~Author's Note~

Hi everyone! So, funnily enough, I was originally gonna bust into, yet another, new fandom with a torture fic, but then while writing that idea, I got a new idea, and here we are? Yeah this first chapter is rough, I'm not gonna lie, but hey 'recovery' is what I've fondly nicknamed the second chapter so...stick around? Please? Lol anyway, huge thank you to Rain for editing my stuff, who also told me 'there's no way I'm letting you post this without you rating this correctly' so yeah, if that tells you anything. xD Since fanfiction is weird with ratings now-a-days, and bars your fic from appearing in the list if you do rate it M, fair warning that this is Rated M for graphic mentions of violence and such!

This takes place sometime in anime post-season five limbo, I wrote this as platonic but read it however you like, and feedback in any form - favorites, follows, and especially reviews - would make my night! :)

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when my heart stops beating

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The dinner table is bursting with colors by the time all of the food is properly laid on top of placeholders.

Bread is golden brown, drenched in a crimson sauce that gleams under the room light. Pork is decorated by the dark greens and bright yellows of vegetables, and sliced chicken steams from where it's blanketed by rice and dumplings. Oden, a flurry of autumn, sits in the middle of the table, udon and soba on either side. Perfectly punched squares of tofu stand out next to the different orders of curry, and the plated beef is fresh, burgundy staining the white beneath it; the sushi that sits patiently at the end of the table serves as a stark contrast to the rest.

Katsuki takes in the buffet before them with surprise, eyes jumping from one plate to the next as the group of servers wait patiently by the table, hands clasped behind their backs.

He spares them a short glance, and if he's being honest, feels underdressed beside their crisply ironed uniforms. The chef is over by Yaoyorozu, helpfully asking if they would be needing anything else this fine evening, and Katsuki can't help but feel as though that's above him too, the chef of such an recognized restaurant as this one, coming to a table he's sitting at to ask if there was anything else he could personally do for them.

It's a little too much for him, really, but thankfully he wasn't the one anyone of importance in the room was looking to. That spot was being held by Yaoyorozu and Todoroki, who were sitting beside each other at the far end of the table, assuring the chef that everything looked wonderful.

He's only reminded of the rest of Class 1-A when Mineta, the little twerp, goes to reach for an eggroll with his stubby fingers.

Ashido sees him out of the corner of her eye from across the table and catches Kirishima's attention with a flick of a chopstick at his forehead, gesturing wildly in Mineta's direction. Katsuki only notices because of Kirishima's wince, their arms still brushing because of the table's close seating arrangement - after all, fitting twenty students around the same table in one backroom of a restaurant was a feat in itself - and rolls his eyes as Shitty Hair elbows Kaminari, who in turn yanks Mineta back into his seat by the collar of his shirt.

Ashido mouths her thanks to Kirishima and offers an apologetic smile when she sees the mark her chopstick left. Katsuki scoffs when the idiot doesn't even seem to notice the new bright red mark Hagakure and Jirou are stifling laughs at, instead just smiling back like the useless guy he is.

"Thank you so much!" Yaoyorozu gushes from the end of the table, grabbing everyone's attention once more. The chef smiles in response - he'd do anything for a good review from such decorated families such as these - and takes his leave, the servers bowing before they follow. The students all call their various thanks as they file out, and then look over to Yaoyorozu, who claps her hands together. "Alright everyone, dig in!"

The table chatter instantly resumes as everyone goes to fill their plates.

Mineta successfully stuffs an eggroll in his mouth to the distaste of the girls sitting across from him, and Kaminari elbows him and huffs something about how are you gonna get any girls acting like that? which serves as a good enough reason for the former to then act like a proper human as he scoops rice onto his empty plate.

Sero hogs most of the tofu, to everyone else's pleasure, and Todoroki kindly asks for the bowl of soba but doesn't return it. Shoji passes other dishes around the table with his arms, and Dark Shadow helps from the other side. The girls load their plates and then share amongst each other anyway, chopsticks picking and prodding at different combinations as they reach over resting arms and crumpled napkins. Iida is attempting to remind everyone of acceptable manners from the other end of the table, but his strict voice is drowned out behind the rest of the noise in the room, and Katsuki grunts at the sound of Izuku laughing quietly from next to him.

He reaches for the spicy curry that sits in front of him, and hands the nerd his order of katsudon when he sees that his plate is still empty from the corner of his eye. There's shock written on Izuku's face as he looks over to Katsuki, which turns into a soft smile when Katuski simply avoids his eyes and digs into the spice he had been waiting for.

To Katsuki's surprise, the curry is just as spicy as he likes it. Usually, restaurants looked at him oddly when he told them to kill whatever it was with spices, but this one had apparently taken it as a challenge, and he finds himself thinking that if he didn't feel so out of place in a fancy restaurant such as this one, he would return for the delicious food alone.

"How is it, Bakubro?" Kirishima suddenly asks a few moments later, leaning closer with his chopsticks, very much posed to steal a bite.

"Fuck off, Shitty Hair," he replies gruffly, batting his hand away. "If you eat this you won't be able to taste anything else for the rest of the night."

He can feel Kirishima's pout without having to look. "Aw, come on bro, I can take it!"

"No." Katsuki says flatly around a mouthful of pure fire. Who said he never looked out for anybody? "The last thing I want is to listen to you whine." He takes another bite, effectively ending the conversation as Kirishima grumbles dejectedly and turns away, bothering Kaminari about his food instead.

Katsuki smirks in victory.

The dinner was a product of Aizawa tactlessly tagging it on after a lecture Friday morning, monotone voice telling them that they would be possibly going somewhere Saturday evening and to clear their schedules because it was a school sanctioned activity. Half the class didn't wait before prodding the pro hero for details, even with the glare that had accompanied his tired eyes as the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

"The principal and teachers decided that all the classes, Class 1-A especially, needed a break after everything that's happened in the past year. So, the school is currently working on a plan for a class-wide dinner for all of you to go to, but nothing is set in stone just yet."

"Why isn't it?" Todoroki asked calmly from his seat, the rest of the class stunned into silence.

Aizawa's sigh had been heavy, weighed down by things the students didn't need to know. All Might had been the one to suggest it, and Present Mic had been all in as soon as he had heard it. The rest of the teachers, including Aizawa, erred on the side of caution. Even Nezu, who was more upbeat than not, had seemed worried about such an outing. Having so many students out and about at once...

"Principal Nezu is still working out the finances for such a trip." Plus security, his mind added, as it had been decided that it would be safer for the classes to be spread around different restaurants across Musutafu.

Yaoyorozu had piped in then, saying that she would have no qualms footing the bill if the school was okay with it, Todoroki following her lead at the rest of the class' excitement. Aizawa had looked between the two, unsure of the idea, before having shrugged his shoulders.

It was up to Nezu and what he felt was best for the school, at the end of the day.

Aizawa had dismissed his students before they could get any other crazy ideas, but the damage was already done by the time he was called to a staff meeting after lunch. Security would be a few teachers and the rest trusted outside hires, but the night out was officially happening.

Friday afternoon turned into Saturday evening fast, Class 1-A arriving by bus at seven o'clock sharp, dressed to impress, set to eat with reservations at one of the finest restaurants in the city, courtesy of Yaoyorozu's money and Todoroki's family fame.

Hound Dog stayed out front, accompanied by two outside hires with more muscles than Katuski could count, which totally wasn't suspicious in the least to any passerby. Aizawa was going to be there by the time they left, late with signing the parent permission forms.

The restaurant was cleared out because of the occasion, hauntingly empty as the hero class passed through the main room. They were led to a separate dining room in the back, a bunch of small tables pushed into one, and the first thing everyone did was scramble for seats.

On the far side of the table from left to right were Aoyama, Ojiro, Shoji, Koda, Jirou, Hagakure, Ashido, Asui, and Urakaka, with Iida sitting in the seat on the right end of the table. On the left end of the table, diagonal from Aoyama, sat Yaoyorozu. The side of the table closest to the door quickly filled in after that, with Todoroki on Yaoyorozu's other side, then followed by Tokoyami, Sato, Sero, Mineta, and Kaminari, the idiot. Katsuki had somehow ended up sitting between Kirishima and Izuku with his back to the door, which was just his luck.

To think he had begrudgingly agreed to this in the first place...

The rest of dinner is a mostly mute affair for Katsuki, who focuses on eating and only half keeps an eye on the rest of the table as he does so.

The girls are gossiping about something as he finishes, and Deku is busy quietly talking to Round Face and Four Eyes, while Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero argue about something loudly. Tokoyami and Koda are discussing assignments, while Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are smiling at each other far too much, and eventually Katsuki just growls and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms.

Not only were they picky, but they were slow eaters too. Great. He'd probably be here until midnight at this rate. He didn't have any other plans - his friends were all right here after all - but he didn't enjoy socializing all too much either. He scoffs at the thought. This school was truly testing all his limits.

He turns his head to Kirishma, reaching out to shove at his shoulder. "Hey, Shitty Hair, how long does it take you fuckers to—"

The blast kills Mineta before anyone knows what's happening.

Katsuki's fingers barely brush against the material of Kirishima's suit before he's blown from his seat by an explosion that rocks the building. His sight blackens for a few seconds before returning, dust settling in his vision, ears ringing loudly.

He thinks he groans, his body rattling with the movement, but his ears hear nothing. His fingers scrape against shattered glass and debris as he struggles to find purchase, but suddenly he's pulled up from the ground and shoved roughly back into his seat by something he doesn't see. Something cold slips around both his wrists in his disorientation, locking with a heavy click.

The growl of anger rumbles through his body, but his ears still register nothing. When he goes to turn his head, he's stopped by someone slapping him clear across the face. His stomach burns in unease as the ringing slides to a stop, and then lips are by his ear, hissing threats.

"You don't look unless I tell you to look, kid," the man holding him so still by the shoulders says, his voice haggard. "I'm not afraid to kill you if you decide not to listen."

Katsuki's throat is clogged by dust and something he refuses to label as fear, but as he blinks and sees the rest of his classmates in similar positions, something drops like a deadweight in his gut. His cheek stings, and something in him aches from the force of the explosion, he just can't pin what.

"I can't believe we actually pulled this shit off," the man muses from behind him, fingers clutching his shoulders tight enough to hurt, "Shi owes me some serious yen."

"Shut up over there," a different man snarks back, "the boss is coming in."

The dining room is in shambles, broken glass and smashed food littered across the expanse of the floor. Most of the tables are leaning to the side, ready to fall, and though he can only peek out the corner of his eye at the damage behind him, he knows the wall that had been there before is no more. He's been rendered oddly silent by the sight of the entire class being forced still, the entirety of Japan's up-and-coming hero class restrained in various blackmarket quirk-suppressing cuffs before anyone could even try to fight back.

It leaves a warped, bitter taste in his mouth; because the only way that could ever happen, would be if these criminals knew exactly who they were going after, and if that was true, then Katsuki didn't know what was going to happen next.

Even All Might couldn't break out of quirk-suppressors.

The room is deathly silent as someone new steps into the debris, their shoes pressing glass into stained carpet. Katsuki tries to look but finds himself hit again, cussing angrily as the man whispers threats right back, until suddenly the man is tearing his fingernails into the skin of his neck. Katsuki freezes for the shortest moment, mind lost somewhere between training camp and Kamino, and then the sound of a gunshot crashes him back into the present.

He blinks, anger ripe on the tip of his tongue, only for it to die completely as the slumped body of Asui waits for him, blood spilling toward him. Uraraka's scream is shrill and echoing from beside her friend as she realizes the same, struggling against the man holding her, sobs tearing past weak lungs. Some of the other girls react the same way, and through it all, Katsuki can only stare, soundless.

He's never had trouble finding words in his life.

"Hm," the boss says, lowering the pistol to his side and watching patiently as blood turns the tablecloth red. Noise echoes all around him, and he's standing close to Katsuki, face bare of any mask. It's the confidence that sets the teen on edge, because confidence was something you couldn't gain overnight. His eyes are dark, and his fingers are scarred heavily. Katsuki wonders what his quirk is, and why he's choosing not to use it.

The man is quiet for a long moment, and then he raises the gun once more.

Katsuki barely has time to process the movement before more bullets are shot, and this time anger surges through his stomach and comes roaring from his mouth as he watches countless bodies (his classmates, his classmates, his fucking classmates) fall in quick succession, their final resting place someplace they never should've died in.

"You bastard, come and pick on someone your own size!"

It feels like a million eyes turn to him as he says it, grinding teeth and snarling lips. Even the boss turns to look, but all Katsuki can see is the blood, and all he can hear is the screams, and all he can feel is the mind-numbing shock of it all.

Aoyama. Ojiro. Koda. Sato. Hagakure.

Bodies slumped across the table, like dominos that had been flicked from order. The red left behind is blinding, spiraling like paint against water.

"You fucking coward!"

It's the first time he's seen Hagakure in the flesh, hair long and skin pale. He hates it, because it's not right, because she's not supposed to be dead, none of them are, none of them were ever meant to be.

Not like this.

(Not ever.)

"Coward?" The man repeats back, pistol hovering in the air, smoke slowly evaporating from the muzzle. Kirishima isn't allowed to look at him, held back before he can even try, but Katsuki can see the panicked dart of his eyes. He doesn't dare glance over in Izuku's direction, afraid of what he'll find waiting there.

"Yeah," he sneers, feeling the nails on his neck dig deeper in warning. He ignores the slow slide of blood down the back of his neck. "You're a fucking coward." He waits a second, and then throws himself backward, catching the man holding him off guard, chair knocking him in the stomach. He stumbles to the ground, unable to catch himself, and Katsuki rips himself from the chair so that he can turn and face the villain, his lips pulled in a bloodthirsty leer.

The man looks at him curiously, eyebrows knitted. He doesn't make any moves to go after Katsuki, even as the rest of the room reacts, men leaving their positions to scramble over to where he stands, ready for a fight.

He pulls violently against the cuffs. The sound of it bounces around the room.

"Take these offa me and we'll have a fair fight, you piece of shit." He growls, edging closer. "Only cowards hide behind equipment."

He sends the first man that gets close to him flying, kicking him with enough force that it sends him to the floor. He spins around and slams his body into the man that had been holding him, sending him tumbling right back down, and then dodges two others, his eyes locking with Kirishima as the man holding him finally leaves his position to help.

"Get them out of here!" he yells angrily, loud enough to be heard by everyone, but his eyes stay with his; "Get out of here!"

The room erupts into chaos.

Katsuki immediately pushes away from the men trying to herd him and goes for the boss with the gun, watching the way his eyes light up in fear as he draws close. He can hear his classmates fighting their ways across the room, can hear Kirishima's yells and Kaminari's jibes, can see Izuku out of the corner of his eye moving to Uraraka, Iida right behind him as she tries to cradle Asui's lifeless body.

He thinks they have a chance as he gets in close and feints a kick, instead aiming for his chin with his shoulder, solely focused on this villain who murdered without so much as a second glance, who murdered extras Katsuki never saw dying, who took something from this world that couldn't be given back—

Something heavy rams into his side, knocking all the air from his lungs.

He slams into the far wall, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, drywall crumbling beneath his weight. He collapses to the floor in a heap, pain seizing his insides long enough that his vision waivers again, hearing painfully smothered as he struggles to collect himself. He hears a few faint pops as he grapples to get himself upright, coughing and gasping, and then there are hands on him, grabbing and pulling and digging.

He's yanked to his feet and then shoved forward into another pair of arms, ones that wrap around him far too tightly and press him back against a chest and close to chapped lips. Disgust shivers down his spine as this man laughs and adjusts his grip, sliding a hand down his arm, feeling the taut pull of muscles there, before wrapping it around his waist as the other grips his bad shoulder with a more-than-bruising grip.

"Be a good boy for me, won't you?" the man murmurs as he turns him around and marches him back to where the boss is waiting, that same gleam from before in his eyes. (He had mistaken that look for fear earlier, when in fact it's the farthest thing from it.) "It's not often I get to be so close to a hero."

His breath catches in his throat at the new blood that awaits him, at the bodies strewn carelessly across the floor, discarded like broken toys in a child's bedroom. If Katsuki is one thing, it is brave, but even a sight like the one before him makes him feel terrified deep down inside, his stomach rolling with horror.

Shoji. Tokoyami. Yaoyorozu. Jirou. Ashido. Kaminari. Sero.

Bullet holes riddle the ground around them, and when he looks up again the man is smiling, a deranged sort of one that creases his cheeks and makes Katsuki want to burn him to a crisp, and then burn his ashes until there's nothing left.

"Such a shame, don't you think? I didn't even get to test them," he tsks, disappointed, but his eyes never once leave Katsuki's. "Not that they were ever meant to survive, but it would've been interesting to see just what they were capable of under intense pressure."

"Why are you doing this?" Izuku asks from Katsuki's right, startling him as he looks over and sees green eyes narrowed in hatred, more than he's seen from the nerd in a long while. Todoroki is beside him, four men behind them, and on Katsuki's left stands Uraraka, Iida, and Kirishima, six men behind their still-struggling bodies.

They were all that was left of Class 1-A.

The man turns away from Katsuki to look at Izuku, pistol resting far too peacefully in a holster attached to the side of his hip. His fingers tick in excitement as he shifts closer to him, full of untampered adrenaline.

"Isn't it obvious, hero?" he asks, chuckling when Izuku doesn't have an answer for him. "Hero society is crumbling. Maybe now, maybe later, but it is crumbling, and how will we ever hope to recover if all our future heroes are weak? Too weak to recover?"

"You're fucking crazy," Katsuki says, watching the way the man takes in his words before spitting them right back out. He turns to Katsuki, and his grin is nearly manic. It's unnerving how fast this guy can go from sane to insane, not that he was ever the former in the first place.

"The strongest two will live." He finally says, some men around the room sniggering at the prospect. "And how does it feel, Katsuki Bakugou, knowing that you might not be one of them?"

"Fuck you."

"I think it's time for a little game." The man replies, ignoring Katsuki completely.

He waves an empty hand in the air, and Izuku is shoved forward, places swapped with Katsuki. Uraraka and Iida are pushed to their knees in front of Izuku as the man wanders over to the table and plucks a napkin from the mess, fishing a pen from his coat and humming as he writes something down. When he's finished he walks back over, smiling as he tucks the pen back in his pocket. He holds the napkin out to Izuku and nods his head for him to take it. Izuku's hands are cuffed in front, unlike everyone else's, and Katsuki wonders if it's because he had tried to attack, or if it's because he had tried to protect, in that moment of confusion and dust from when the wall was blown to smithereens.

He takes the napkin between his fingers, opening it carefully.

"I'm having a bit of trouble deciding between these two, Izuku Midoriya. Care to help me out?" And as the words written on the napkin register with Izuku, Katsuki doesn't think he'll ever forget that horrified look that crosses his face, not for as long as he lives.

"No," he whispers after a long pause, schooling his expression into something neutral as he crushes the napkin in a fist. It's pointless, Katsuki knows, because if he saw that first look, then so did everyone else. "No." He says, louder. "I'm not playing into your twisted games."

"I know they aren't the strongest in your class, far from it, actually - I had to act fast because of Bakugou's rebellion. Oh, you can never have a perfect plan I suppose - but they are important to you, hero, are they not?"

Something cold shudders through Katsuki.

They knew names, and they knew relationships. This was a planned attack on Class 1-A, and that was a fact, confirmed by this villain's absolute certainty and resolved confidence. Was he really after the strongest two in class, or was this all a ploy to mess with their minds? Because though Uraraka, Iida and by extension Kirishima, were strong in their own right, in no way would Katsuki put them above some of their other classmates.

(Was he even able to still call them classmates, when they were dead and gone near feet from him? When he failed them?)

He files the information away in his mind for later, for the police and pro heroes and teachers that will be here any second to save them all. Who knows how many more were part of their little gang, away from here, hiding in the shadows?

"Come now, Midoriya. We are operating on borrowed time here, and the longer you hesitate, the worse this will be for you." Katsuki growls as Izuku flinches at the words. But he doesn't budge, brave as ever even in the face of true evil.

Katsuki hates that about him.

"I won't," Izuku repeats, resolute.

The villain smiles. "You will."

He gestures again, and this time Katsuki and Kirishima are shoved to the floor, knees pressing against blood stained carpet. Katsuki is put into a headlock, chin gripped painfully tight. The villain pulls his gun and easily aims it at Kirishima. "You see, one of my friends here has a quirk you won't like very much. Super strength, you know, it's so...fickle."

To punctuate his point, pressure begins to build as Katsuki's head is turned to the side, and then turned some more. It hurts way more than he was expecting, and a grunt of pain escapes him against all the will inside of him to not let it, muscles cracking and staining. He tries to find Izuku's eyes as he brushes close to death's door, but he can't find him, and cries out again as things turn more intense.

(Weak, weak, weak, you're being weak shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up—)

Snapping someone's neck was always meant to be quick, and having it happen ever so slowly was turning out to be one of the worst things Katsuki's ever felt in his life. He screams at himself to be quiet, to be strong where others were not, but finds the task quickly turning impossible.

He curses a lot of things as his vision starts to darken, more scared of the unknown then he cares to admit, and then just as the pain turns into something he's never felt before, staggering in all it's entirety, he hears a voice save him.

"I choose Uraraka! Just let him go!"

He can't catch his breath fast enough to shout at him, because the last thing he wanted was for Izuku to save him, the little shit. Of course he'd find some way to be heroic through it all. As strong as he had grown, as much as Katsuki would hate to ever say, he still had one glaring weakness.

"Let him go," Izuku breathes for a second time, voice strained in all the wrong places. Kirishima's eyes shift nervously between him and Katuski, who's still gasping for air when he's tugged roughly back into strong arms that don't allow him to move. It's the same man from before, disgust and worry twisting into one ugly beast that slithers down his spine.

"He's a lively one, isn't he?" the man whispers to Katsuki, lips hovering near the shell of his ear. "Maybe I should be holding him instead of you, get a good time out of it—"

"You won't fucking touch him," Katsuki sneers darkly, a cough catching tight in his throat.

"Enough." The villain snaps, silencing them both. His eyes linger on Katsuki for too long of a second before locking back on Izuku. Uraraka is whispering words of reassurance in his direction, Iida agreeing even though his life was just signed away, Todoroki murmuring much of the same from his own position, and Izuku is tearing up. If he's trying not to, he's failing miserably as a few tears slip down his cheeks, and Katsuki watches the scene with an emotion he can't label weighing heavily in the middle of his chest.

His mind reminds him of how much of a failure he is when he tries to glance away and sees nothing but blood.

Kirishima, emboldened by the silence surrounding them, wiggles around in the arms of his captor until he's successful in grabbing Katsuki's attention. His voice is no louder than a whisper. "Hey, Bakubro, how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," he grunts, eyes flickering across his friend's body in search of injuries. There's a bleeding nick on his forehead, and a bigger cut stretching across his arm, but other than that, he looks okay.

Somehow, Kirishima finds it within him to smile. It's far too soft and final for his liking, almost like he knows something that Katsuki doesn't. "Hanging in there, huh?" he states more than asks. "Just like a pro hero, not to be rattled by anything."

Katsuki's eyes snap back to Kirishima's face. He can hear Deku apologizing in his other ear, over and over to his friends, and it grinds at his already frayed nerves, annoys him to no end. (Terrifies him. He's terrified, he's fucking terrified and too afraid to say it outloud.) The villain hasn't said one word, and the silence is borderline threatening now, like waiting in suspense for the other pin to drop when the floor has already fallen out from beneath you.

"The fuck are you on about, Shitty Hair?" he finally asks, shoving the words past the shake of his limbs that say everything about this is wrong.

Kirishima's eyes widen then, at something Katsuki can't see behind him.

(After, he'll never forgive himself for not looking back, for not connecting the pieces together faster, for not saying another word. After, he'll never be able to look at himself the same again.)

"It's okay, Bakugou." His eyes are too calm. His limbs are too relaxed now, suddenly. "I'm okay."

There's the sound of something cracking and breaking and snapping from behind him, and as Katsuki whips his head around to look - to catch the sight of two thugs breaking Todoroki's arm like it's nothing, to Iida and Uraraka being slashed in half from a different man's quirk, dying so fast, too fast, too fucking fast amidst Izuku's heart-wrenching cries - by the time he hears the same sounds come from where Kirishima should be, he's far too late.

When he turns his head back to where his friend should be, he screams.

He screams for Kirishima, the sound scraping against his throat and rattling from deep within his lungs. He screams, and he screams, and he screams until his voice cracks and shatters and dismembers the same way his body does, his hands ripping at the same ones that had been holding him back this entire time, ripping and pulling and scratching until he sees blood explode in his vision, the same way their bodies had, the same way, the same way they all had—

The man holding him hushes him like he's a child, tugging him closer, pressing his nose into his sweat-soaked neck, and he kicks and pushes and tries to growl, but all that comes out is a broken sob. Katsuki's stomach churns. He feels sick, he feels sick, he feels sick as the man holds him ever close, murmuring words Katsuki doesn't care to understand into the shell of his ear. He feels disgusting, he feels sick, Kirishima's dead, he's dead, he's too close, too close, too close, he can't, he can't, no, no, get the fuck off—!

"Knock it off, Akui," one of the other gang members calls with a cold chuckle. "You really wanna fuck with a kid whose crying?"

The man holding Katsuki snickers in return, but listens, allowing some distance to come between their bodies once more. "It's not everyday I get to play hero," he murmurs, his lips dipping down and brushing Katsuki's exposed shoulder.

Katsuki snarls, his eyes still locked on Kirishima's too still body in front of him - he's dead, he's dead, he's fucking dead - and goes to jerk sideways, in an attempt to shake the man off. His nails break pale skin, sliding down as he starts to move.

"You do that Bakugou, and I'll slaughter him."

He freezes, every bone in his body locking in place. His chest heaves. Sweat drips from his forehead. His heart aches with another scream. And finally, finally, he's able to tear his eyes away from Kirishima -

"Don't worry, Bakubro," he says with a wide grin, slugging one rugged arm around his shoulders, "with my quirk, I'm pretty sure killing me is ten times harder."

Katsuki scoffs and shoves his arm off, stalking across the training mat. "Then fucking bring it, Shitty Hair," he says, turning back around with explosions popping in both of his opened palms, "let's see if I can kill you."

Kirishima laughs, happy. His teeth are bright against the afternoon sun that bleeds from the windows above them. "Be careful, bro." He says with a gleam in his eye, even though he knows it's pointless, "You could break some serious bones—"

"Die!"

- and bring them to a rest on Izuku, now held up by a different thug.

Katsuki's chest stutters at the memory. His throat feels raw. His eyes are wet. Izuku is staring at him already, heartbreak slashed clear across his face. There's tear tracks down both his cheeks, pure horror etched in the way his mouth is slanted. His wrists are bleeding from the quirk-surpresser cuffs, red droplets dripping steadily onto the carpet, and in his hands he still clutches the goddamn fucking napkin. The fucking napkin that...that...

"Deku," he rasps, through a voice that is not his own. Green eyes follow red ones down to where they land on his hands, trembling where they hang. "It's not your fucking fault, Deku." Every word hurts. He even thinks he feels blood dribble out of the corner of his mouth as he continues, but he pays no mind to it. "Put the fucking napkin down, you shitty fucking nerd."

"How heroic," the leader drawls, gaze cutting between them. Katsuki growls, but the man holding him tsks at the action and slaps him across the cheek to silence him. The force leaves him dizzy. "Now, now," the leader calms, "let him speak. He is the hero telling a dear friend lies, after all."

"It's not a lie!" he spits, locking eyes with the leader. "It's nobody's fault but you and your gang you fucking psychopath!"

The man hums, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. "My fault? Hm. Interesting, Bakugou, very interesting." He walks over to Izuku as he thinks, and then his hands slide down to hold Izuku's. Bakugou's stomach grows sick at the sight, and he struggles, struggles until the man holding pulls him flush against his front once again to make him stop.

"Good boy," he mutters into Katsuki's skin as the leader slowly pries open Izuku's hands so he can take the crumpled up napkin from him.

"N-No, no, no, p-please," he blubbers, tears already filling his eyes once more, "I-I have to—" Ignoring Izuku completely, the leader turns and walks over to Katsuki, and then unfolds the napkin for him to see. On it reads two names; the memory of who Deku had picked to save is still fresh in his mind. The man smiles, and then flips it over, showing two other names that sit dangerously in waiting.

Katsuki's stomach reacts for him as bile races up his throat and onto the floor beside him, coughs ravaging his already beaten throat. The leader's chilling laugh rings heavily through his ears.

"C'mon hero," the leader croons, "pick your poison."

"N-No," Katsuki spits, flashes of what had happened to Round Face and Four Eyes racing through his brain. No. No. He couldn't. He couldn't pick. Anyone but his classmates. Anyone but Deku.

"Well you must pick," the leader insists pleasantly, like a chef trying to encourage someone to try his favorite dessert. "I want to see who else will live alongside you. There is no place for the weak in this new generation of heroes, Young Bakugou."

"D-Don't call me that," he growls, but his voice shakes alongside the rest of him. His stomach is still rolling, attempting to heave, but he swallows it down and wipes at the slick side of his mouth. "I won't do it. I won't pick."

The room falls into a silence that isn't confronting, and before he knows it, the leader snaps his fingers twice, very loudly, and says to the man holding Izuku, "Bring him here."

Izuku fights against the man the whole way but it's no use without his quirk, and before he knows it the leader is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him over to Katsuki. He stops when their bodies are inches apart, heaving breaths falling into the other's face.

"Pick." The leader says from behind Izuku, one hand out and waving for something. The gang members shuffle and mutter amongst one another until a knife is found and handed to the man, the blade shining and sharp under the flickering lights.

"Go fuck youself, you bastard."

"Pick." He says again, eyes narrowing as he stares at Katsuki. He sees no color in them, only a black abyss as he stares right back, twisting his lips into a menacing sneer.

"Never."

"Pick, Katsuki Bakugou, or I will slaughter him," he says, repeating the same words from earlier as the knife inches toward the back of Izuku's neck, his tone completely different than it was a minute ago, now dark and promising horrors he couldn't even imagine. Todoroki is still standing shell-shocked to the right of them, his arm hanging limpy at his side from where they had broken it. Katsuki spares him no more than a helpless glance before his gaze returns to Izuku, who can't see what's going on behind him, but probably has a very good guess on what's going to happen next if Katsuki doesn't make up his mind now.

"It's okay, Kacchan," Izuku murmurs so quietly that Katsuki barely hears him, blinking his eyes rapidly once the words register.

"I won't," he mutters, something cold and heavy clogging his throat and crashing through his heart. Katsuki hates how all of it mirrors Kirishima, hates how this villain has done all of this, hates how he will never be the same after.

"Kacchan."

"Deku, I can't, not after they fucking," killed him, they fucking killed his best friend, the one person who could put up with his shit better than anyone else and they fucking murdered him like he was nothing but an obstacle in their way, Deku, please—

"I know," he whispers, daring to inch forward so that he can press his forehead to Katsuki's, who doesn't push him away because he needs the comfort just as much as Izuku does, all of their friends' bodies spread out like rag dolls around them. His eyes shut as he exhales shakily, feeling Izuku's hair brush against his skin.

Lips, hard and chapped, brushing far too tenderly across his exposed shoulder—

He shivers in disgust and slowly shakes his head. "Deku."

"Time's up, Bakugou."

"Kacchan, please."

"Pick. Now."

"Kacchan, it's okay."

He shoves him away using his shoulder, if only to think, but the push is far from aggressive. Izuku only stumbles from the abruptness of it, but catches himself quickly, his eyes still locked on Katsuki. Izuku is barely a step away, but for some reason that's enough for him. It's enough room between them that he feels like he can breathe again, air shuddering down his throat before being forced back out. Thoughts swirl around his head.

The villain didn't keep his word last time, or any of the times before it. He had Izuku pick between Uraraka and Iida, forced a decision between two people who had accepted him wholeheartedly, and then had murdered Uraraka anyway. Izuku couldn't look away, and his expression still haunted Katsuki's memory now, burned into his mind much like everything else that had happened. And now he was in the same situation, eyes flickering between faces that would remember his choice for the rest of his life.

He didn't care for Todoroki, he never has, but he would never wish death on him, seriously, anyway. He was strong, even by Katsuki's standards, and maybe one day he would give him a good fight for number one. He was looking forward to fighting it out. Izuku had been a staple of Katsuki's life for as long as he could remember, even if most of it was just him being a constant thorn in his side that he couldn't shake. But under that he can still remember the sleepovers if he thinks hard enough; playing action figures, chasing each other with homemade capes thrown over their shoulders, Inko's hand ruffling his hair when he ate all of his vegetables at dinner.

His heart knows the answer before the rest of him.

(There was only one right answer here.)

"I pick Deku, you fucking bastard."

The knife stills from where it had been steadily moving toward the back of Izuku's neck. Katsuki watches the man holding it carefully, heart thudding loudly in his ears. He can't bring himself to look over at Todoroki, can't bring himself to accept what he's done. (He had already accepted it, accepted it the moment his classmates - friends - started dropping like flies, because he knew, underneath the fear and the anger and the horror, that eventually he would be next.)

The man's expression is neutral for what feels like the longest time, the knife hovering calmly in the air behind Izuku. But when a slow, wicked grin finds its way across his lips, his heart jumps into his throat. Unknowingly, he tugs against the man holding him, only to be met by a bruising arm sliding around his waist and a hiss of warning into his ear. His pounding heartbeat drowns out whatever words are said.

"I didn't think you would pick so selfishly," the man mutters, quiet enough that Katsuki's surprised he can hear him at all, until he realizes he's speaking directly to him, his eyes catching red and staying there. Something he can't describe rests in his dark gaze, and he hates to admit that it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. "I believed you to hate him, this entire time."

He continues to talk as he approaches Todoroki, footsteps slow and deliberate. Izuku's frozen still in front of Katsuki, and a hidden part of him wants to pull the nerd closer and keep him far from the villains' reach. He wants...he wants to protect him, because he failed everyone else. Because it's the only thing left that he can do - that he will do, because failure in protecting the one person he has left?

That's not an option.

"But that's not it, is it?" the man muses aloud, knife tracing the curve of Todoroki's jaw. Katsuki can see the way Icy-Hot stiffens, but he stands tall, shoulders straight as his eyes meet those of the villian.

The man barely spares Todoroki a glance before he slits his throat.

Katsuki watches in pure terror as he crashes unceremoniously to his knees, his one good arm lifting so he can push a shaking hand desperately to his neck. It's useless when there's so much blood.

"No, it's something more than that." the man says, completely unaffected by the struggling gasps of Todoroki behind him as he turns back around so that he can look between Katsuki and Izuku. He can't take his eyes off his classmate, and something in him hates himself for not being able to, because when Todoroki finally goes still and silent a few short moments later, his eyes are staring right at Katsuki, unblinking.

"Because why else, in a moment of desperation, would you call him by his hero name instead of his own?" He smiles softly, almost like he's promising to keep some secret between the three of them, gingerly wiping the blood from the knife on the side of his suit. Katsuki feels sick all over again at the color of it, at the very sight of it, and swallows past the lump in his throat.

The man walks over, coming to a stop near them. Izuku presses himself closer to Katsuki, their shoulders brushing as he sinks backward, his body turned so that he can keep the man in his sight. Katsuki's more than thankful for it.

"Is it because you secretly idolize him? Believe in him? Rely on him?" He pauses, testing the water. Neither of them react, and his smile turns eerie as he hums thoughtfully. Katsuki doesn't like the way he looks over at him when he comes to whatever fucked up conclusion in his head a moment later. "Or maybe," he whispers, inching closer, "that nickname means more to you than anyone else realizes."

The room is deathly silent, rotten with blood and malice.

And then everything is moving all at once.

The man is saying something that Katsuki can't hear as blood roars in his ears, Izuku ripped from him before he can even fight to get him back. His immediate anger is finally too much for Akui, who nearly loses his grip on him as he shouts for more gang members to help hold him back. Two other thugs grab onto Katsuki as he gnaws his teeth and threatens life and death and everything in between, and then the villain hands Izuku off to someone else, who shoves him to his knees. Just like Todoroki and Kirishima and Iida and - no, no, no he can't, he—

"You can't kill him!" Katsuki yells without meaning to, his voice far from anything threatening, all the fight drained from him like someone had hit a switch. His voice is cracked and wrong, wrong, wrong - "You said to fucking pick and I did! I chose Deku!"

"Yes, I know what I said," the man replies easily, "and I know what my plan is but..." and the knife is too close to him, to someone Katsuki can't live without even if he won't admit it, the blade tapping tauntingly against Izuku's chin.

The man turns his head to Katsuki. "This is something even I can't resist. To think I would be left with two people who so secretly need the other. The hero holds the world on his shoulders, does he not?" he says with a crooked smile. "Is this kind of cruel world one you can hold? Do you still have the will to save one such as this? Better yet, to serve one?" The knife moves down, down, too far down, until it presses into the corner of Izuku's collarbone, blood forming quickly beneath it as he begins to push the blade into supple skin. "Even after you lose everything and everyone?"

There's rage, so much rage, filling him, blinding him.

"You fucking—"

"Ponder that as you grieve, hero, and this same world will be watching your every move to see just where you end up." The man finishes with flourish, and then the knife starts to move, slicing open Izuku's skin in a slow thick line, and when green eyes find red ones, attempting to reassure or whatever self-sacrificing bullshit he liked to pull, Katsuki can't explain the feeling that overcomes him.

It's fueled by anger, mostly, red hot and boiling under his skin, but there's something else there too. The need not to fail, the need to fucking protect him, to fucking move, to help, to stop this, to keep shitty fucking Deku alive, and it's the only thing he can feel as the room suddenly fills with a sickly sweet scent.

Sweat drips from his every pore, and his fingers clench and unclench from where they're being held behind him, and he can't hear it with everything he's feeling, but the rest of the people in the room do, eyes widening and heads turning as small crackles and pops erupt from his palms.

The men holding him curse, and only one of them tries to frantically reach for Katsuki's hands, but it's far too late. All he can see is the man slicing open Izuku's skin, killing him, killing him, killing him—

Something inside of him snaps.

And he roars as an explosion lights up the room.