A/N: I've been sitting on this for much longer than I should have, having completely forgotten to update FF when I updated Ao3. Whoops.
Successes like these are far and few.
Miles are logged, new areas discovered and turned over, even a few supplies found scavenged. There was minimal undead roaming the streets, the few that grew bold shot down with one to the chest and one to the head and with ease they carried on. Most importantly, no casualties. Not even a close call.
There should be more of this, Katsuki thinks as they make their way back, eyes roaming across the terrain in wait for anything to show itself. It's been a smooth run thus far but that doesn't mean it's over; it's far from that. His cell's steps are lighter, more confident, more pronounced. They've grown into their own, each and every one of them — can defend and attack on queue and he's so immensely proud, in silence.
But his steps are heavy.
An itch in the back of his mind formed as they prepared to leave the compound, unconcerned at first. Still, Katsuki runs down a mental checklist as they cross the gate's threshold, for good measure he decides because scratching does nothing to make it subside—
Weapons. He tightens the grip on his own for good measure, eyes glancing to his side where his firearm rests comfortably, check.
Supplies. He jostles a bit when he takes a step—water sloshes in a closed container somewhere in the depths of his bag, spare bullets shuffle, a few snacks he remembers tossing in probably buried beneath it all, check.
Idiots, he doesn't bother to turn, not when each of their voices stands out against the monotonous hum of the wasteland stretched before them. Each fall in line, their go-to herringbone, their enthusiasm damn near smothering him, fucking check.
She's quiet though, and he idly muses that this is the feeling wracking his brain.
But the itch never faded. If anything it grows as they continue their run, smooth sailing and too fucking easy as it is and some rational part of him in the depths of his mind convinced that something is not right but what?
Well, he has no fucking clue.
"There's the wall," Mina starts, an extra pep in her step as she hangs on Katsuki, "we're almost home." He brushes her off and she laughs, falling in line once again. "Yeah." If she notices his less than enthusiastic answer, she doesn't mention it but he doesn't think she does, mind wandered within seconds.
Katsuki turns and when he sees nothing out of the ordinary (or rather, nothing that warrants this unease that plagues him), he sighs. Everything is as it should be—Mina is right behind him, as she always is, Eijirou to her right and Denki to her left, Hanta in the rear casting glances behind him every now and again. They're conversing, small talk but still alert, always alert.
Katsuki slows his steps, taking in their surroundings a bit more cautiously, eyes tracing over every last piece of anything and still there's nothing. Then what the fuck is this feeling?
"Yo, you good, Baku?" He's tired, drained; it's too damn hot outside and he just wants to fall against his mattress and pass the fuck out. Physically spent, sure (these runs are tiring) but okay. Still, his steps grow heavier and he knows it's not from exhaustion.
The itch begins to scratch on its own, dragging against his mind, clawing deeper and deeper the closer they get to the wall. A warning, if he's ever seen one.
But what the fuck for though?
"Yeah, I'm good." He's not, not even close but he's not about to tell Eijirou that until he knows just what it is that's bothering him so damn much. He hates lying, berates anyone caught in the act but for their sake, he'll do it. No point in getting their defensive up higher than they already are over nothing, right?
Fucking hypocrite.
Minutes pass and the wall looms over them, shading them from the intense heat but the sun peeks through holes worn in some places. They've been there, ever since they arrived because no structure can stand indefinitely in this environment but they're bigger now. They cast a fracture of light against the shadowed terrain, man made scars and it is this that sends a shiver down his spine.
It's partly what sent him to Aizawa just days before, a fire in his eyes and a warning on his tongue. He goes unbelieved because you're being ridiculous, brat and oh, how he wished he was. They're not smart, he says. The walls are weathering, sure, but safe, he says. Katsuki takes the dismissal with a grain of salt, rooted in place and daring him to prove it—show him he's wrong. When he can't he sits down and Katsuki tells him why he couldn't even if he tried.
And then the fucking night run.
That, he was not expecting. Something he said must have triggered a nerve, planted a seed of doubt that should have already been there and forced his hand. Nothing lasts forever and these walls are proof.
Still, he is most surprised by her, as he always seems to be, when she stands her ground against the runners of that night, the quiet bastard that holds her hand just a little too long and the four eyes that call him to action. He is impressed if nothing else when she challenges the call, made by someone she trusts and for reasons she's not privy to know.
She is a force to be reckoned with until it goes too far, a line she's crossed and he's not sure where or how, until she curls in on herself and is half the fighter he's seen her be and he can't fucking stand it.
There is a question there, lingering in the dead of silence and he wants to ask, so fucking badly when it crosses his mind.
Who the fuck were you, Round Face?
Because there's no reason, overwatch or not, that she should know that much of a cell placement and the way they run, no reason she should be familiar with the guns they wear on their shoulders with the fondness and intensity that she is and absolutely no reason she should know the outside walls better than those who've actually been there.
"Katsuki?" He's pulled from his thoughts when he hears her voice, crystal clear through the earpiece. It's monotonous, distracted and nothing like it usually is, all bright and cheerful and annoyingly her. He doesn't answer, not that she expects him too, only waits.
"I need to ask a favor."
Well, I need answers, but he smartly bites his tongue.
"What'dya want, Round Face?" Because lying beneath the red flags and the walls is a curiosity that burns and burns, questions that teeter on the tip of his tongue and a need to know just who she is, despite not knowing why he cares so damn much to begin with.
He ignores every eye that finds him, questioning stares, smug grins and all.
His device beeps in his pocket and it throws him off guard, reaching for it cautiously. His cell gathers around, peeking just enough to see a series of numbers, coordinates, dart across the screen.
"Wait, isn't that..." Denki's right and that should concern him even more.
"The back wall?" Katsuki questions, eyes tracing the structure in front of him, following the line until it bleeds into the distance. "What the fuck for?"
She doesn't answer right away.
It's her silence that puts him at pause, his earlier apprehension taking a back seat to the uncertainty that swallows him when she refuses to speak. He imagines her mind running through a mill of words, careful because it's him and he is no less than volatile in the best of times. "What. the. fuck. for, Round Face."
He's unapologetic, fully aware of his accusatory tone, how he enunciates every word and how it demands an answer that she still, as seconds pass, has yet to give. "Bakugou—"
"You feel it too, don't you?"
It is not the first time she had rendered him speechless.
It is, however, the first time he is relieved that her innate way of reading him, his movements and his silence, assures him that he is not crazy—that something is off and that, for once, he's not the only one who sees it. He doesn't know what the wall has to do with it, but it seems she does and it's this reason alone that he plays into her hand.
He starts walking, leaving behind eyes wide and mouths agape with every step. He follows a whim blindly, one that is not even his own and that is what has them hesitant to follow.
"Bakugou, are you sure?" Mina asks and he's not sure how to answer. The fear that coats her words is familiar, reminiscent of time very similar to now, uncertainty keeping her in place even as his feet keep moving. He doesn't want to leave her behind but he will, knowing Eijirou will remain at her side even as he keeps moving.
"'M not." And he would be lying if he said he was. But the warning is there, taunting and it just won't go away and he's not the only one who seems to be drawn to it. Then there's her, the way she asks him like she would do it herself if she had the chance, but doesn't (at least not right away), so by default he's her next best bet.
Katsuki doesn't put it past her to go off alone, wander to the edge of the wall until she finds what finally scratches the itch that keeps on digging and by then, it might be too late.
A risk he refuses to take.
for reasons, he won't quite own up to.
The footsteps behind him that gradually grow means they won't take that risk either, whether for him or for her he's not entirely sure but either way is thankful that he keeps hearing them. "Thanks, Kat — "
"Don't thank me just yet, Round Face."
A hunch. It's all he has to go by, all they have to prepare them for what they may, or may not, find. He's curious, that much is certain and it's what keeps him moving forward despite how all he wants to do is turn back; he has to know. Is my hunch right? He can take the fall if it's wrong, hopes for it because that means they're just a little bit safer. But if it is… what the fuck do we do, then?
Katsuki lets the negative thoughts fade, focuses instead on the sound of the terrain shifting beneath his feet with a subtle crunch, remnant glass breaking and dust kicked up from his heels. They trek in silence, apprehension, and focus. Every eye shifts from left to right to left, every finger hovers and every nerve remains tightly coiled. What was the edge of the wall keeps going, corners and curves until the horizon stretches into structures that far supersede the wall much as it does inside.
It's here they learn just how large Yuuie is, would have continued to be, had the wall not been.
"Keep your eyes peeled," he hears Eijirou call out, weapons trained in the same breath. They find a rhythm with practiced ease, each step calculated and precise and fallen in line with the steps in front of them, Katsuki's as the lead.
"Any idea what we're walking into?" He would have laughed had the thought of sound at this moment not absolutely scared him shitless.
It's darker over here; space is illuminated only by what remains of the sun peeking over the wall as it creeps towards the horizon line nearest the gate. On the other side. Every snap of debris that litters the ground beneath their feet resonates tenfold, shadows around them dense and cast by buildings that remind them just how small they really are. There are too many places for infected, among god knows what else, to hide.
Every sound hits different in the dark.
"I'm not sure," they forget she's there momentarily and he hears a weapon jostle in someone's hand, "I— it's just…"
A hunch.
"Right," because he gets it, she knows he does, "so check your shit and let's make it quick."
Their ranks break apart as they begin the search but remain close, always within sight of one another just in case. It's quiet, save for the sound that resonates from their movements, harsh breathing and the hum of life inside the walls. At first, it's hard to differentiate, until they can pinpoint what's alive, thriving against all odds and what's dead and doesn't, couldn't, even come close.
"What do you see?" Her voice is above a whisper but they hear her loud and clear.
"Nothing," because there was nothing to see. If it wasn't veiled by the dense shadows that frequent nooks and crannies, it was destroyed by time and left little to the imagination. Everything was gone — and if by some miracle it wasn't, eyes tracing what is thought to be there in the shadows less rummaged through, then it was damn near close.
Still, the feeling doesn't fade and he doubts it does for her, either.
"Can we leave now?" It's unlike Hanta to sound anything less than collected, calm despite the fear that clings to him, lives in him like it does the rest of them. He doesn't blame him. His own skin crawls the longer they're there, unable to find a damn thing worth mentioning and unaware of what very well may be there.
They're sitting ducks, just waiting for the boogie man to come out at them, or worse.
Katsuki shakes off the nerves that make his shoulders tense and steadies himself. There's nothing here he decides and turns. "Yeah, let's—"
He can't fucking breathe.
Every word left on his tongue dies, trapped behind the same force that withholds every breath he suddenly can't take. They need to get out, get far the fuck away from there because this spells nothing but trouble. Katsuki is thankful what managed to come out was some semblance of a sentence, leading them away because he doesn't think he could form one if he tried. Not now, anyway.
How the fuck did I miss this, knowing exactly how he did and hating how lowering his guard is the only way he could have.
Eyes are conditioned down sight, through a lens on some occasions and everywhere and nowhere at once on every other. He is no exception; there is very little that could penetrate his focus as long as he's beyond the walls, with or without his cell. There's too much to risk if something did.
His curiosity, once, and they nearly paid the price for his mistake with his life and theirs, making damn sure every day since then that nothing would penetrate it again. Ever.
Not even by a light that by all other reasons shouldn't be there.
Katsuki inches closer to the steady stream even as they rear to leave, steps of his cell falling soundless to the blood that rushes to his ears. They're still close, his cell; their presence lingers in the space behind him, a part of him knowing they wouldn't leave without him and somehow hoping for once they would.
The light is the only point of reference, everything else swallowed by the shadows cast, his eyes taking far longer than normal to adjust. A calloused hand runs across the textured stone covered in ick, shielding the pinhole stream and freezes once it flickers back to life.
His hand trembles.
He can hardly see it, but the light is not needed to recognize cratered holes that stem from this source, where the stone used to once exist, now buried beneath his own two feet, probably. Concentrated. Deliberate.
Fracture lines stretch from point of impact, spidering to god knows where and Katsuki imagines if he could see, there'd be a hell of a lot more covering a fucktonne more space.
He pulls away, foreign residue and gathered dust still stuck to the surface of his hand and for a moment, he wonders just what the hell it is. Katsuki leans forward, curiosity having him sniff once, twice and he's hit with a stench both foreign and familiar that his stomach tumbles and reels, nausea climbing his throat and burning his mouth.
"Bakugou?" Mina whispers, but in this soundless space, she may as well have been screaming. Along his arms, his skin raises and Katsuki stifles a shiver.
This, this shit right here.
It's apprehension; the dread that clung to him as they made their way back coming full swing, punching him in the gut and refusing to let him breathe. Or maybe it's the stench of blood, rotting decay, and who the fuck knows what else that is embedded in the fractures, eating away at the already crumbling stone-like acid.
"Katsuki?"
It's these jagged lines cratering from a barely-there hole, light from the other fucking side pouring through, that will only grow the more it's clawed at that has him stepping away from the shadows and into what light is left because there's a fucking end to this hell, right?
And when he sees the expanse of the wall and just how far they go, he fears numbers he didn't think we're possible.
"Bakugou?!"
It's the sound that penetrates the silence when he turns, faced with guttural groans that start as one and grow into so many more, limbs that drag across the dirt in the same way a hunter stalks its prey—much like they do when they're on the attack only it's not them, not this time.
It's the first shadow of doubt cast that him wondering just how long it took cities to crumble—that bank, from so long ago, to fall.
How long it would take them to fall.
Because Katsuki is right—about the walls, about the infected, about everything and for the first time that he can recall in his lifetime, he fucking hates that he is.
"What'dwe do?" Gods, how he wishes he could give Denki an answer, rip apart the fear that ties them down and pull his shit together—get them out. But when he opens his mouth, he is voiceless.
They were fucked.
And there wasn't a single thing they, or any fucking one, could do about it.
