SPLATTT!

He and his friends (Followers? Classmates?) were on their way out, stopping just in front of the school building to discuss afternoon plans. Three bored students with nothing to do. He should consider joining a club or something this year. Looks good on paper; schools eat that shit up.

It was about that time, with little nothing thoughts going through each of their minds, when an unidentified falling object collided with the ground at their feet.

It landed with a loud unfamiliar splatter, and Katsuki felt something wet hit his face with just enough force to make him flinch.

One of his friends fell over. Both screamed, first in shock, then in terror.

Nothing left his own mouth, however.

"N-no way," muttered Thing 1, "Is that…Midoriya!?"

No. It couldn't be.

That didn't make any sense…

"I thought you at least had some fight in you."

"He finally gets it; he'll never be a hero."

"Better to find out now than later, I guess."

"You know," he'd started, wanting to take one last jab before leaving the classroom, "if you really wanna be a hero that badly, there might actually be another way."

No, it wasn't really a jab, more of a stab.

"Just pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life, then take a swan dive off the roof of the building!"

A stab right in his wounded pride, given a twist for good measure.

"Something wrong?" He asked, the question laced with intimidation, as a few sparks lit up in his palm.

It was only for a moment, before he shut that shit down, but that useless nerd had the gall to look his way with the indignant gaze of a person ready to fight back.

Ready to fight…to fight.

So then why?

"A…a teacher! We gotta get a teacher!" Thing 2 squeaked from the ground.

"A teacher? We need an ambulance!" Thing 1 stated, removing his cellphone from his pocket.

"I dunno! Just—call someone! Anyone!" The other scrambled back into the school building, calling for their homeroom teacher. Probably the first name he could muster off the top of his head.

"Y-yeah! I'd like to report a—there's been a—W-we're at Aldera Middle School! P-Please! Send an ambulance! He's really hurt! I-I don't know if he's—,"

It was only when his classmate started shaking his shoulder that he'd realized he'd been staring, unblinking, at what could only be a cor—

"Hey! Katsuki! Snap out of it!" The other boy pleaded, "H-hey, are you—?" Katsuki had no clue what expression he was making, but it caused the question to die on his friend's lips.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with his face, but what was on it. They'd been so preoccupied with the…body…none of them had noticed the blood that splashed his face, the same blood that stained their shoes, and maybe the pant legs of their uniforms.

The next few hours were a blur of sounds and lights. The ambulance came and went with Midoriya…what was left of him. He remembered someone cleaning the blood from his face in a manner far too gentle to be comforting. Some police cars arrived to secure the scene. The sirens were too loud, lamps too bright. Katsuki felt a foreign sickness filling him, all the sights and sounds giving him a migraine.

He and his friends were brought to the police station. Things 1 and 2 frantically explained what happened the best that they could, still in a panic despite having some time to process the event. Had he been any better? Katsuki couldn't recall a single question he was asked, let alone remember if he responded.

When his parents picked him up from the station, they weren't as upset as he thought they'd be. The cops must've reassured them that Katsuki hadn't killed anyone…

…He hadn't.

He didn't remember the ride from the school to the station, nor from the station to home. It was as if he were teleported from one location to the next, his brain so full of nothing that he could only recognize the points for the lines.

Within the familiarity of his home, things started to clear up. The blur of the world slowed, objects and faces becoming clear. His dad convinced him to eat dinner. He couldn't stomach much, having lost his appetite. His mom didn't nag him when he failed to finish his plate, nor chase him up the stairs when he fled to his room.

The boy didn't bother turning on the light, instead reveling in the dark silence of his bedroom. Muscle-memory brought him to his bed without stumbling, and he collapsed into the security of his well-acquainted mattress.

He flipped onto his back. Placing an arm over his closed eyes, he laid there, tired and unable to rest. His sense of time dwindled to nothing, minutes or hours passing without meaning.

Katsuki sensed his mind catching up to his body after all this time. He would've run from it if he could, because now…he couldn't stop himself from thinking.

Gears creaked back to life inside his skull, mulling over his day from morning to night without prompting.

They had all been standing so close, none closer than Katsuki. Deku had fallen at his feet, not a foot of space between them. He'd felt the air rush as the body displaced it in its motion, pulled indiscriminately downward by gravity, the unwitting accomplice.

The nerd nearly landed on him; would've been poetic. Then again, the attempt itself likely would've been flubbed if he had: they'd both be in the hospital, and then Katsuki would promptly beat the shit out of him when they next crossed paths.

But it hadn't failed. He met the ground with utmost efficiency.

It wasn't a question he'd been looking to answer: What happens when a body hits the concrete? He hadn't imagined what it'd look like.

What it'd sound like…

SPLATTT!

He breathed harshly through his nose as his stomach suddenly heaved, sending bile up his throat.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He thought there'd be more of a "CRACK!" the sound of a skull busting open from the impact.

He gasped, stomach lurching again. Okay, no more toughing it out. All it was going to earn him was a mess to clean off his bedroom floor.

Listening again (and again, and again,) he realized he could hear the "crack!" of every bone in the boy's body breaking all at once.

Though, it was more like a CRUNCH…

And now he was stumbling into the bathroom to rightfully puke his guts out.

The image kept playing over and over in his head.

Red. Green. Like fucking Christmas.

He could still feel the blood that splattered on his face; the memory sending another wave of vomit out his mouth and to the toilet.

Fuck, the blood splashed on his shoes too. There was no point in trying to clean them. He wanted them trashed. He wanted them burned.

Standing at the sink, he rinsed his mouth, trying to remove the taste of bile and relieve the burn it left behind. He splashed some water on his face to clean up, to relax…

He flinched…Blood. His breath stuttered. There was blood on his face. His stomach churned, threatening him if he didn't fix the problem quickly. Katsuki wiped his face, trying to dry it, clean it, but he still felt it there.

He rubbed his face raw, nothing removing the sensation of the blood sticking to his skin. Now it stung. The pain followed a line that started near his brow, crossed the bridge of his nose, and ended under the opposite eye. It was as if the blood splatter had sliced open his skin, seeping in and mixing with his own. No, was it inside of him now!?

The thought only made things worse. He was in three parts, hyperventilating, screaming, sobbing, until his parents finally came in asking why the fuck he was making such a racket in the middle of the night.

He wasn't all there, but he could vaguely recall his father managing to pull his hands away from his face to stop him from doing any more damage. The rest, like the day, was a blur of concern, calming words, and unwanted comfort. He'd been inconsolable, but they got him back to bed where exhaustion took over, pulling him into a thankfully dreamless sleep.