the
sun.
She listened to his talk about his parents. What they used to do to him. He also learned about her too. He learned about all of them. They too had always had a troubled life like him. Their parents hated them too.
Maybe after admitting that, it tied them closer together. Bonding them in the shared trauma that so many innocent souls receive.
Hated, for merely existing.
He understood that. Quirk decides everything. If yours doesn’t work, if it’s a villain quirk, if it is not acceptable, you go down with the trash.
He’s okay being with the trash. Someplace he can finally be himself. A place he actually feels safe from the world around them. A proper place to let his anger out.
Dabi taught him that. To be as angry as you wanted but not to harm the people closest to you. To burn the world but shelter your family. To make everyone who ever doubted you, suffer. But to protect your real family.
Not the cheap version you were born with.
After cleaning his room, making sure everything was neatly folded and organized the way he liked. He got ready for bed, changing into PJ’s and brushing his pearly whites.
He struggled to file into unconsciousness. Tossing and turning, desperately trying to forget the memories of his childhood.
Locked in closets for hours. Literally thrown into the corner. Beaten almost daily for simply existing and ‘ruining their lives.’
He didn’t do that. He didn’t do anything. He was. Child. A dumb stupid kid who was bad at communicating. Yet another thing passed through the generations of Bakugo family name.
A name he had despised since learning it was his. A name that shaped his existence and all those before him.
One of tears, one of blood, one of pain.
Everyone says that the Villains are bad. That they only want to cause harm, that they do this because they want to.
That's not true. The people made them monsters then decided to cast them out for what they made.
How is that fair? How come other kids are living these great lives and here he is trying not to cry as he falls asleep. Not remembering his mother kicking him in the head after throwing him in his scarce room.
The heroes were supposed to save kids like him. So why didn’t they? Hell, the villains that everyone hates save more people than them.
They accept everyone for who they are. Everyone who is a reject, who was cast away, who was failed by this hero society that they sell their for. Heroes that are worshiped like gods in this messed up world. Who are corrupted and after money weather than helping others.
Heroes who don’t bother to save everyone.
He sat up from bed after at least two hours of tossing a round. Deciding to get out of his own head.
He tiptoed to Toga's room and opened the door carefully. Peering into the small crack.
Like always she was laying all over. Limbs draped every which way, head tilted up and snoring slightly, half of her body dangling over the side of her bed. Long blond hair sticking up in clumps, hiding a couple chunks of her face. Her body was bent toward her small lamp. Taking in the warmth of the world even in her sleep.
He laid down on the ground. Resting his head on the run down bean bag next to her bed. He draped the older blanket over himself before trying to get comfortable. He shifted side to side for a bit before
stopping and just staring at the ceiling.
Toga’s and fell down. Rubbing Katsuki’s head slightly. Fingers weaving threw the spiky locks, detangling them slightly. Making him calm and content in the small space of her room. She turned over more, stroking his face lightly. He closed his eyes at the soft skin scraping over his face.
He didn't like to be touched. Practically exploded when some he didn't trust touched him.
He didn't know when that shift started with the league. He knew when he first acknowledged it. He was having a panic attack, maybe seven months ago. Three months after joining the league.
He was in his room, ripping at his hair. Toga kneeled in front of him while telling him to breathe. Trying not to get too close to him. He was tugging at his shirt collar, desperately trying to get more air into his shallow lungs. His eyes were frantic as he tried to breath, overwhelmed with everything.
That's when she touched him. It was hesitant, tentatively soft. She opened the hand clenched around his hair. Peeling away his fingers until she held his shaking hand. She looked into his tired eyes, wrenching the other hand away from his shirt. Telling him to breathe with her repeatedly as his whole form shakes.
When he finally started calming down, he barreled into Toga. Clenching the fabric against her back as his tears stained both of their shirts. She rooked him slightly, patting him down as he mumbled apologies.
Ever since that day, he was good with Toga touching him. Okay with her being close by, okay with her being constantly in his space. As the weeks went on, he found he was comfortable doing this with the others a bit more than usual.
He worked through Dabi with it. Told the young man that he needed help. So he hugged Dabi back when the black haired teen wrapped his damaged body around him.
Shiggy didn't really like touching people he cared about because of his quirk. Still he would give Bakugo the occasional hair ruffle, or rub his arm a bit when he tapped his foot. A motion that Dabi seemed to do as well.
Spinner and Compass got comfortable too. Often cuddling up to him or letting him give him hugs. Twice was all up in his space. Making this him laugh genuinely for what felt like the first time in forever. First time that some one actually cared to make him laugh.
Kurogiri was a better parent than he has ever had. Having long talks in the middle of the night. Letting Katsuki talk to him about everything, letting them bond over their own pasts and the similarities that so
many often forgot about with them. Friends that now hate them because they are dead.
Something that may be surprising is that Bakugo loved physical touch. He loved hugs, small gestures like the occasional pat, liked to sit close with people. But to only those who he trusted. Which was another thing he found so odd.
Those people that he knew for his whole life, those people at UA, Teachers, Heroes, Parents, everyone who was supposed to be trusted. He hated to be touched by them. It felt like his soul was shrinking every god damn time. He was itchy, he was uncomfortable, like his scared skin wanted to jump off his body and ran away. Now with this new family, people that asked him and soothed him, after three months he loved their physical touch more than anything.
It could be a chalk full of reasons. They were careful about their actions, they knew it would make him uncomfortable based on his other reactions, they were sympathetic and respected his boundaries.
No one had ever really done that.
He trusted them.
Trusted them more than he would probably ever trust anyone.
He rubbed Toga’s hand in thought as he felt his eyes close. Unconsciousness finally took him as he thought about his new life. The comfort of it all, the struggles that were bound to come, their upcoming plans.
Everything.
He fell into a blissful sleep. No idea of the troubles tomorrow would bring. The struggles he would have to endure and continue to.
Because he was Katsuki Bakugo. A failure. A dead one at that. Some old friends don't like this new villain ‘Ground Zero’ all too much because he killed Bakugo, their ‘best’ friend. Some one who was immovable, too stubborn to die. So what do you think they will do, when they are sent out to guard a warehouse? One that the league is specifically, aiming for. And they see him. The killer to the structure class 1A was built upon.
And, Bakugo, Bakugo set that all aflame basically. The only remains of him being his hair piece and a singular gauntlet. Along with a lot of his blood that Toga so kindly extracted for him. So yes, he was dead, dead to the world, everyone but the league that he had built upon for the last year.
Ground Zero is a murder. A villain who killed the best of them, in cold blood. Well his blood actually.
In turn they are out for his blood. A close friend they all thought to be diseased and mourned. And they don't even know. That who they are chasing.
Is the blood of their own.