Chapter Text
When Hitoshi was a young child, he shared a bedroom with a girl who had seizures. There was nothing dangerous or volatile about her quirk – a simple illusion quirk she could manifest in the air out of her fingertips. She and Hitoshi would stay up at night, long after the sun, laughing at the dancing images she had swirling around them until their foster parents would kick open the door and yell for them to get back in bed. The girl was always so kind to Hitoshi despite the supposedly scary muzzle that Hitoshi was forced to wear on account of his dangerous quirk.
It was one such late-night session of childish laughter at the rainbows and dancing otters the girl had swimming around in the air that Hitoshi had witnessed his first seizure. The girl had suddenly stopped, started looking through him, and then collapsed, violently moving on the bed as if she had no control. The moment scared him, and he remembers the feeling of tears soothing the chaffing on his cheeks more than anything else. Their foster dad kicked the door in to yell, saw her seizing, and then rolled his eyes, turning away and slamming the door behind him.
That very moment, Hitoshi decided he would never leave a person to suffer alone. He didn’t know how to help, and that failure ate a pit into his stomach. They supposedly had all the help in the world, yet he felt so alone. What had ever happened to her, Hitoshi distantly wondered. Where had she gone?
Hitoshi’s time at that place had been cut short shortly after, and soon, six months of dancing mirages and lights had faded away into his memories, becoming only small glimpses of a past he brought up only when Denki or Jirou asked. Even now, he couldn’t picture her face. He could see her braided pigtails and long blue nightdress. He could hear her goofy laugh and could probably draw those dancing and swimming seals. Her face, though, was lost to his memories. As was her name.
Hitoshi had been moved somewhere else to stay. As always, his stay in foster homes only ever lasted about half a year before they grew tired of his constant silence and tiptoeing. Ironic, really. His foster parents were always the ones forcing him into that kind of never-ending silence.
“Sounds like a bunch of fucking hypocrites,” Bakugou had said one night. They had stayed up to have a sleepover in Sero’s room, and the rest of the group had already passed out. Bakugou and Hitoshi, though, sat up in the night on the balcony, watching the moon lazily drift across the sky. Hitoshi had always struggled to sleep – something he realized he shared so strongly with Aizawa that it made him feel as if the man genuinely was his father. That particular night, Bakugou had joined him for the first time.
Bakugou never told Hitoshi exactly why he was always awake so late during these sleepovers. The boy typically went to bed around 8, so sitting together on a balcony at 2:30 in the morning was never something Hitoshi had imagined. Yet, they did it frequently. Bakugou got the chance to know Hitoshi; Hitoshi likes to imagine he got the opportunity to know Bakugou. While Bakugou was always a deeply secretive person, he always made Hitoshi feel as if he knew the other. If anything, Hitoshi came to understand the way Bakugou always managed to say so much with so little while also saying so little with so much.
Hitoshi guessed there was so much more to learn about him. When Hitoshi shared small things, Bakugou always seemed to relate. When Bakugou had slid the door open and stepped out on the balcony one day while Hitoshi was looking at the faint scars on his face in his phone camera, he had only made a knowing look and huffed that the scars somehow hurt more than when the thing was actually on his face. Hitoshi couldn’t help but remember the sports festival, and while a sense of sorrow should have filled him, he couldn’t help but feel seen.
Hitoshi’s still not quite sure what prompted him to share with Bakugou about his long stint in foster care, yet he did. Hitoshi couldn’t help but let the information spill out of him and into the listening ears of the boy sitting across from him. The breeze had been blowing somewhat, and the moon had only been a sliver of what it could be. Hitoshi wondered out loud what he did to deserve it – the muzzle and the moving and the silence. Bakugou called them hypocrites.
”If anybody ever muzzles you again, I’ll beat the fucking shit out of them until they’re so unrecognizable that not even their dental records OR quirk signatures will identify those fucking losers,” he had responded. In the moment, it made him smirk; really, it made him realize what a family could – no, should – be.
When Bakugou hit the ground, Hitoshi finally snapped out of his stupor and shot up, letting Denki’s hand go and skillfully closing the knife before shoving it in his pocket. In a moment, Hitoshi was beside Bakugou and heaving him onto his left side. For all the hatred he seems to get, Bakugou really did have everybody’s best interests in mind. He hated when people lacked effort or drive, but he still cared. Hitoshi wasn’t going to let him suffer alone, even if everybody else was content. Bunch of fucking hypocrites, his mind supplied in Bakugou’s gruff voice.
“What the fuck?!” Sero shouted, shooting up and stumbling into Denki.
By the time Bakugou’s body had fully sunk into the erratic movements, Hitoshi had him on his side, his own hand supporting the painful smashing of Bakugou’s head. It wasn’t ideal, but Hitoshi’s hand was infinitely softer than the rock of the cave floor, so it would have to do.
Chaos erupted around them, but all Hitoshi could focus on was the boy in front of him, eyes wide but rolled back, foam bubbling past his lips and falling down his cheeks, and hands clenching and unclenching as his arms smashed painfully into the rock. His legs shot out, sending his supplies skidding away in different directions.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ashido said, moving over across from Hitoshi. “Why is he having a seizure?!”
“Oh my god, Bakugou!” Yaoyorozu shouted, rushing across the cave to their side.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Why’s he shaking like this?”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Should we get something from his first aid kit?”
“The black one?”
“He said he’d kill us if we touched that one.”
“What else are we supposed to do?!”
“Kacchan?! Are you okay?”
“We shouldn’t overcrowd him.”
“Why’s this guy always have to have main character syndrome?”
Hitoshi desperately tried to piece things together in his mind, grasping at anything to explain what in the fucking world was happening. His eyes zeroed in on the still starkly apparent wound on Bakugou’s hairline, and then, it finally dawned on him.
“It’s okay, calm down,” Hitoshi said, not taking his eyes off the sight in front of him. He could almost feel the tense, anxious energy in the air. Bakugou knew his friends like the back of his hands. It was like he could sense it happening and warned Hitoshi, the only person he knew who could hold up that end of the bargain. They’ll panic. Don’t let them. Be responsible, he had said. They would want to help, but their help likely suffocated him at times. “It’s okay. We’re okay. He’s okay. Your panic isn’t helping. He’s likely got a fucking concussion and didn’t want to tell anybody.”
In his mind, Hitoshi silently tried to count the seconds, but each one felt like it had lasted longer than hours. On and on the time ticked on, but in reality, Hitoshi knew it hadn’t even been a single minute. Bakugou’s breathing would stop, ceasing to exist for what felt like the most painful of hours, and then he would gasp a breath in, gurgling through the foaming spit that pooled toward the left of his mouth.
“Oh my god, why didn’t he say anything?”
“You expect our Blastybabe to say anything to us if he’s hurting?”
“That’s true. He’d probably try to fake being okay after losing a limb.”
“I’m so fucking awful. I should’ve told somebody he was having memory issues.”
“You knew he was having memory issues?”
“About that ethics class a few weeks ago! I didn’t know! It didn’t feel like a red flag!”
“Wait, what about when he was sleeping earlier? Did he really pass out?”
“I left him in the woods earlier alone. I should’ve gone with him. This is my fault.”
“Stop!” Hitoshi yelled, still trying to count the seconds. “It’s nobody’s fault. Shit happens. Stop panicking. We’re focused on care right now. Tokoyami and Shouji, guard the entrance. Just because we’re dealing with this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t protect ourselves.”
Bakugou’s movement suddenly shifted forward, leaning more weight onto Hitoshi’s knees than before and stiffly pressing part of his chest into the top of Hitoshi’s thighs.
“Why do you have pads on you?”
“Fucking give me that, dumbass. And why shouldn’t I?”
God, Hitoshi really was a fucking dumbass, wasn’t he? He glanced at Denki, who practically flinched in response, as if Hitoshi had thrown a hot iron directly at the boy’s face. In that split second, Hitoshi knew that Denki had known. He didn’t know when or why the boy had found out, but he knew nonetheless.
His attention was pulled to how badly his hand ached from the angle, but anything was better than worsening the concussion. How many seconds had it been? How many minutes? How many hours had the boy been dealing with this? Thinking back, Bakugou was fine on the bus this morning, and the blood hadn’t appeared on his face until after the villain encounter.
“When could he have gotten a concussion?”
“I don’t know! He was fine this morning!”
“Did it happen just now while he was in the woods?”
“Guys, I,” Kirishima started, gripping onto the front of his shirt, “I think he got it during the bus thing. When we ended up in that field, he…well, I noticed that he had blood in his hair, but he seemed fine!”
“And you didn’t notify us?” Iida asked. They were now the center of attention, it seems.
“It’s not like anybody else cared to check on him! If I recall, you all said you were fine and that was it!”
“If he was injured, he should’ve said something about it!”
“Stop!” Midoriya shouted, angrily pushing his way to the front. “We’ve been at each other’s throats this whole time, and there’s no reason for it! You all need to keep out of my business with Kacchan! And there’s no reason for us all to be fighting! He got lost in the woods, and nobody thought to go looking! Even I’m to blame! What if this is the second one? He could’ve died!”
It was silent for a moment, and the atmosphere grew even thicker.
“He could still die.”
“This arguing and shouting isn’t helpful,” Hitoshi said, taking a moment to glare behind him and toward the class.
The seconds are stretching on way too long for Hitoshi’s comfort, but Bakugou’s jerking was starting to slow, and the stiffness in his body was starting to loosen and relax, more of the weight of his chest sinking into Hitoshi’s knees and his head growing in weight as his neck relaxed. A sense of relief filled him as Bakugou’s erratic movements ceased. In reality, it had likely only been 3 minutes, but it felt like hours had passed. Days, even.
“Get me one of those tissues,” Hitoshi said to Denki. “He’s got spit on his face.”
“I’ll get them,” Mina said, quickly grabbing them and pulling one out of the package. Hitoshi moved Bakugou’s own arm underneath his head, doing his best to put the boy in a recovery position he had seen in a textbook a few years ago.
Mina reached over and softly started wiping Bakugou’s face down, petting his damp hair as she did. Bakugou’s eyes were closed now, and his mouth remained slightly open. The movement was delicate and tender. It was as if Mina was entirely convinced that one wrong move would make the boy shatter into a million pieces. Beside him, Kirishima dropped to his knees, taking the blonde’s right hand into his own and squeezing softly.
“It’s cold. Sweatier than normal.” Kirishima whispered.
“That’s normal. It’ll go back to his normal temperature soon.” Hitoshi supplied in response. Hitoshi couldn’t bring himself to remove his hands from Bakugou’s back, softly supporting him. Part of him didn’t want to move and draw any attention to the way the fabric of his shirt would awkwardly fall.
“I just don’t get it,” Midoriya started, tears in his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he tell us he was sick?”
“Why would he? You all have been so up his ass recently about even existing,” Sero retorted, helping bend Bakugou’s legs to give him a bit more stability. “Especially your little friend group, Midoriya.”
“It’s not our fault! He’s always acting like a jerk and bully, and after everything that happened with Deku in middle school, I just. I can’t stand it.” Uraraka responded.
“I never asked for that, though! You all just jumped in and tried to fix our problems when I told you I didn’t want that! We’ve both been awful to each other, and we both had our reasons. I don’t need anybody stepping in!”
“We just want to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” Midoriya’s voice got louder, rage clear as day on his face. “I’ve never needed protecting. Kacchan’s the one who needs protecting! All this time, it’s always me, me, me. Help Izuku! Izuku is weak! But Kacchan’s the one who needs it! What about Kacchan?! Why does everybody always forget about him?!” Angry, hot tears were falling down his face, but Deku didn’t seem to care. Hitoshi could tell the boy had just grown exhausted of all the same bullshit Hitoshi himself had long since outgrown.
“He’d never accept the help even if he really needed it,” Sero said. “Besides. Shit happened ages ago. People change. You all need to get that through your thick fucking skulls. All of us did shitty ass things in middle school. Hell, I’ve told people to go die in a hole. It’s all normal. We were kids. Even if Bakugou would’ve recognized he needed help, how could he ever have asked for it? Especially when everybody’s always yelling at him.”
“That doesn’t excuse it, though. People who’ve done bad things need to be punished,” Iida chimed in. “I’m not saying he’s a bad person. There should be consequences, though.”
“You’re one to talk, Iida,” Todoroki spoke up, but Midoriya gripped his hand, and all too quickly, the boy backed down.
“Kacchan’s had his consequences. I want to move on. I just. I want to help him so badly, and he’ll just never let me!”
“We’re all heroes in a class to be heroes,” Yaoyorozu stated, shedding her thin jacket and rolling it up to place under Bakugou’s head. “We all chronically help those who need help, and sometimes, we don’t know when to stop. It’s our fatal flaw. ”
“Well, I think our Blastybabe’s fatal flaw is that he’ll refuse the help even if he needs it.”
“That is Bakugou’s fatal flaw, yes. Imagine a person with an incessant need to help others is met by somebody with an unwavering hatred of accepting said help. I imagine both parties would grow furious.” Yaoyorozu mused.
There was a silence in the air following Yaoyorozu’s analysis. Ashido continued petting Bakugou’s hair, and Kirishima continued holding his hand. Hitoshi felt out of place here. The tingling on the back of his neck alerted him to the deep-seated sense of something being off. Subtly, Hitoshi looked behind him as if he were looking back toward Midoriya, but his eyes slid past the boy and peered into the woods.
It was dark and raining. Being November, it was cold, and the sun set so early in the day that it was almost impossible to tell what time it was, but Hitoshi could almost bet it was about 9. The shift in the air told him. 9 felt different from 12, which felt different from 2. This, though, was strange in an eerie way. The darkness that extended past the trees slowly crept closer to the entrance of the cave. If Hitoshi focused his eyes a bit more, he could practically see the oozing darkness inch its way closer, enveloping leaves and trees. If he focused his ears, he could practically hear the loss of rain just beyond the treeline. It sent a chill up his neck and well into the base of his skull. The hair on his arms stood on end.
Tokoyami silently stood by the entrance of the cave with Shouji. The two peered toward the group, keeping a vague eye on the treeline. If they were okay, then Hitoshi presumed they would be fine. He just couldn’t help but feel as if something was off. Why hadn’t anybody else noticed yet?
“Wha-” Bakugou suddenly said, husky voice slurring the words seemingly out of nowhere. Hitoshi silently berated himself for not noticing that the boy was stirring awake. Hitoshi’s eyes snapped to the boy, but he couldn’t shake that feeling of unease at the darkness in the trees.
“Bakubro!”
“Blastybabe!”
“Fuckin’ hell-” Bakugou murmured, tensing a bit as he struggled to open his eyes. “Where am..”
“You’re okay, Bakubro. You’re safe here.”
“The fuck is goin’..”
Bakugou slowly woke up more, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his hand, pulling it away from Kirishima’s grip, much to the redhead’s displeasure. He pushed himself to sit up, wincing and gingerly touching the wound on his head. He could tell that Bakugou’s body was protesting the movement, and he wanted to force the boy to continue lying down in order to recover, but he most likely would rather die than ever continue resting.
Hitoshi tapped Bakugou’s forearm, almost making the boy jump out of his skin. Hitoshi told himself to be calm. Ignore the trees. The darkness.
“The fuck?!”
“You had a seizure,” Hitoshi said, subtly signing the words in low in front of him, hoping that the rest of the class couldn’t see. If Bakugou had failed to tell them, there had to be a reason, and Hitoshi wasn’t a loudmouth, and he didn’t spill secrets. That’s what got him this almost automatic access to Bakugou’s group of friends. The blonde appreciated being discreet and keeping your mouth shut. “You’re okay, though.”
A look of disbelief crossed his face before an unfortunate acceptance settled in his eyes.
“Of fucking course. What else could fucking happen at this point.”
Bakugou stilled, and Hitoshi began to worry that another fit of convulsions was imminent; however, he realized that Bakugou’s gaze was not only fixed and strong, persistently gazing into the woods. Slowly, Bakugou stood up, shaky and unsteady on his legs, but unwilling to move his eyes off the darkness of the woods. He moved himself between the darkness and his friends, unwilling to ever let them protect him. He always had to be the one to protect them.
Hitoshi’s eyes moved away from Bakugou back to the forest. The darkness was all-encompasing. Enveloping the entrance of the cave and only being held back by the light of Bakugou’s fire, flickering in the middle of the entrance. By now, the rest of the class had stilled, following Bakugou’s eyes to the looming dread that was falling on them. The sound of the rain had ceased, only the sound of cracking wood filled the silence.
“Something’s coming,” Bakugou said, and Hitoshi moved his hand, ready to rip the knife out of his pocket if need be. Bakugou lowered himself to the ground, supporting himself ever so slightly on Kirishima’s shoulder. Tokoyami and Shouji moved back, taking up a stance beside Midoriya and Todoroki. The air was palpable, still and unmoving but thick and impossible to breathe. Though the fire continued flickering, a deep chill settled in Hitoshi’s bones. He reached forward and pulled ever so slightly on Denki’s shirt.
The darkness oozed, dripping off the cliff face and onto the floor before sinking back into the abyss. Hitoshi couldn’t say that he was surprised when a foot pushed its way through the rolling, breathing mass, tendrils of darkness clinging to the dark shoe as it broke the surface. In slow motion, Hitoshi watched a man fully push through the thick liquid, taking a stance in the middle of the cave entrance.
He was tall, a slender body hidden well behind a dark suit and pitch-black labcoat. His hair was pulled back behind his ears, falling freely behind his shoulders and showing his narrow jaw. His skin was almost flawless, and the sheen on his pale skin made Hitoshi need to hold back a chill. The man didn’t feel like a man despite looking the part. His eyes were endlessly black, a calm with the faintest flickers of unadulterated malice desperate to break through. Superiority was rolling off him in waves, a small, undisturbed smirk planted firmly on his face with bright, white teeth shining through despite the darkness.
Beside him, a four-legged beast broke through the ooze next, it’s skin a wet, glossy black, but this beast was clearly once a man, bent and broken form resting beside the suited man. It’s fingers were long, nails filed into points, and where it’s once-human face would’ve sported eyes, a nose, and teeth, Hitoshi could only see the gaping holes of muscle, bone, and flesh. It tilted it’s head and smiled at him, as if it could sense Hitoshi’s analytical, yet horrified, gaze.
When the man finally spoke, Hitoshi was certain the chill it created would forever be cemented in his mind. His voice was just as calm as his eyes – no more than a whisper and yet rattling around in Hitoshi’s mind in a way that pained him.
“There you are,” he said, reaching over and petting the creature beside him, as if it were a common housepet. “Unfortunately, there are simply too many of you for what I need.”
He looked back to the group, and Hitoshi wasn’t surprised they were just as immobile as him. There was a sense to the duo that told them that if they so much as moved, they would die. They would all die. They still didn’t have their quirks. Hitoshi could only watch as the man pulled out a small journal, skillfully flipping it open to the first page. He moved his hand to behind the thing’s head and slightly urged it forward, and the thing happily complied, body jerking awkwardly as it moved it’s once human form a few steps toward them.
“We’ll have to fix that, won’t we, Mugen?”