A/N: Well it took far too long, but I did manage to post another chapter for y'all! Life is crazy and writer's block is a bitch, but here we are, and its a pretty long chapter too, so that's nice.

Warnings: Heavy emotional abuse/manipulation, and neglect.

After sparring with Kirishima, Bakugou goes back to the warehouse to take stock of his situation. What he discovers, is that he has no spare school uniforms, or any clothes for that matter. The clothes he's wearing have been through a run, some light hero training, and then sparring with Kirishima. Today is Friday though, which means realistically he doesn't need a fresh change of clothes until Monday morning. He decides the best course of action is to lay low at the warehouse over the weekend and then head back to the house late on Sunday and try and sneak in to grab a uniform and his wallet. At least if he gets caught, his mom will have had a couple of days to cool off, and hopefully the repercussions won't be quite so bad.

He leaves the warehouse to go on a run, feeling pent up energy that demands to be released. He's not sure how long he's been running when he sees Inko waiting at the bus stop. He tries to change his course, to avoid running into her, but she sees him before he gets a chance to and waves him over. She must notice his clothes, that they're the same ones he had been wearing the last time she saw him, but she doesn't mention it.

"Katsuki!" She exclaims softly, her face lit by a warm smile. "You'll never believe that I was just thinking about you."

"Hi, Mrs. Midoriya," he waves in greeting.

"I was just thinking to myself how I wished that you would come over more often."

"D- Izuku and I haven't really been as close recently, so, yeah." Katsuki looks past her, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

"Well, are you doing anything tonight?" she questions. "Because I'm making ramen, and I could use your help chopping all of those veggies."

"Uh yeah, I-I mean no. I'm not busy tonight. I could come over," he nods tightly.

He goes home with her, pretending that he doesn't notice her barely concealed motive. If he can pretend he doesn't notice, maybe she won't think he's weak for accepting her help. But it comes at the price of looking like a dumbass who can't read social situations.

Somehow, she manipulates him, (because it must be a manipulation, he doesn't need or want her help) into staying through the weekend.

Finally, Sunday night comes around. He waits until almost midnight to start heading home, feeling pissed as a light drizzle slowly turns into steady rainfall. The house is dark and silent when he arrives, and he stealthily enters his room from a sturdy tree branch next to his window. He freezes momentarily at the sight of his father. Masaru is sitting on his bed, gazing around the room despondently, but he startles at the sound of Katsuki opening the window.

"Katsuki," he greets softly, with a color of surprise. "I didn't think you would be home tonight."

"I needed clothes. And my wallet."

"Right, of course," Masaru nods once, as if to convince himself that this conversation is normal. "Um, your teachers left this for you," he reaches over to grab a pamphlet that is sitting on top of Katsuki's pillowcase. Katsuki looks at the title, barely making out the large print in the moonlight. Anger Management: Therapy or Classes Which is right for you? Was he really fucked-up enough to warrant going to therapy?

"I think it could help," Masaru says quietly. Katsuki doesn't respond, unsure of how to respond.

"I don't-"

"Katsuki," Masaru's voice breaks. Katsuki can hear the tears in his throat and there's an awkward clench in his chest. "I'm just so tired of this."

Of you.

Masaru drops his head into his hands and Katsuki can only be thankful enough that he can't see his tears anymore. He doesn't think he could say anything if he tried, and he wishes he could pull in any ounce of anger towards himself. This is shit. Everything is literally shit.

He wants so badly to be angry. But instead he's only hurt.

He never thought that the day would come that his dad would give up on him. He was supposed to be the good one.

Wasn't he?

The one that made everything better? Everything worth it?

Bakugou's eyes burn when he looks at him.

Bakugou always thought that he would be the one to leave first. He never thought about what would happen if that wasn't true.

"I love you," he says, but Bakugou can barely hear him over his blubbering. "I do. I swear to God, I do," he sobs. "I'm just so tired," he breathes out.

Bakugou wonders if he's breathing at all.

"We can't keep doing this. I-I can't take it anymore."

"Dad-" Bakugou starts, but stops himself. His words feel soggy in his throat.

Masaru finally looks at him from his spot on the bed, "Please," he pleads to Bakugou. Bakugou can't stand the sight of tears and snot on his dad's face. He did that to him.

Didn't he?

"I love you so much," Bakugou didn't realize how much those words would hurt to hear as his father was sobbing, "I can't- You can't be here. You're not- Please."

Bakugou's hands feel like they're dripping. Snot is slipping down his face and his ears are stuffed with cotton.

Bakugou was the one that was meant to leave. It should have been his choice. But he should have realized it would always be him against his parents.

Bakugou can't think of one time that Masaru has ever taken his side.

The only sound in the room is Masaru's gurgle of snot.

Bakugou breaks the silence when he comes to the realization, "I need to pack a bag."

For the last time.

Masaru looks up at him and slowly gets up from the bed. He pulls Bakugou into a tight hug with his head tucked against his dad's chest.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

Bakugou swallows the lump in his throat, "It's fine."

Bakugou wonders if he thinks an apology makes any of this better.

He wonders if he can ever forgive him.

He wonders if he needs an apology from his dad at all.

He wishes his dad wasn't sorry, and that he didn't have a reason to be. He wishes that the only time he was ever hugged wasn't after getting hurt first.

Bakugou doesn't want any apology. He's not sure he wants anything at all.

All he knows is that everything is shit.

It's so hard not to be angry at this moment- getting kicked out of his childhood home because he can't control the temper that they gave him.

He can't stand the thought of pushing his dad away. Even when he can't help but tense, and his hair is getting more wet the more his dad sobs on him.

He can hear a heartbeat in his ear and he wonders which of theirs it might be.

He shoves his dad away when his skin starts to itch and he's sure that his palms will give at any second.

"I need to pack a bag," he says again, hoping that his father will finally leave him alone.

"Right," Masaru sniffles. He still has his arms outstretched and it takes him an infuriating amount of time for them to return to his side. "Text me when you're somewhere safe?"

Bakugou has to fight back the sudden anger biting at his hands and has to keep himself from sobbing. Bakugou doesn't ever want to talk to his dad again, he thinks, when he responds with a gruff, "Yeah."

They stand awkwardly for a few moments before Bakugou clears his throat.

"I'm gonna-" he starts as Masaru says "I should go." There's another moment of silence, before Masaru finally turns and leaves the room. Bakugou shuts the door behind him, and slowly starts gathering his belongings. He packs a few of his favorite outfits, a pair of drumsticks, and all of his school stuff, and then remembers his diary hidden under the mattress. That gets stuffed into his bag as well.

He walks softly out of his room to head down to the kitchen. He has a few things to pick up before he's gone. As he walks past his parent's room, he sees the light shining under their door, and hears murmuring. He pauses for a moment to listen.

"-Should have done this a long time ago," Mitsuki is saying.

"All I wanted was for everyone to get along," Masaru responds. Mitsuki's voice rings as clear as a bell through the door, but Katsuki has to lean a little closer to hear his father's gentle timbre

"Yeah, well, that will be a lot easier without that brat hanging around. Maybe now there'll be some goddamn peace in this house," Mitsuki replies.

Katsuki feels his eyes burn. Isn't it supposed to be easier? These are supposed to be some of the best years of his life. He's enrolled at UA, just a few short years away from becoming a pro hero. This has been his dream his whole life, to make it here and then eventually move up to take All-Might's place as the number one hero. He's supposed to protect and defend people. He's supposed to keep the people's hopes alive. How can he do any of that when he can't even make his parents happy?

When all he does is hurt people.

He's supposed to be better than this. Better than them.

He's supposed to be the best.

So why does he feel like the villain all of a sudden?

He hears movement from his parents' room that shakes him from his thoughts, and then Masaru is speaking again, it the same soft tone that has him straining to hear.

"We did our best, Mitsu," he murmurs. "We just have to hope that it was enough." With that, Bakugou feels like he's heard enough, and he continues down the hallway, and down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he grabs some leftovers from the fridge and his favorite cookbook. He doesn't really need the cookbook, he has most of the recipes memorized, but it was a gift from his father, and he isn't ready to let it go yet. The edges of the book are worn, the cover is stained, and some of his favorite recipes are dog-eared, but he still feels warm nostalgia as he remembers the day Masaru gave it to him, when he was only six. The book goes into his bag, and he's about to leave when he spots the picture hanging from the fridge. It's a drawing, made of bright crayon that Katsuki had brought home way back in 1st grade. If Mitsuki had gotten her way, the paper would have been thrown out within the week, but Masaru was insistent that they hang it on the fridge. The drawing is shit, in the way that most 1st graders' drawings are, but based on the color scheme, most people would be able to make out that it is a drawing of All-Might soaring through the air with a sidekick at his side. The sidekick also appears to be flying, aided by a series of large explosions.

Part of him wants to rip the paper off of the fridge. To hang onto it as a keepsake, a reminder of the boy who was small, and soft, and sweet, and fragile.

Another part of him wonders if it would be better to leave it hanging. Maybe it would bring his parents comfort to be reminded that he wasn't always bitter and aggressive.

He tears it down, ripping it in half, just as a dry sob rips through his chest.

He leaves out the front door, shutting it with a sense of finality, and wonders whether it's worth it to go back to the Midoriyas' house tonight, or to just head to the school. Ultimately, he decides to go back to avoid questions. And that damn nerd will ask a lot of questions if Bakugou's not there when he wakes up. He's starting down the road back to the house, when he pauses, feeling as though he's being watched. He turns his head, and looks all around him, but sees nothing at first. He shrugs his shoulders and continues walking. The presence follows him.

"Don't hide behind me like a coward, bitch! Come out and fucking fight me!" he half whispers, letting sparks fly from his hands. He hears a loud crash from behind him, and looks back to see rustling in the bushes on the side of the road. He stomps over and grabs the person by their weedy mop of unkempt hair. It doesn't take a genius to know exactly who he's holding, even in the shadows of night.

"What the fuck, Deku?" he hisses.

"I-I was worried about you, Kacchan," he stammers.

"You're a stalker is what you are!" Bakugou lets go of him. "Now stay the fuck away from me. It's creepy, this obsession you have with me."

"Kacchan, it's not creepy," Izuku protests. "I just want you to be okay."

"I'm fuckin' peachy," Bakugou growls. "So leave me alone, got it?"

"Please Kacchan," Izuku presses. "Let me help you!"

"I don't need help," Bakugou insists. "I'm fine."

"Kacchan, was it your mom?"

"The hell? Was what my mom?" he snarls.

"Y-your eye. Did your mom do that to you?" The fucker has some nerve, bringing that up.

"Fuck you," Bakugou spits venemously. He turns and stalks away, intent on heading to the school if only to not have to listen to Deku's irritating whining.

"I-I'm sorry Kacchan, I know I said I wouldn't ask, b-but I'm worried about you. I know Aizawa-Sensei talked to your parents about what you said to me, and I know that you and your mom can get pretty heated when you get into arguments with each other. S-so when I saw that you had a black eye, and you showed up to school out of uniform, I thought maybe something had happened. I just-"

"Leave me the fuck alone," Bakugou growls, but his voice cracks with fresh tears. "Whatever is going on with me is none of your fucking business."

"I'm sorry," Deku apologizes. "Let's just go home, I'll stop talking about it."

"I'm gonna go to the school," Bakugou continues walking. "I wanna get a good workout in before school starts this morning. If you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and go back to your house and I won't see you until school starts tomorrow. Got it?"

"Y-yeah, okay," Deku relents. "Just be careful, okay? Text me if you need anything." Text me when you're somewhere safe?

"Yeah, okay," he snorts. Like he'd ever call Deku for help. He feels a sigh of relief pass through him when the nerd turns and goes in the opposite direction from him. It takes a lot of fucking work pretending to be okay when you're life is genuinely collapsing around you.