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From a young age, Bakugou Katsuki has had nightmares.
More often than not, they were unintelligible, forgotten the moment he woke up with only a racing heart to tell him what happened. More often than not, he woke up jittery but fine; nothing was there to scare him, nothing was there to torment him. Everything was fine.
But on the rare chance it wasn’t like that, then there was hell to raise.
When the nightmares were bad, forgotten or not, Katsuki could wake up crying, gasping, or screaming if it was severe enough. Those nights left him exhausted, shaking in his bed as his mind scrambled to pull himself together.
So, yes, from a young age, Bakugou Katsuki has had nightmares.
And from a young age, Midoriya Izuku was the one to comfort him.
With sleepovers being a frequent event, Izuku was there for many of Katsuki’s nightmares. And so he took it upon himself to be there for his friend. He would do his best (as well as a three-year-old could) to soothe Katsuki, to remind him where he was, to help him breathe.
“It’s okay,” Izuku would say, voice small and quiet and shaking even as he tried to be brave for his friend. “It’s okay.”
And Katsuki believed him. Izuku was scared of everything, so if he thought it was okay, then it must be. He believed him.
They usually spent the rest of the night holding each other. Katsuki, desperate to remind himself of what was real but still stubborn as ever, would grab Izuku’s hand and stare at him until he got the hint to move closer. Then it was only a matter of time before they both fell asleep again, arms wrapped around one another, Izuku’s chin resting on top of Katsuki’s head.
It became an instinct for Izuku to wake up when he felt Katsuki move. It became an instinct to pull him close and mutter, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and do his best to chase away whatever was hurting his friend.
It became an instinct for Katsuki to feel instantly calmer when he felt Izuku grab for him. It became an instinct to know that everything was okay when they laid down again, to let Izuku be the hero for a little bit.
(He was always sure to tell Izuku in the morning that he’d still be his sidekick when they were older, no matter what happened during the night. Izuku always just smiled back and said, “Okay, Kacchan!”)
It became an instinct for them both to sleep easily with each other nearby, warmed by blankets and pillows and each other.
Their mothers had lost count of the mornings they found them entangled in one another, seeking warmth and comfort.
Katsuki was four when his quirk came in.
Izuku was four, then five, then six, seven, eight, nine…
Katsuki got his quirk and Izuku didn’t, and suddenly the nights Katsuki spent gasping awake were spent alone.
When they both got into UA, the nightmares had not stopped.
They worsened.
His nightmares were no longer about monsters under the bed, uncontrollable quirks, or being unable to protect people. Now his nightmares were about villains and fire and suffocating-suffocating-suffocating and watching Izuku-- Deku run towards him while everyone else stared, watching Deku stand in the classroom with the smell of burning paper still hanging in the air; watching Deku face villains ten times his size, watching Deku stand on a roof with his back turned to Katsuki, watching Deku fall, watching everything around him and not being able to do anything.
The nightmares did nothing but spur him on. Deku wasn’t going to best him, not in real life, and certainly not in his dreams.
Once they moved into the dorms, sometimes, they crossed paths.
Sometimes Katsuki would awaken from the throes of a dream, gasping, sweating, clawing at his throat as if the sludge, the muzzle, the suffocating-suffocating-suffocating feeling was still there. Sometimes he woke up and needed to get up, get out, move, walk, run, something, anything.
But what he ended up doing most often was go to the common rooms and make himself something to drink.
And every so often, every once in awhile, Deku would be there too.
Sometimes he’d be sitting on the couch, notebook in hand, muttering to himself. Sometimes he’d be in the kitchens, sitting on the counter with a mug. Sometimes he’d be on the balcony, leaning against the rail in a way that made Katsuki tense every fucking time.
They never talked--hell they didn’t even see each other sometimes. No, instead, they’d either sit in silence until one of them left, or one of them would get up and leave as soon as the other arrived. Deku was usually the one who left first.
It didn’t matter to Katsuki. If that nerd wanted to stay up and waste his time doing whatever, it didn’t matter. All it did was give Katsuki a leg up the next day.
Shitty Hair noticed.
He noticed when Katsuki’s gait was heavier, when the circles under his eyes became just a bit more pronounced. He commented on it too, asked him if things were okay and if there was anything Katsuki needed, he could help.
Katsuki never accepted the help. He didn’t need anyone’s help to be the best, nightmares be damned. He didn’t need Shitty Hair’s help, didn’t need any of his friends’ help, sure as hell didn’t need shitty Deku’s help.
(And yet he’d never regret taking Kirishima’s hand.)
Aizawa-sensei said it wasn’t an internship but it was close enough.
During class, he announced that he’d be taking them all out individually on patrol. It was important, he emphasized, that they all understand what was needed to work underground, regardless if they planned on being in the limelight.
Knowing how to work in the shadows could be the difference between victory and death, he so delicately put it.
Whatever. If it helped him be the best, then he’d do it.
Shouta knew it was going to be a shit show from the second they began tracking down the villain.
It was Bakugou’s turn to patrol with him, and that really should’ve been his first clue.
Bakugou certainly had the potential to be a great hero, but unless he started learning how to express himself without screaming, there was no chance of him becoming an underground hero.
At least Bakugou seemed to know that as well. Small mercies Shouta supposed.
Shouta, as he had with the other students before Bakugou, laid down a handful of rules. There was an important difference between fighting limelight villains and underground villains. The kinds of people he chased down were quick and cunning, and the moment they saw a blip of weakness, they’d exploit it. Bakugou had to be careful, quick, and smart. He had the skills, he just needed to apply them properly.
Well. That was why Shouta was there.
The patrol began plainly enough. The rules were set, the plan for the night was laid out, and now all they could do was wait.
Bakugou asked a few questions, good ones too, about the perp’s quirk and mannerisms. Asked about subtle things to pinpoint and big give-aways to take advantage of.
They were in the middle of one of those questions when something down the alley rattled. Immediately, Shouta tensed and stopped talking. He saw Bakugou assume a similar position.
Good.
Silently, Shouta signaled for Bakugou to follow him.
They crept across the skyline, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. They were quickly able to spot a shadow on the wall.
Their perp was here.
Then a second shadow appeared.
And that was when it all went to hell.
Katsuki wasn’t going to worry about the details, but at some point, he and Aizawa-sensei got separated.
It was clear from the moment the perp struck, and Aizawa-sensei’s eyes widened, that this wasn’t their intended prey. It didn’t matter. They were here to experience the workings of the underground, and Katsuki would’ve been foolish to think it would’ve all gone smoothly.
The point was, he and Aizawa-sensei were separated, and he was currently fighting an opponent he knew nothing about.
He had to be smart about this. Essentially, he had no backup, no terrain advantage, no blackmail or intellectual advantage, and although he loathed to admit it, whoever he was fighting was matching him hit for hit.
But hey, none of that had ever stopped him from winning before. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it stop him now.
With a fierce blast to the side of the perp’s head, Katsuki pushed himself backward. He didn’t think the perp had used his quirk yet. At the very least, nothing flashy and obvious had happened yet. That meant he had to be careful. He couldn’t afford to underestimate this guy just because his quirk wasn’t as great as Katsuki’s.
Aizawa-sensei was proof enough that people didn’t need a bright quirk in order to be lethal.
Katsuki pressed forward again, a shout building up in his throat as he charged.
He dodged a hit, tossed out his leg, meaning to connect with the perp’s side, when suddenly the world seemed to darken.
In the split second that Katsuki took to hesitate, the perp darted forward and grasped the sides of Katsuki’s head.
Panic coursing through him, Katsuki brought his hands up, sparking and crackling.
“Goodnight,” the perp purred and then Katsuki’s vision went dark.
Shouta had already called for backup when he got separated from Bakugou.
It had been in the back of his mind when he first set up the patrols. Rarely anything went right in this damned class and Shouta wasn’t expecting that to stop anytime soon. So he requested that a handful of heroes, as well as Recovery Girl, be on stand by if anything happened.
He was grateful now that he’d thought ahead because of course, something had to go wrong now and go wrong so spectacularly.
Not only had they managed to track down the wrong perp, but they managed to get separated as well.
Neither of the shadows they’d spotted turned out to be their guy. Instead, it was some lower grade criminal and someone Shouta had only read about in case profiles.
They called him Phantasm. His quirk was hard to define since no one had been able to bring him in yet, but they had a basic understanding of what it did: the ability to bring traumatic memories and images up to the forefront of someone’s mind. Those who had the unfortunate luck of being subjected to the quirk say that when they came to themselves, they were screaming, clawing at their own skin, sobs being ripped from their throats as they spiraled in hysteria.
And of course, of fucking course, Bakugou had been the one to be separated with Phantasm.
Shouta raced down the alleyways, forcing himself to remain calm. It’d do no one any good to panic now. He needed to be calm and level headed, if they had any luck, Bakugou would be fine--
Screaming.
That was what Shouta was hearing.
Screaming.
High pitched, terrified, hysterical screaming.
Fuck.
--he was holding out a hand to him, he was smiling, he was dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, and Katsuki was dying too, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he--
It was dark, dark, dark, and he was suffocating-suffocating-suffocating.
He couldn’t breathe, there was sludge, there was a muzzle, there was a hand at his throat, there was--
He couldn’t breathe, there was sludge, there was a muzzle, there was a hand at his throat, there was something he was missing, there--
He couldn’t breathe--
He couldn’t breathe--
He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, to die, to die, to die, to die--
He couldn’t--
He couldn’t--
He--
He was dying.
He was dying. He was dying and no one was there and everyone was there and there was screaming and cheering and fire and a coldness that soaked him to the bone and no one was doing anything, they were pointing and laughing and cheering and yelling and no one was doing anything and--
His classmates were right there, so close, too close, and they were dead, dead before him, and he was too late, too slow, too weak, too powerless, and it was his fault, his fault, his fault, they were dead and bloody and staring at him, saying, screaming, whispering, “Your fault, your fault, your fault,” and--
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he was dying, dying, dying, he couldn’t breathe and the sludge, the muzzle, the hand around his throat was back and he was dying and no one was doing anything and he was so scared and--
Deku was running.
Deku was running and running towards him, running away from the crowd who did nothing and he was dying and no one was doing anything except for Deku, and then he collided with Katsuki and they were falling, falling, falling and he could do nothing and--
They were on the roof and Katsuki knew what was about to happen before he could see anything, and Deku was on the roof, on the ledge, and he was stepping, leaning, falling and Katsuki rushed forward and grabbed him and then they were both falling, falling, falling and--
They both landed and Katsuki was fine, he was dying and he was fine, and suddenly there was blood and Deku was in front of him, bleeding-bleeding-bleeding, green hair now dark and dripping and his face was bloody and cracked and pressed in and his eyes were gone, where were his eyes, and there was a smile on his face, smiling-smiling-smiling, and--
Deku hit the ground, there was blood, there was blood, there was blood, and no one was doing anything and Katsuki was paralyzed and suffocating-suffocating-suffocating and there was screaming and cheering and laughing and pointing and fire and cold and no one was doing anything--
Deku was dead, he was dying, Deku was dead, he was dying, Deku was dead, he was dying--
He was dying, he was dying, he was dying, Deku was dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, and no one was doing anything and he couldn’t do anything, he was useless and powerless and worthless and dying, dying, dying--
He was suffocating and dying and Deku was dead and he was smiling, why was he smiling, why was he smiling, why was he smiling--
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
No. No no no, please no, he didn’t mean it, Deku had to know that, he had to know that, he had to, had to, had to, had to--
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean, Katsuki never meant it, he knew it had crossed a line the second he said it, he didn’t mean it, Deku had to know that--
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
No no no no no, Katsuki wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to sob but he was suffocating-suffocating-suffocating and he couldn’t talk, couldn’t cry, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe--
He was going to die, he was going to die, going to die and Deku was dead and they were both dying-dead, dying-dead, dying-dead and Katsuki wanted this to be over, he wanted to die, wanted to be dead with Deku if it meant this stopped and--
They were falling again and there was water and harsh rocks against his skin and--
“Hey, are you okay?”
There was a hand in his field of vision now and it was small and unscarred and pale and small, small, small, and Katsuki looked up and saw--
Deku was dead, Deku was dead, Deku was dead, and he was here and small and so young, he shouldn’t be so young, why was he so young and small, why was he smiling, why was he smiling, why was he smiling--
Deku looked at him and smiled, smiled, smiled, and he was bloody and broken and his hair was dark and his face was caved in and there was blood everywhere, everywhere, everywhere and he was so young and small and the same Deku he saw at school and they were one and the same, both young and small and bloody and smiling and holding a hand out to him--
He was holding out a hand to him, he was smiling, he was dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, and Katsuki was dying too, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he--
It was dark, dark, dark, and he was suffocating-suffocating-suffocating.
He couldn’t breathe, there was sludge, there was a muzzle, there was a hand at his throat, there was--
He couldn’t breathe, there was sludge, there was a muzzle, there was a hand at his throat, there was something he was missing, there--
He couldn’t breathe--
He couldn’t breathe--
He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, to die, to die, to die, to die--
He couldn’t--
He couldn’t--
He--
It was the fastest Shouta had run since the USJ.
It took him less than a second to realize who was screaming because, underneath the terror and panic, Bakugou’s screams did all have a like quality.
Shouta raced across the rooftops, silence and stealth be damned; he needed to get to his student now.
With a final jump from rooftop to ground, Shouta slammed into the ground, rolling with the leap, and charged into the alley. Capture weapon and quirk flaring, he rounded the corner, tensed, and--
Shouta had seen many things in his time as both a hero and a teacher. It was his job to help people, and more often than not that involved seeing the aftermath. The aftermath of battles, of wreckage, of domestic cases, of breakdowns and outrage. He had seen people throw up from the force of their sobs, had seen people punch the ground until their hands broke, people tear out their hair, try and gouge out someone else’s eyes with their bare hands; people completely catatonic, people trembling so harshly they couldn’t hold a pen, people standing in shock with blood and brain matter splattered across their face.
Shouta had seen many things. Some as a hero, some as a teacher, and some that unfortunately caused some overlapping. Shouta had seen many things, perhaps, by someone’s standards, too many things.
And yet none of it prepared him to see Bakugou at that moment.
His student was on the ground, lying on his side with his legs pulled in close to himself and his hands scraping at his hair and head. He was shaking, violently so, practically rocking in place. His eyes were glazed over, tears pouring over, running down his cheeks and over his nose. And with his mouth drawn open, terrible screams ripped themselves from his throat.
With Class 1-A alone, Shouta had seen his students excited, saddened, determined, focused, playful. He had seen his students scared for their lives, scared for his life, tremoring and gasping and getting up again and again to beat the odds. And whether the boy wanted to admit it or not, that meant Shouta had seen Bakugou scared too. Behind the bravado and arrogance, behind the taunts and sneers, behind the walls Bakugou forged around himself, Shouta had seen it.
But never like this.
Bakugou, here, now, on the ground and screaming, wasn’t just scared; he was terrified.
Shouta bolted forward, quirk sparking with agitation. There was no quirk to erase though. Phantasm was gone and the effects of the quirk had already settled in. He could do nothing about the terror his student was feeling. He could do nothing right now.
Shouta fell to his knees beside his student, eyes searching for any sign of injury. But other than a few scraps and bruises, there was nothing visible. Knowing backup and, with a quick text, an ambulance was on the way, Shouta reached for Bakugou’s shoulder to hold him still; he didn’t want to risk Bakugou exacerbating any unseen wounds in his panic.
“Bakugou,” he said, even though he knew his student would be unresponsive for some time. Still, on the off chance that the effects of the quirk were waning quicker than he thought, he had to try. “Bakugou, can you hear me?”
The answering scream was enough to make Shouta shut up and text his backup to hurry the fuck up.
He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, to die, to die, to die, to die--
He couldn’t--
He couldn’t--
He--
“Deku!”
Screaming, who was screaming, why were they calling for Deku, why couldn’t he see who was screaming, why, why, why--
“Deku!”
Who was screaming, why were they screaming, what was happening--
“Deku!”
The world shifted and he could see now, and there was Deku on the ground, bleeding-bleeding-bleeding, and he was dead, with his head caved in and his eyes gone, and bloody, blood was everywhere, and he was smiling, why was he smiling and--
“No!”
Screaming, it was him, he was screaming, he couldn’t breathe and he was screaming and he was suffocating-suffocating-suffocating, and Deku was dead, he was dying, dying, dying, and he could do nothing, he was useless and powerless and Deku was dead and--
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
No no no please, he was sorry, he was so sorry and he was powerless and weak and too late, too late, too late, and he was screaming and dying and--
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
Please, please, please, he was so sorry, he was so fucking sorry,
“Deku!” he screamed and sobbed and couldn’t breathe.
“You did this,” Deku said, voice echoing.
“Deku, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t bre--I can’t breathe, I can’t--I can’t,” he screamed, “I can’t! Breathe! Help, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t--ah, I can’t breathe, please, please, please--”
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he was dying, dying, dying, and Deku was dead, Deku was--
Deku was dead--
Deku was--
Deku--
“Deku--!”
It was dark, dark, dark--
He screamed--
“IZUKU!”
It took five minutes for backup and the ambulance to arrive. It was five minutes too long in Shouta’s opinion.
In those five minutes, Bakugou’s screams only diminished slightly. To his knowledge, Phantasm’s quirk didn’t last any longer than an hour. If Shouta’s count was correct, then Bakugou had to endure another half hour or so of the quirk’s effects.
The feeling of uselessness crept up Shouta’s throat.
Clenching his jaw, Shouta perked at the sound of sirens. He didn’t move from his position next to his student, waiting instead until he saw the blue and red lights flashing nearby. He heard the vehicle park and two doors slam. Two EMTs rounded the corner and Shouta allowed himself to feel the relief blooming in his chest.
“We’ve got you, kid,” he murmured to his student, helping the first EMT arrange the boy onto a gurney.
They boarded Bakugou into the ambulance, wasting no time to administer a sedative through an IV. It made Shouta tense when Bakugou had no reaction to the needle entering his skin; he just continued to let out sobs and short screams, shivering in place but otherwise unmoving.
The ambulance took off, sirens blaring. Shouta felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he left it unanswered. If it was an emergency, they would call. Instead, he stayed seated next to his student, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, eyes trained on the boy in front of him.
Bakugou’s unseeing eyes began to slide shut, the effects of the sedatives taking hold. Shouta held in a sigh of relief. He wasn't out of the woods yet.
And then, with a violent full-body twitch that made him arch off the gurney, Bakugou breathed in and shouted, “IZUKU!”
Shouta darted forward just as the EMT did, both of them grabbing a shoulder and pressing Bakugou back down onto the gurney. There was little need for force, seeing as Bakugou quickly went back to shaking and crying out.
The EMT muttered something about the sedatives and turned towards the IV. Shouta remained where he was, only moving to pull his hand back from Bakugou’s shoulder. His mind racing, Shouta stared at his student.
What was he seeing? What did it have to do with Midoriya? And what about it was so grievous for Bakugou to use, not Deku and not even Midoriya’s last name, but his first.
Shouta had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. He also had a feeling he needed to make a few calls.
Once they arrived at the hospital, the boy was taken into his own room for examination. Through the now quiet shouts and grunts, Bakugou continued to say Midoriya’s name and it wasn’t until he was fully sedated and asleep that it stopped. And after a quick call to Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru, there wasn’t much to do other than wait.
Waiting, in Shouta’s opinion, was one of the worst parts of the job. As a teacher and a hero. It was a hellish limbo that nobody could avoid. You were destined to arrive at some point of waiting one way or another.
The Bakugou’s arrived soon, however, and Shouta busied himself going over what happened to them both. Bakugou Mitsuki settled down into a chair next to her son’s bed, while the other went to fetch coffee.
Bakugou Mitsuki was something of an anomaly to Shouta. She was harsh and sharp but it was moments like this, watching her sit beside her son, eyes trained to the rise and fall of his chest, that told Shouta she cared for her child, truly. At least that was what Shouta hoped it was.
Shouta sat down at a respectful distance. Not only did he not want to intrude, but there was also something he wanted to bring up, and given Bakugou’s behavior on any normal day, Shouta wanted to be careful when approaching it.
“Bakugou-san,” he began. She tilted her head, listening, but did not draw her eyes away from her son. “When in the ambulance, young Bakugou called out for one of his classmates, Midoriya Izuku. To my understanding, the two have a volatile relationship, and quite frankly, I don’t know why he’d be calling for Midoriya. I was hoping you could shed some light.”
Bakugou-san didn’t reply for a moment. Calm wasn’t the right word for her. Still was what she was. Still and quiet and tense.
“Why would you need to know why he was calling for Izuku?” she then asked.
Shouta did his best not to show his surprise. Midoriya called himself and Bakugou childhood friends. Given their relationship, Shouta assumed that might’ve been an exaggeration. But if Bakugou-san was using Midoriya’s first name, then maybe it wasn’t exactly as Shouta thought.
“So we can better help your son,” Shouta replied. “Phantasm's quirk works to pull up traumatic memories and twist them. Think of it as a nightmare or night terror pushed to the end of the scale of fear; hell pushed off the scale. If Midoriya was a prominent subject in whatever he saw, I’d like to keep an eye on them.”
Shouta had let a lot slip under the rug, especially concerning Midoriya and Bakugou’s relationship. There were things he could handle as their teacher, but if the boys had history, bad history, then that was something they could discuss with the school counselor. Shouta wasn’t a therapist, but he wanted to do what he could for his students; it was his job, he owed them that at the bare minimum. And if he could start helping them here, then he was going to do exactly that.
Bakugou-san pressed her hand to her forehead, leaning back in her seat. She let out a quiet, rough laugh. “Nightmares, you say,” she muttered. “Some things never do change, huh?”
“I’m sorry?” Shouta said.
“I don’t know what my son may have seen,” Bakugou-san told him. “I don’t know what he may have seen relating to Izuku. What I do know is that if there’s one person who knows how to comfort my son after a nightmare, it’s Izuku.”
Shouta stared. Bakugou-san noticed, threw her head back, and laughed. “My brat’s always had nightmares,” she continued. “Some had him waking up screaming in the middle of the night; scared the hell out of Masaru and I the first time it happened. When he and Izuku were young, they were attached at the hip. So sleepover became frequent and when my brat woke up shaking and all, Izuku worked like a charm every single time. Inko and I would come to wake ‘em up in the morning and you wouldn’t have been able to tell whose legs were whose or which arm belonged to which body.” She chuckled, softer this time. “Back then, my kid never trusted anyone like he trusted Izuku.”
That… Shouta didn’t know how to respond to that. He looked at young Bakugou, lying there under pristine white sheets, and wondered what changed.
“I can hear you thinking, Aizawa-san,” Bakugou-san said.
Shouta huffed out a small laugh. “Would it be inappropriate for me to go make a call?” he asked.
“If you’re thinking about calling Izuku, then no, go right ahead. I wouldn’t mind seeing the kid. He’s not going to be asleep anyway, he’s always had a shit sleep schedule. Oh, and don’t worry about my brat’s reaction; he’s hopped up on enough drugs to keep him from complaining.”
Shouta rose from his seat and headed towards the door. “Then excuse me.”
Calling Midoriya in the middle of the night wasn’t ideal but what Bakugou-san had been true: Shouta knew that the kid’s sleep schedule was, in fact, shit.
“Aizawa-sensei?” Midoriya said once he picked up. His voice was rough and croaky, and for a second Shouta felt guilty; it sounded like he had just woken up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Midoriya,” he replied, curt. “On the joint patrol with Bakugou, he was put out of commission for the time being due to a quirk. He’s at the hospital now and is recovering.”
“Shi--shoot,” Midoriya stuttered. Shouta couldn’t help but smirk. Good one, Problem Child. “Why are you calling me then?”
Shouta took in a deep breath and said, “Both young Bakugou and Bakugou Mitsuki have asked for you.”
Silence.
“I’m-I’m sorry?” Midoriya asked, voice high and absolutely incredulous.
“You heard me.”
“I-I know, I just…” Another beat of silence before the faint sound of clothes and sheets rustling against each other. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I want you here in ten,” Shouta pressed. If what Bakugou-san said was accurate, Midoriya could be a lot of help right now.
“I don’t know if--”
“He called you by your first name, Problem Child.”
Shouta heard a small choked off gasp. His heart thudded twice and then--
“I’ll be there in five.”
It was dark but Katsuki didn’t feel scared.
It was dark but he was warm and somewhere soft.
His lungs pulled in crisp clean air and pushed it back out. Oh. He could breathe now.
He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the sensation.
He was warm and soft and breathing, and it was all okay.
He was fine, he was safe; no more nightmares to hurt him.
It was okay, it was okay, it was okay.
“--been in and out, y’know?”
Who was speaking? Their voice was rough and course but familiar.
“--said anything?”
“Not… asked for you… talking, kid?”
“Auntie!”
Auntie? Who was talking? He wanted to know, needed to know. They were disrupting his warm-soft-safe.
Slowly the world around him bloomed into color.
Or really, just into white. White walls, white ceiling, white sheets.
Huh. Didn’t matter, the white wasn’t the source of the voices.
Katsuki turned his head, which was much harder to do than he’d admit, and--
There. It was dark but he could see blonde hair like his, a sneering grin like his, and green hair and pale skin.
“Kacchan?”
Oh. It was Izuku.
That was fine. It was okay. Izuku was here and he was warm-soft-safe and everything was okay.
A hand entered his line of vision. It was his. Huh, he didn’t remember moving it. It was reaching to Izuku, though, so it was okay.
Izuku didn’t take his hand. Katsuki groaned, shaking his arm. He did not pout though, absolutely not.
But then a warm, scarred hand grasped his. There, that was better, but Katsuki wanted Izuku closer. Closer like they were when he had nightmares when they were younger.
He tugged on Izuku’s hand. There was a moment of stillness before the green hair moved.
Izuku came closer and closer and then he was in view, his vision clearing.
Izuku looked worried, which wasn’t right, and tired, which was normal.
Katsuki grumbled and continued to pull on his arm. “C’mere,” he mumbled, his mouth feeling fuzzy.
“Huh?”
With a final groan of frustration, Katsuki yanked Izuku’s hand with all his might.
Izuku’s arm flopped with the attempt.
“Oh!” Yes, finally, Izuku got it. “Uh, are you sure?”
“‘Zuku… c’mere.”
Izuku’s hand tightened his grip on Katsuki’s. It didn’t hurt though.
Finally, finally, Izuku sat down on the bed. He was careful and slow but he was warm and it was nice and everything was okay.
When Izuku settled, Katsuki pulled him closer, knowing it was okay, Izuku was here, and it was warm-soft-safe.
Soon, Izuku’s arms wrapped around his frame, and his chin fell on Katsuki’s head and everything was okay.
Katsuki, surrounded in warm-soft-safe and held in Izuku’s arms, fell into the best sleep he’d had in months.