Long time no see friends! Let's get this show on the road!
This chapter is pretty emotional, my only saving grace was my song selection for this story. Counting on Hearts by Icon For Hire and Superhero by Johnny Hollow were a godsend.
But by far the best one I used to really get into the mindset of this story was a remix/merge of Gasoline and Believer by GINGERGREEN 'mashup on youtube. If there is one song I love to assosiate with this story, its that one. In my head I replace the male singer with Katsuki and the female as Toga and it just works. The way both songs compete against each other until Toga's (Gasoline) song overwhelms and incorporates Katsuki's (Believer) is good shit.
Urgh.
I spent many nights using this song to build this story's plot. Anyhow, I'll stop annoying the lot of you now.
Onwards with the angst train!
The crunch crunch crunch of dirty, packed snow under his feet was a interesting noise that more than once nearly took his attention away from his target.
Nevertheless, even here in this strange world of tall buildings and open dark sky that was so different from his cell, Katsuki is able to stay on target.
He doesn't feel the cold anymore. Katsuki's not sure if he was acclimated to the freezing temperature or not, but it didn't feel as grating as it was before -or maybe it was the fact he had something to do narrowed down his swirling thoughts. Something to strive for; a goal that kept him occupied. Kept him from going still and cold and lost again, too many panicking thoughts tearing each other apart inside his skull until it felt like it was about to burst.
And if there was one thing he didn't want to feel anymore, it was that state of limbo. There was a difference between that sense of abandonment, both of the physical and mental realm, to the emptiness he felt now. Now was static and intent mingling into one; now was something that his mind could latch on to like a starving dog to a bone.
Keeping it fed, staving off the hunger if just for a little longer.
So long as I follow him.
Something twists inside him like a angry, writhing snake when he looks at the man standing a few scant feet forward, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the light to turn green. Nonchalant. Content.
(Innocent.)
The street lights illuminated the faces of the few people still walking around him, the sound of their hurried steps lost to the chaos of passing cars and bright flashing headers and teleprompters. Katsuki pauses briefly as he hears loud, drawn out wailing, the sound too high pitched and loud to be human.
Moments later, he watches as a firetruck speeds by, quickly followed by another. Snow billows around him, the pale banks of snow stirred up by the passing vehicles' presence. Some sneaks under his coat, almost making him shudder -that is, if he still felt the cold.
Katsuki exhales slowly; the air leaves his lips as a cold mist, making his eyes flutter as it brushes against his eyelashes.
He looks up. One of the televised billboards flickers, the lower half of the screen cracked, but still working. There's text scrolling atop of the screen, hovering over a man with a single horn. The picture of a strange, lanky creature to his side, large wings stretched and pale skin blue under the lights.
Fifteen Dead and Thirty-Two In Osaka's Fifth Nomu Attack
Huh.
Katsuki barely has the time to blink before the teleprompter flickers and a new reel appears.
Third Hero Death in Shizuoka: Hero Safety Commission Weights In
A car honks, snapping his attention forward. Green light.
The man is trotting onwards, crossing the street while checking his phone.
Dutifully, he follows.
While he keeps a respectful distance from his target, he can't help but sneak a glance or two at the headers on the buildings. A lot of them were shut down or either too damaged, but the scant few that were still alight this time into the night had either advertisements or videos -news- running.
They reach another crossroad. Another red light. The man shifts uncomfortably in front of him, a brief flash of restlessness before it melt away.
It's alright. Katsuki could afford to wait. He shifts his eyes to the ground, diverting his attention to what he hears. Cars. People. Horns. The crunch of snow.
(Too loud.)
He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, then opens them. Not wanting to attract attention, he tucks his head low -though not that low, forcing himself to look relaxed- and scuffles the dirty, watery snow at his feet with a worn boot.
'Don't look too busy. That draws more attention to you, and if they see you too many times they will remember. They will notice you.'
Katsuki looks at the street light again, silently waiting for it to turn green again. Snow falls on his face, sticking to his lashes. Despite the cold and the wetness, he blinks slowly, absorbing the alien sensation. Testing it if he remembers it.
He doesn't.
The light turns green.
Katsuki marches onward; his feet move on his own, his body is on autopilot, mind falling back to static as it lets instincts guide him onwards. Trudging through melted snow in front of the too bright headlights of cars. Once more he's grateful for the hood. Dirty and matted as it was, the rumpled clothes kept his sensitive eyes from being damaged by the lights.
(It was going to take some used to, not being in the dark anymore.)
The man's in front of him. Still walking. His phone has been tucked back into his pocket.
Too close.
Katsuki falters faintly, letting the distance grow between them. He waits a few more seconds before picking up the pace again.
'Slow, but not too slow, darling. Never follow in a straight line, and stay as far away as you can without losing sight of the target. There's no fun in a hunt if you lose your prey.'
The buildings around him are shorter, stockier. Apartments, a tiny part of him whispers. Living quarters. That's where the man was heading.
That was the end of the road.
His left hand sneaks down and tightens on the knife at his hip. He fights against the urge to unsheath it, his muscles coiling like a snake about to strike. Not yet. Close, but not yet.
Stopping in front of a small, box-shaped building, the man walks up a short flight of five stairs and reaches his door. He fumbles with his pockets, rubbing his hands together briefly in a attempt to ward off the winter cold.
Katsuki makes his move, silently slinking forward like a panther towards the exposed back. Muscles coiling in preparation, he takes a moment to check the windows. No lights. Empty.
There's the clicking of keys. The door opens with a creak in front of the man, the sound incredibly loud for his ears.
Now.
He darts forward, each step calculated and silent. It's disarmingly easy to sneak up behind the man, grab him by the hair and harshly pull to the right. Disbalanced and surprised, the dark haired man flails and his head tilts alongside his hair to minimize damage, a garbled sound leaving his lips.
Unfortunately, it also leaves his neck bared to Katsuki. It's his last mistake.
"What the f-"
The phrase he is about to finish dissolves into a gurgle as Katsuki swiftly sinks his knife into his neck, ripping savagely in a sawing motion just before the carotid artery and the cervical spine.
Blood splatters. Vocal cords severed from the trachea and lungs he cannot scream, only gurgle as Katsuki rips his knife out and finishes the job by cutting the rest of his mangled throat open in the same, smooth movement.
His knees buckle under the sudden weight, brought on by his victim's weakened, trembling legs. Nevertheless, they hold.
Stoically he quickly pushes the dying man forward into the apartment to avoid staining the front door, dropping him on the floor before closing the door behind him with the same nonchalant one would have when coming home after a hard day of work.
The apartment hallway quickly becomes a mess. Blood comes out in spurts from the severed arteries, darkening the carpet. Checking on last time for movement outside, Katsuki turns the lock on the door, trapping them both in the apartment.
The man's too busy trying to breathe through a severed trachea to do more than twist and gurgle on the floor.
Stepping over the mass of trembling limbs, Katsuki stares down in front of the dying man, gazing at him silently as he lets out his last few rasping attempts for air. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, mouth gaping wide then closing then opening again like a fish out of water. The blood was slowly spreading, stretching out across the carpet like a dark mantle. Fingers dig into the carpet, desperate for the strength their owner was quickly losing.
Katsuki doesn't bother waiting. Turning away from the entrance, he heads deeper into the apartment. The blood squishes under his boots. He can feel its warmth. It's familiar.
Comforting.
He makes his way beyond the entrance hall, ending up in what looked like a small living room. The weight of the case on his back was becoming too much, so he gently slid it off his shoulders before setting it down on the middle of the room. He could look at its contents more closely later.
Right now, there were more pressing matters to take care of.
Every room, every closet, every window is checked thoroughly. Curtains are drawn shut, locks are tested. Katsuki prowls the apartment, his thundering heart guiding him forward, commanding him to make sure he would not find any surprises.
Sometime during this process the green coat becomes too heavy for his taste; all it takes is a quick unzip to have it fall off his thin shoulders with ease. Katsuki allows it to fall in a heap at his feet. It had escaped the kill with little blood so it might be reusable.
Later.
He could think about that later.
For now, he was complacent to let his body take the reigns.
His feet take him back to the living room and beyond. As he does so the blond passes by the owner of the house once more. His body is where he'd left him spread out on the carpet, only now there were no tiny twitches or minute spasm, only a still quietness that brought Katsuki some sense of calm.
The man looked tiny now. Weak. Pathetic.
As pathetic as that woman had looked amongst the snow, stripped bare of her clothes and dignity.
(As pathetic as Katsuki had been, not too long ago.)
Instead of staying there as he easily could, watching the blood coagulate on the carpet, Katsuki heads for the kitchen.
The open cabinet at the other side of the room catches his attention immediately. What once was given a passing glance when he'd searched the house was now a beacon from Katsuki -whom could now truly feel the gaping pit in his stomach.
How long had it been since he'd last eaten?
His hands reach in, picking up a box. Hunger clawing at his guts, Katsuki wastes no time opening it to peer at its contents. The curious small rectangular shapes packed inside make him tilt his head in perplexion.
Despite his apprehension he starts nibbling on the crackers, committing the salty taste to memory. The way the material broke under his teeth, how vivid the taste was when he swiped his tongue over the encrusted salt crystals. It was nothing he was familiar with but nothing new either and yet, and yet, he can't help but savour it.
He knows this is something he'd done before. He'd eaten this before, or something similar. The thought makes him restless and reassures him at once.
The dry food items are quickly abandoned after this, left to the side in favour of the small fridge tucked in a corner. He ducks low as he opens it, squinting at the bright light and the sudden wash of dry cold expanding from the inside of the fridge.
There's not a lot inside. A half rotted fruit or two, some leftovers and a few bottles. At first he stood there, unsure. Staring at things he can only barely recognize. Eventually, one of the bottles catches his attention over the rest with its dark brown packaging and the couple of little emotive mascots on the label and he takes it.
Swiping it quickly from the plate, he closes the fridge and tug the bottle open. Lifting it to his face, he sniffs it carefully like its a bomb about to go off. The smell tickles something in his brain, a foggy package of emotion he cannot quite grasp, so he follows it and takes a cautious sip.
It's sweet. Really, really sweet. It's the most tasty thing he'd eaten in….in a long time. Katsuki stares down at the small bottle, tilting his head as he licks his lips, savouring the sugary taste. Gauging the slightly bitter aftertaste.
...chocolate.
It's chocolate.
Katsuki exhales softly as he tilts the bottle again, drinking more to quell the gnawing hunger. It's nice, despite how cold it was. It slips down his throat and settles uneasily in his belly. It's not the worst thing he'd eaten that he remembers, and the taste is good. The burst of sensations on his tongue melts something in him, and he finds himself craving more of it.
So, he keeps drinking.
He's only halfway down the bottle when his stomach rebels.
The sink's just barely within range by the time the chocolate climbs back up, burning cold in his throat tasting of bile in his mouth. Katsuki chokes as he heaves into the sink, quietly gagging as he empties his stomach into the sink.
When it's over, he can only wince at the horrid taste in his mouth leftover from throwing up. It's the most intense sensation today to have pierced through the cold numbness, and it leaves him shaking and snarling at nothing.
Looking at the mess left in the sink, Katsuki can only feel disgusted at himself.
Can't even do this, can I?
Wrenching himself away from the sink, he stumbles uneasily back to the living room. He eyes the metal case on the floor, contemplating opening it and taking a closer look at its contents.
Ultimately, his eyes land on the bathroom door.
Now that there was nothing to do, he's suddenly all too aware of the dryness of his skin. Of the faint sensation of dirt in his joints and the tightness of matted hair upon his head. Looking down at himself, Katsuki numbly notes at the numerous holes and burns of his shirt. It sticks to his skin. His boots are covered in blood, and the splatter of red creeps up his pants.
It's still warm.
But it's not comfortable. Not anymore.
I'm filthy, he thinks as he ambles into the bathroom, clicking the light open.
The light fixture flashes over his head, the sudden bright white combined with the equally pale tiles making him flinch and close his eyes briefly, sensitive sight burning at the excess light flowing into his pupils. His mild discomfort doesn't last long -not when he spots a small, rectangular mirror over the bathroom sink. It's set in a way he can see the tiles on the wall reflecting on its surface.
Katsuki freezes.
...how long has it been…?
Slowly, as if he was about to step onto a landmine, he makes his way through the bathroom. He feels the tension in his own shoulders, how his footsteps become lighter than ever, silent as a grave.
Reaching the sink, Katsuki pushes through the last of his apprehension and looks into the mirror.
His gaze meets blood red.
When Katsuki is aware of his surroundings again, he finds himself on the floor, back against the cold tiles of the opposite wall. Insides twisting within his gut, blood colder than snow. Gasping for air.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had his reflection dragged up such primal fear from his mind?
Was there that much damage?
Or was it something else…?
I can do this. I'm not a child. He grits his teeth, grinding them together hard enough that it hurts. There's no logical reason to be scared. This is me.
He pauses.
Right.
This is me.
(How long had it been since…?)
Now, he's curious again. It mutes the apprehension. The fear gives, lessening to a tolerable degree as he reaches out and grabs the edge of the sink, using it to gently slide from his knees to his feet and stand.
When his eyes cross his reflection, there's a jolt of pure fear that runs through his veins like a lightning strike. His grip on the sink tightens exponentially, but he's able to stand his ground this time.
I'm thin.
It's the first thing he thinks, and rightly so. With the green coat left in the living room, it leaves the lean, wiry definition of his shoulders and arms exposed. Pale, almost ash-like skin greets him, almost translucent. Tilting his head up, Katsuki spots the dark blue of his veins in the crook of his arms and parts of his neck.
His eyes are sunken in their sockets from the lack of proper nutrition. They're red, dark and...empty, if that was one way he could describe them. Maybe it was the only way to describe them.
It's like there were no lights within their depths -nothing there to search for.
The only splatter of color was on his cheekbones, and he's not sure what to think. Reaching, Katsuki runs his fingers over the slightly raised flesh, curious at the rough texture. He traces the crescent shape, engraving to memory the way the inflamed red marks hug the shape of his eye sockets.
Katsuki knew what scar tissue looked like. He had a few, from the looks of it, thin and silvery on the left side of his chin and parts of his arms.
This wasn't it.
Uncomfortable, he looks down. His gaze drifts across the tiles, ending up on the sink. Suddenly, he remembers why he came to the bathroom.
He'll get more color once he was in the shower.
Maybe.
Katsuki was too tired to be hopeful. Overwhelmed, silent, he can only take all of him in and think one thing:
I look like a corpse. Like someone took my body and made me walk again using strings.
That last thought leaves a ugly feeling wiggling in his gut like a parasite. He divers his gaze away from the mirror, hoping to calm his frayed nerves -to no avail. His attention lands on the shower.
He looks back at his reflection. The dirt on his face, the matted mess of his hair.
...maybe if I get clean...
Slowly, methodically, he shrugs off his shirt, then the rest of his clothes. He doesn't feel the cold against his naked skin as he steps into the shower. He doesn't feel the heat when he turns it on either.
What he does feel though, is feels heavy.
Too heavy.
Following that sudden feeling, Katsuki lets his knees fold underneath him and slowly sinks to the ground.
...it's better now. The water is coming down on top of his head and shoulders, blistering hot and almost burning. Steam rose all around him, cloaking his vision, pale twisting shapes he could lose himself examining if he had the heart to.
But the water doesn't make things better. If anything, it makes him even more aware of the cold in his chest, of the lankiness of his limbs and the weight of his hair upon his head. It enhances all of those sensations, burning away the touch of the outside world until Katsuki was only aware of one thing -his body.
His strange, alien, foreign body, that he could no longer recognize.
Katsuki closes his eyes. Shudders.
A lonely thought strays through his broken mind.
They really took everything.
The shell around his heart cracked.
The brayed scream that tore it's way out of Katsuki's throat barely sounded human to his own ears. It exploded from his gut, up his throat and out of his mouth with the force of an explosion, sapping all his strength at once, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom and drowning out his hearing.
He screams, a loud shrill bellow of pent up energy that leaves him shuddering on the shower stall floor. When it's over, he takes a choked, gasping gulp of air, and screams again. Clutching the sides of his head, digging his nails into wet, messy hair, howling with enough strength that he felt like at any moment, his vocal cords would tear.
He doesn't know how much time he spends sitting there under the shower, gulping and choking down air and before promptly expelled it as twisted, broken wails. His limbs seized and shook as he wrapped himself tightly in his own arms in a desperate attempt to keep himself together.
It didn't work, because he felt like he was slipping, drowning, breaking apart as easily as Toga and Shigaraki tore him apart. Even here he could feel their hands on him, the warmth of their bodies pressing against his own, their voices so close and low against his ears as they guided his hands and he the foolish, foolish little pet, let them.
He was losing himself, the warmth of the water raining down on his scarred, emaciated form barely registering at the back of his head. Even the death grip his fingers had on his hair felt faint. The physical pain is nothing compared to the memories.
(Why did he lose everything except those? Why?)
He screamed until his body stopped shaking, until his throat felt torn and dry and worn. Until he was swaying side to side, sniffing and sobbing like a child, body seizing with each wet gulp of air Katsuki took. He felt too stretched -too torn apart, spread out thin until he can't even figure where his mind ended and the dark, empty cold in his head began.
It's broken, he realizes distantly. His mind is a broken, fragmented mess and he doesn't know where to start to fix it.
The loud bang bang bang and ensuing shut up! from the neighbours on the other side of the wall barely registered in his ears.
It does however remind him where he was.
The rest of his shower is quiet.
After he's clean and his hair feels several pounds lighter, Katsuki reaches and turns off the water. Before he leaves the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror again, the tiniest surge of hope coursing through him at the thought that maybe the showers had changed things.
It dies the moment his gaze crosses with his reflection.
He's...no less pale. The marks on his cheekbones stand even more out against his almost ashen skin. His hair lays slightly flatter against his head, weighted down by its length, but it was still choppy and uneven, like he'd gone, fought a pair of scissors and lost miserably.
Not even the ridiculousness of that thought brings him humor.
Naked, he stumbles into the living room, bypassing his pile of clothes completely. His toes brush against something soft and he looks down, recognizing the green coat with the dark fur trim. Bending down, he picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders. It reaches down to his thighs and smells of metal, enclosed space and blood.
Katsuki noses the fur trim gently, breathing in the smell with a slow, careful intake of air. He squeezes his eyes shut. The familiarity is steadying after what happened in the shower.
When he opens his eyes again, he feels more together. His mind unfurls, remembering his situation. Standing in the living room of a unknown home, naked save the green coat. A body cooling in the hallway. The night outside is quiet save the sound of passing cars and a occasional honk in the distance.
Once more, Katsuki considers his options.
Keep running. Maybe get on a plane, find somewhere as far away from Japan and Shigaraki and Toga -somewhere he could start anew, away from those who ripped chunks out of his mind and body until he barely remembered his own name.
Or, he could hand himself over to the local police department. Go back to Yuuei. Try to do...whatever he'd been doing before. Attempt to pick up what little scattered remains of himself he had left inside this rotting head of his-
….what good would come out of picking that? This option sounded too hopeless.
A idealized ending to the situation he was in now.
But if he didn't do that, and he didn't pick any of the others…what was left, truly? He's resolute in his decision of not going back to Yuuei. There was nothing there for him. Everything that tied to that place -to that life- was a glitchy, broken, mangled mess at the back of his brain, and nothing they could offer him there would fix it.
He wouldn't heal. The wounds had already scarred over.
He won't be that person anymore.
Ever.
Bakugo Katsuki is dead.
(What now, then?)
Searching, his wandering eyes fall on the suitcase he'd left in the living room. It's still there abandoned on the floor, set on its side. Metallic surface glinting lowly under the lamp light.
Something squirms in Katsuki's gut at the sight.
He knows what's inside.
He knows what it means.
He knows why it exists.
Still, he's somehow enraptured by the sight. He's only aware that he's touching the suitcase when he feels his knees rest against the carpet and the coldness of the case's metallic surface under his hand.
Silent, he slides his fingers down to the lock. It takes but a twist and a click, and he can slide the tip of his fingers in and pull the suitcase open.
Reaching inside, he feels his fingers brush against soft, firm cloth.
.
.
.
It won't fulfill its purpose.
It never will.
...but that doesn't mean it can find another use.
Anyone spy the symbolism there 0.o
Apologies for how long this took to update. It was meant to be released last week, but this chapter was particularly difficult with how delicate it is. It's basically setting up the plot of the second arc of the story. Now that Katsuki is free from the villains, he's guideless. He's free to do whatever he wants.
Old Bakugo would have gone straight to the police. Not this one.
It's going to be bloody.
Social Media is going to be a important aspect of this story as well. As Katsuki's actions become more known and the villain numbers start tanking, this is going to have an effect on the whole of Japan. Think of it as a secondary plot, beyond Katsuki's own story. There's some foreshadowing of this in this chapter, and it's going to get worse (or better)?
Not gonna get overly political, but it's important because I will touch on Quirk Laws and the regulations of Quirk use. With the unstable climate of Japan, heroes generally scrambling to make peace, the status quo is very much up in the air.
WARNING: From now on there will be some manga spoilers. I don't read the manga but I got spoiled a bit lately since waiting for season 4. I'm also kicking canon is the fucking head like its a dead horse though, so while events will be mentioned in this story that take place in canon, they are far and few in between.
TLDR: Canon's pretty much out the window with this story. Still, beware if you really don't want to get manga spoilers.
Next chapter will have a small part with Bakugo, but it will be mainly about Yuuei, and how Class 1-A is going. Prepare for some angst.