Was meant to update See (Too Much)
Updates this instead.
I'm not saying it's karma because See(Too Much) delayed the last Stygian Fire update, but I might be inclined to. No worries tho, I'm gonna finish it in a day or two. I just need reviewing and rewriting some parts because well, you'll see.
Anyhow into the scheduled Bakugo angst.
Izuku, you can sit in a corner and wait for your own angst fics to update.
Toga is a hands on teacher.
She hovers around him as he works, the gold of her eyes swallowed by the darkness of her pupils. Hands on his forearms, chin on his shoulder, sharp teeth whispering secrets to him through ragged, excited breathing that rarely failed to send a shiver of cold down his spine.
A presence behind him, gently herding him towards the finish line.
With her wispy, delighted voice in his ear, he learns all the parts of the human body, down to the smallest bone. He learns about the carotid arteries, the sciatic nerve, the names of all the bones in the human body -everything Toga finds pertinent to teach him.
And there is a lot.
Humans were complicated little machines, Katsuki learns. Intricate, elegant, yet so disgusting, a package of contradiction that made his head spin more than dehydration or Toga ever did. If you know what you're doing, it's easy to take them apart. It's even easier to take what you need.
He learns how to find the kidneys with a look.
How much force he needs to apply to break fingers.
How to pluck out eyes without damaging them.
How to strip a person of their flesh.
How to drag it out until Toga got bored and made him finish the job.
Most importantly of all, he learned to reach in and from these shivering, twitching vessels of flesh and bone he rips out the truth; tells it apart from the terrified responses they cried out in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, to give them some release.
The shaking and hesitation of his hands fades in time. How long, Katsuki has no way of gauging, but those shivers eventually give away to smoother, more controlled movements. His cuts are more precise, his hold over his tools looser, more confident.
Eventually, he gets creative.
Gliding fingers charged with heat from his Quirk, marking a burning path up and down human skin as his victims writhe in their binds. Toga was especially smitten that day by his creativity. She'd leaned over their work table, smile bright and sharp like a proud lioness as she cupped his face with red-smeared hands.
"Good job, sweetheart."
And like the whipped dog he was, Katsuki preens.
.
.
.
It's the end of another session. He's setting the last cleaned tool on the workbench, a jagged hunting knife, when Toga tosses something at him unexpectedly. It bounces off his head -surprise at her sudden movement made him freeze like a deer in the headlights- but he manages to catch it before it hits the ground.
Confused, he stares down at the strange object in his grasp; it's not sharp at all, not even heavy. Nothing that really hurt to get struck by, so why would she throw this at him?
Then he realizes what it is. The cylindrical shape.
The coldness of it.
It's a bottle.
It's a stupid fucking plastic bottle.
How come he didn't he recognize it right away?
Katsuki takes in the sight of this object so utterly alien, spinning it in his hands slowly -brisk movements always earned him a punishment- feeling the cold seep into his skin. It eases some of the heat that came from working and being in a non air conditioned room for so long.
The sensation of relief from his heated skin having contact with the cool water grates at him.
It's nice.
It's comforting.
It's not-
Maybe it was a test?
He turns to his captor. Unknowing or likely, uncaring of his troubled thoughts, Toga hums appreciatively and spins on her heels, grabbing the table with the latest body and wheeling it out for Kurogiri to pick up later.
It takes him a good minute of hesitation in the semi-dark before he opens the bottle and drinks. It's the most he'd had in...in forever, and he can't help but give into the desperation haunting his weary body. He gulps it down quickly, eyes never straying from the door.
Anytime now, Shigaraki and Toga would barge into the room and punish him for failing the test. Clutching the half empty bottle, he ambles onto the farthest corner of the room and curls up in the corner, clutching the water to his chest and standing guard -that is until exhaustion and stress put him under.
(They never come.)
.
.
.
It becomes a system.
He does his work, he gets a bottle to drink.
Sometimes, it's food. A sandwich, most commonly.
(It had taken him ten minutes of staring before he clawed his way through the bitter feeling in his chest and took it from the plate.)
It's all dependent on Toga -if she didn't feel satisfied by his performance, he gets nothing but a handful of muk he's not certain is food, but he eats anyways because that's the only thing he'd been fed during most of his stay here and fuck, it hadn't killed him yet.
Which made this even stranger.
Why would they feed him now? They'd sustained him with the gravy-like paste before, why change his diet?
There had to be a reason.
There was always a reason.
They wanted something from him, and they were slowly winning.
The thought sits restless under his skin. He can barely keeps his arms from shaking during the next session.
Didn't one of his teachers -Aizawa his name was Aizawa dumb fuck why can't you- mention something like this…? It was but a faint memory, tattered and worn, but he remembered the man telling that they would be studying kidnapping and hostage situations at the start of the second year.
It had a name.
He knew it did. He was certain of it.
But try as he might, he can't remember the class they had on the subject. Toga certainly doesn't leave him enough time alone and aware for that.
(There's a lot of things, Katsuki finds, that he can't remember.)
.
.
.
Sometimes when Toga takes the prisoners away from him, they're still alive.
They're special, she'd told him once while they worked together to excavate a still beating heart from it's owner's ribcage. This one wasn't one of them. Sensei needs them.
Katsuki knows better than to ask.
.
.
.
Sometimes, he hesitates.
Sometimes, he looks down at the body he's working and catches wide eyes and desperation. Pleading.
Each time, it's like a cold bucket is dumped over his head. Like their eyes are reaching deep within this numb body and touching the tiny shrivelled light in him that was still Bakugo Katsuki, the boy who wanted to become a hero.
This time was no exception.
As pained brown eyes crossed his own burnished red, Katsuki finds his hands clammy and cold, the curved knives he was holding shaking his in sweaty grip. Quickly, he looks away from those eyes veiled with agony. Gulping down air, he sets his tools down rather harshly near the tied legs.
He didn't dare look up at the young woman strapped on the table. The sight made him sick and tingly and they'd barely started working on her, so it wasn't the blood. No, deep down he knew it wasn't.
And he hates it.
He hates feeling like this.
He hates feeling, period.
"Something's the matter?" Shuffling behind him alerts him of Toga's movements. She's setting down one of the tools she'd just selected to start her work on the girl's head.
She's close now. He can feel the warmth of her body pressing against his back.
It takes him a while to make his tongue work.
"This." He offers with the slightest waver. His hands twitch at his sides. "This is wrong."
Silence. He feels Toga nod against his back. Her hair brushes against the bare skin of his shoulders.
Then:
"If you think that, then why don't you stop?" Toga whispers to him. He feels her fingers drawing circles on his hips pensively.
There's no retort he can offer to that.
They both knew the answer.
Still, the feelings persevere. Like a ugly wound that feasted so. Without even looking up, he knows the captive is still staring at him. Katsuki can feel the weight of the bound girl's eyes on him.
He swallows. He can't look up.
He doesn't dare.
"It still feels…"
Toga must have noticed the staring too, because her grip on him tightens.
She leans back; Katsuki feels the older teen shifting the tools on the table with her body as she pulls him along, resting him on her lap as she sits on the worn table. He hates it. It makes him feel small and vulnerable and still like a beaten dog, he doesn't pull away from the other blonde.
He's perfectly still when she wraps her arms around his midriff, locking his own arms against his chest.
"...wrong?" She guessed in a breathy, familiar way. It's the same tone she takes when she's trying to discern which hook in her collecting was best for plucking eyes out. "You still feel that this is wrong, don't you?"
It would be easy, to lie.
But she would know. She always does. It might as well be her Quirk.
And so, he gives a tiny, barely noticeable nod.
There's a chuckle, then a hand grabs onto his chin and twists it around with more tenderness than Katsuki would have expected from her, though he knows Toga's gentleness was a double edged sword.
Red meets gold.
"You'll learn, Katsuki." She purrs, her thumb caressing under his left eye. She tilts her head, a smirk twisting her lips. "I'll teach you everything I know, sweetheart. Then you'll stop feeling like this."
She leans closer, smile shifting into something more secretive.
"...then you'll stop feeling and just do whatever what you want."
Numbly, Katsuki lets her pull him into a kiss.
.
.
.
The day he gets through an entire session with no help from Toga, Shigaraki is there to celebrate.
Arms bloodied up with his shoulders, hair sticky and nose rendered useless by the overpowering scent of blood and urine in the room, Katsuki watched as Shigaraki placed his hands on the body and turns what little was left looking human to a paste of ash, blood and fluids.
Task done, Shigaraki turns to grin down at him, parched lips pulled so wide the thin, dry skin of his lips cracks.
It stretched his face almost inhumanely in the dim lighting of his cell, making him look like one of those bogeymen of legend.
Katsuki has to wonders if Shigaraki had ever been human to begin with.
(He wonders if maybe that's what he was starting to look like.)
.
.
.
One by one, the other members of the League start showing up.
He doesn't notice them as first, too busy being elbow deep in the bowels of a forty year old man. The intestines squirm around his hands like living eels, and he has to be extra careful to keep the knife he was holding from rupturing them. Fresh fecal matter stank worse than anything else the human body had to offer, he'd discovered over time.
When he does though, he watches them through narrowed eyes.
White mask.
Top hat man.
A lizard.
It's only at Toga's behest that Katsuki resumes his work. Them watching him from the corners of the cell made him feel restless. Shigaraki hovering nearby, watching on with almost pride in those sickly red eyes only aggravated things.
This, he knows what it means.
The other villains were here to watch the lion play tricks -to see the prize they'd worked so hard on obtaining finally bloom.
The villains brought only faint reaching from the memories of before. Not even enough to get their names, for the most part. Roaming, his eyes settled on the tallest of them. This time, he's the only one in the room alongside Shigaraki, himself and the captive Their eyes met; dark red with sharp aquamarine.
This one…
Katsuki knows this one.
A black coat. Scars. Blue eyes.
Dabi.
Memories scratch at the back of his head, faint and fragmented. A forest. Screaming. Shouting.
His name.
No, something else-
'Kacchan!'
Green eyes, wide and terrified as a desperate scream echoed through the clearing, broken arms dangling at their owner's sides. Something tight and warm clutching the back his neck, another around his waist, hauling him back no matter how much he fights against it.
'Don't come, Deku!'
Then darkness.
Katsuki shudders at the sudden burst of something that wells up in him at the -memory?
It hurt.
(He didn't want to remember. It hurts to remember.)
The sound that leaves his lips is a mixture of a snarl and a choked cry. A half baked threat, but one nevertheless.
Dabi pauses, his smirk faltering when he realized the blonde has stopped working just to growl at him. Katsuki watches him through narrowed eyes as he turns his scarred face towards Shigaraki, questioning.
Shigaraki only tilts his head and tuts softly.
"That wasn't very nice, Katsuki." He drawls in a way that doesn't fail to send shivers crawling up his spine. He knows that tone. "Dabi will be your superior when you join the vanguard. Apologize for your rude behaviour."
No words leave his lips. Katsuki darts his eyes between the two, hating the restless feeling in his gut.
Fear.
"Katsuki."
A full body throb leaves him but still. He can't force a sound through his lips.
Dabi snorts. "Looks like you still got some work to do, Stitches." The look of laid back smugness he gives Shigaraki makes his spine crawl -especially given the fact that the teal-haired man stays painfully quiet.
Seeing as he wasn't going to get his apology. Dabi shrugs nonchalantly and walks off to the door. He pauses right in front of it, tilting his head back to look at them both.
"Call me when you got him in working order." The scarred man says, blue eyes blazing with mirth. Still, Shigaraki is silent. "Then we can get started."
Katsuki watches quietly as he opens the cell door -light too white too bright , it dug into his eyes- and left just as quickly as he'd arrived.
As soon as Dabi is out of sight, Shigaraki is up his face, hissing like a rattled snake. He all but looms over him. The too wide, crazed stare he offers Katsuki nearly makes him shudder. He fight through it and instead stands, shoulders hunching as he feels the other man's putrid breath on his skin.
"You're improving, but you don't seem to understand when to heel."
The hand on his shoulder leaves as fast as it arrives, brushing over his skin only to be swiftly followed by a familiar pain of exposed nerves that sends Katsuki's knees wobbling.
Shigaraki doesn't call Toga to punish him this time, like he usually would when Katsuki refuses to take an order. Rather, Katsuki feels himself being dragged back into his chair. It seemed like the League's leader was going to do things himself.
Katsuki knows his hands are free. At any time he could try to blast Shigaraki away. Katsuki knows that. He even has some of his tools still on the nearby table, well within reach. He knows this too.
And yet, he closes his eyes and tilts his head away.
Bracing himself.
When Shigaraki shrieks in fury and his hands come down again, Katsuki stoically waits through it.
.
.
.
He feels less and less, each time it happens.
.
.
.
"Why him?"
"Hmm?"
"Deku."
Shigaraki's hands twitch dangerously at his side. Nevertheless, Katsuki pursues it. He's already too damaged for the older man to think about going through another of his sessions.
"Why the hate boner for him?" Katsuki presses, voice soft and cold.
Shigaraki's laugh is humourless. "Oh. He didn't tell you?" He growls, then a smirk stretched his lips once more. "What am I saying, of course not. Why would he confide in you of all people?"
This time, it's Katsuki who flinches.
It's a automatic reaction, one he can't stop.
But Shigaraki was right. Izuku had likely already told Todoroki about his secret. Maybe the brunette girl, Uraraka. Not Katsuki.
Never Katsuki.
He doesn't matter.
Why would he? He was the childhood bully, the idiot who dug his heels in and refused to move forward, to set aside his hatred. He was barbed wire and a sharp tongue and meaningless, cruel words, a package as unattractive to be around as the people Toga brought in looked after he was done with them. A old memory Deku would forget once he graduates, once he steps onto the light to take his place in society.
He'd said so himself in middle school. Though the memory was old and faded, chipped away by Toga's knife and Shigaraki's touch, Katsuki remembered what he told Deku.
Most heroes had stories of their school days.
Maybe this would be Deku's story. The childhood bully he'd overcome on his path to becoming the Number One Hero. The stupid, childish, useless hateful boy who burned too many bridges and tries to tear him down into the darkness, keep his face smashed into the dirt while he greedily reached for a future that wasn't his to take.
(Ha. How ironic. Who was drowning in the dark now?)
"You can tell me." Katsuki speaks up.
It tastes dead on his tongue. Not right. As if while Shigaraki knew of the answer, it wasn't his to share to the blonde.
But he's too tired to care about what was right and wrong.
"Right." Shigaraki taps his lower lip thoughtfully. His other hand is still in Katsuki's sweat covered hair, petting it like one would a lap dog.
"Well, it started a long time ago, with two brothers…"
.
.
.
It made sense, didn't it?
So much fucking sense.
What irony.
Of course fucking Deku would be chosen by All Might as his successor. It makes his head spin from how easily it all clicks together, parts of a mystery he knows is there and he knows he'd been investigating before soothing together to form a perfect puzzle.
By taking on One for All, Deku had more or less cemented his future as the Number One Hero. He might as well have been destined for it, or some bullshit.
It's ironic really, how the universe keeps spitting in Katsuki's eyes.
He barely has enough energy to chuckle bitterly at this.
.
.
.
Just pray that things will be better in your next life, Kacchan.
.
.
.
It's quiet.
He thinks it's the middle of the night, but he's not sure due to the lack of windows or a clock in the room.
His gaze fixates on the ceiling over his head, roving over the dark spots of grease, the grey and white splatter of bleach all over the floor, the cracks in the old asphalt.
They didn't muzzle or restrain him this time. It wasn't the first, not would it be the last according to Shigaraki. All according to your behavior, he'd chirrup end while patting his hair. It had been sickeningly proud.
He hates it.
He hates even more the way his body just accepted the praise. Because while he knows he is subs consciously just trying to stay alive, he knows that there is more to it.
They're training him, he's certain of that. And either he died here or by the time Toga and Shigaraki were satisfied with him, he would be something that couldn't even be classified as human.
But there was no way out, was there?
And it's not like Toga and Shigaraki would just let him get away. They'll chase him down till the end of the world, he is sure of that. They would do it just to set an example.
In the semi darkness, Katsuki watches as sweat dripped down his arms, droplets of caramel-scented nitroglycerin dribbling onto the floor. It's more than before, nowadays. The steady stream of water had done worded so in helping him stay healthy. Or at least, healthier.
All at once, the reality slaps him in the face.
He doesn't want to die.
He doesn't want to die here.
Most of all, he doesn't want to-
'...then you'll stop feeling and just do whatever what you want.'
A too warm yet at the same too cold sensation fills his gut at the memory. Rage, hapless and furious, desperate for release. His fingers twitch in front of him. There's faint pops coming from his palms when he unconsciously activates a minimum amount of nitroglycerin.
Testing, he flexes his hands.
The plan that forms in his head is hysterically stupid.
..but really, what was the alternative?
Mind resolved, he close his eyes.
Counts to ten.
Ignites.
Toga, u shouldn't have taught him how to use knives n shit. He's gonna whoop your ass.
Also, if you don't realize what he did at the end of the chapter it will be cleared up -but I think you can guess what he's done. I put enough context clues in this last section for that.
Next chapter is gonna be a tiny bit smoller but packed with meaning, so fun!
I'm gonna go to slep now. I'm coughing and sick and it's not fun .