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For the past twenty minutes, Katsuki Bakugou had been throwing up in the bathroom. Violently, undignified. He felt like shit.
He’d decided to join the rest of his classmates in a last-minute game night, and everything had been going relatively well. Kaminari was surprisingly brutal in Monopoly, although Iida was even more ruthless, especially when he joined hands with Yaoyorozu in an unforeseen alliance. Hagakure got more pissed than Katsuki when she lost pathetically at Uno with thirty-four cards, and Kirishima and Mina were almost terrifyingly violent in a game of Spoons. Even Katsuki couldn’t imagine being so competitive at that moment.
Things had finally started winding down at eleven, and they settled into the couches to watch a couple of movies. It seemed they were all intent on staying up for at least another five or so hours. Katsuki was getting ready to head back to his room, cause no way in hell was he screwing up his schedule that much for some shit romcom movies, when Uraraka brought over some drinks for everyone.
And hell, Katsuki was trying to be slightly less disagreeable, so he decided to take the drink she offered. He’d seen her making it, so it was fine. It was some calming tea, one that shouldn’t harm his sleep. At least, that’s what the box was.
Maybe, if there hadn’t been so many smells lingering, he would’ve noticed in time. If Kaminari hadn’t doused himself in cologne and sat right next to him, if Mina hadn’t opened a bag of peppery chips, if Aoyama hadn’t made over-spiced soup half an hour ago. If he’d been a little more alert.
He took a sip of the tea, idling listening as Uraraka began to speak. “Yaomomo’s been teaching me to brew—” Suddenly and without warning, as the taste hit his tongue and the smell reached his nose, Katsuki spat out the tea in his mouth and launched up from his seat, mug flying out of his hands before he could think and smashing against the wall.
Memories plagued his vision, turning his surroundings into that damp, dark, abandoned bar the longer he stood there, panting. He didn’t wait to see his classmates' reactions, the only thought in his mind being to get far, far away from that place, and to get rid of that damn taste.
He stumbled out of the jumbled mess of his classmates, tripping over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom while wiping his mouth and tongue with his sleeve.
He gagged, ripping open the door and dropping into a stall, immediately emptying the contents of his stomach. “Shit!” He gasped between heaves, banging his fist into the wall of the stall. He felt that villain’s hand on his neck again, and his palms crackled. “Shit!” He clawed at his neck, small explosions turning the skin raw, burnt, and irritated. Anything to replace that goddamn feeling on his neck. Anything to make it go away.
Katsuki continued to gag, acidic bile rising once he had nothing left in his stomach. His arms were weak, legs shaky, face hot, breaths coming in short gasps.
He felt the heat of blue flames flicker around him.
If anyone came for him at that moment, he’d be useless. Helpless. They’d be able to take him with even less of a fight than before. Shit if he got grabbed then, who’d come to save him? All Might was gone, nothing more than a shallow husk of a once great man all because Katsuki had been too pathetic, weak, and useless.
Still, even in his half-aware state, Katsuki heard footsteps approaching from behind him. With most of his sense gone, replaced with vigilance and animalistic fear which he’d never admit to, his first reaction was to whip himself around and fire off as many explosions as he could muster. “Fuck off bastard!” He screamed, throat raw and voice hoarse. Both from the vomiting and from the wounds he’d given himself.
“Woah, man, the hell?!” Kirishima threw up his arms to protect himself, quirk hardening his skin. “Ow, what was that for?” He waved his arms back and forth, mostly unharmed, yet still sensitive from the sudden heat. “What happened, Bakugou?”
Bakugou’s defenses went up, and he dragged himself to his feet, swaying back and forth, as if he’d collapse any moment. Like hell he’d let that happen. He took heavy steps towards Kirishima, willing himself to become more stable. “Fuck off, Shitty Hair.” He snarled, knocking his shoulder into Kirishima’s with an anger he hadn’t held in a while. “Go back to the rest of those shitty extras. Enjoy your fuckass movies with your fuckass drinks and shit-smelling cologne.” He could feel his heart thrumming in his throat, vision blurring with the effort of trying to focus on the bathroom, on the fact that the bar couldn’t be real anymore. It’d been blown to shit when the villains stormed it. It was gone.
Kirishima stared at him with a look half between anger and hurt. “What the hell? Why’re you being so dickish for? What did we do to you? I thought we were having a good time, man! We’re just worried about you.” Kirishima’s voice was only another thing to overwhelm his mind, another thing to focus on, another thing to think about, another thing to make his breathing falter. Too much. It was just too damn much, dammit!
Katsuki knew, realistically, that his mind had to be playing tricks on him, but his stupid instincts didn’t care. The smell of the tea was pungent in his nose, and it seemed to stick to Kirishima with vigor. Dammit, he just had to get away from him. Away from all of them, to his room where he knew that smell wouldn’t reach him. The only place he could make sure he was free of that goddamn old, shit, moldy bar. “I’m tired of you goddamn extras!” He hissed, eyes full of vitriol aimed at a man that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Kirishima raised his hands, and stupidly, in his cracked skin, Bakugou saw the hands of that man, the ones with dry skin that had wrapped around his throat with a threat Bakugou had dared him to follow through with.
If only he’d gotten the chance to blow that fucker’s face right off–
“Bakugou! What the hell are you doing?! Stop!” Katsuki was being pulled away from Kirishima, who was on the floor of the bathroom, arms raised to block his face, littered in burns and blood from where his hardened skin had cracked.
That man was gone, and the tea smell had been replaced with the smell of smoke and blood. All he was left with was a trembling body, bloodied knuckles, and classmates looking at him like he was a monster.
What the fuck just happened?
What–
“What the fuck, Bakugou?! He was just checking to see if you were okay! Do you have to react like this to every little fucking thing?! What’d Kirishima do to deserve this?! What makes you think a hero should act like this?!” Mina screamed at him, shoving a finger at his chest, getting all up in his face. Her nose was screwed up in anger, lips pulled back into a snarl, eyes narrowed in fury and disgust. “You’re suck a dick!”
Kaminari had dropped next to Kirishima, checking to see if he was okay and mumbling something about Recovery Girl. Yaoyorozu was observing him with horror, but her eyes seemed to be scanning him, looking for something, beginning to realize something. She was understanding things Katsuki didn’t want her to understand.
Todoroki stared him down with the same cold, unforgiving, quiet anger he stared at his father with, Deku was helping Kaminari get Kirishima to his feet, looking back at Bakugou every now and then with something Katsuki couldn’t discern. Betrayal? Pity? Hurt?
Fuck, even Sero was just staring in shock. Even that bastard.
“What’s going on?” Katsuki turned his head to see Mr. Aizawa at the entrance to the bathroom, staring at the various distraught students, finally landing on Katsuki’s knuckles and Kirishima’s arms. His expression went from confused and on guard to carefully neutral, maybe a bit disappointed.
Mina shoved Katsuki back into one of the sinks. “This uncontrollable emotional bitch lost his shit. For no fucking reason.” She spat each word with unwavering conviction, anger only seeming to continue growing.
“Bakugou, come with me. The rest of you either get to bed or help Kirishima to Recovery Girl.” A chorus of acknowledgments cleared out the bathroom relatively quickly, and Katsuki followed Aizawa with little fanfare, teeth grinding against each other as he resisted the urge to hang his head.
He wouldn't drop his chin, he wouldn't lower his shoulders. Like hell he'd show any more weakness than he already had.
They walked out of the dorms and into the chill of the night. Katsuki couldn't tell whether it was welcome or a shock to his system after the heat of the bathroom.
Aizawa continued walking until he brought them around to the back of the dorms, out of sight of the front door and the balconies. Finally, he stopped walking, and Katsuki waited for him to turn around and face him. He steeled himself, trying to plan what to say, how to explain what happened without sounding like a damn loser.
Aizawa sighed, head dropping as he pinched his nose. Katsuki involuntarily took a step back.
“What happened?” His teacher asked, still facing away from him. He sounded tired, voice strained and gravelly.
Katsuki’s mouth was dry, and the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak. Exhaustion was beginning to drop onto him, draping a blanket over his shoulders and making breathing a bit more of a chore.
“Bakugou, what happened?” There was a new level of irritation and severity in Mr. Aizawa's voice.
“Just got pissed off. Shitty Hair was being fucking annoying.” Katsuki mumbled, kicking at the ground, watching dirt fly up into the air.
“Is that really it? If you continue acting violently towards your classmates in this manner, you will be expelled. I will not have that behavior in my classroom. I will expel you myself. I have half a mind to do so right now.”
Katsuki had no response to give. Not one he felt like sharing, anyway.
Aizawa finally turned once the silence lingered for more than a few seconds. Katsuki forced himself not to cringe under his gaze. Mr. Aizawa looked suspicious, and seemed to be scanning him for something. He was looking for something. Katsuki felt sick again. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he hated it.
It was bullshit. Katsuki gnashed his teeth, stare hardening as he refused to look away from his teacher.
“Are you sick?”
“The fuck you calling me sick for?”
“You're shaking and pale. If you aren't sick, then what happened?”
Stupid fucking teachers. Stupid fucking heroes and their stupid fucking observation skills.
Katsuki remained silent, and Mr. Aizawa seemed to relent for a moment. He broke eye contact, pulled his hands out of his pockets before dropping his arms to his sides. His voice was less accusatory, more monotone. “Bakugou, I need to know what happened.”
“Go ask Shitty Hair. I already told you what fucking happened.” He retorted. He felt a bit more at ease with Mr. Aizawa's scrutinizing gaze off him.
“I'm asking for the full story. Anything you tell me will be in confidence. Unless I deem it necessary, I won't tell anyone what you say here.”
“That's bullshit.”
“I can only ask you to trust me.” Mr. Aizawa lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross legged and leaning back against the wall of the dorms. Kastuki watched him, waiting for him to continue, to say something more.
He didn't. He simply sat there. Katsuki continued to stand, heart pounding louder in his ears as time passed. His hands itched, his shoulders tensed, his legs twitched.
He needed to go do something. Go for a run. Train. Anything that wasn't just standing around. Dammit. His schedule was fucked.
Vaguely, Katsuki could hear the voices of some of his classmates fading in and out as they left the doors and began walking towards the main building.
Their voices faded out entirely, and once again, silence settled in. Not even the crickets chirped. The wind didn't even blow hard enough to rustle the grass.
Katsuki broke first.
“Those extras buy the same brand of tea as those fuckass villains.” He spat, forcing the words out as quickly as possible. Embarrassment and anger set in as soon as he spoke. It was fucking humiliating, admitting he couldn't stand the smell of tea, that his body reacted to it instinctively, that he couldn't control it.
Mr. Aizawa kept his eyes closed. “Does the tea remind you of them?”
Katsuki finally dropped his head, staring at his feet. “The whole fucking bar smelled like it.” The night air began to take on the same stench the more he thought about it, and he began unconsciously holding his breath. He had to force himself to breathe.
“What happens when you smell it?”
Katsuki grimaced, struggling to find the words and convince himself to tell his teacher anything else. “I don't fucking know. Just, shit. I see that fucking bar again. And my arms–” he cut himself off with a sharp clack of his teeth, jaw slamming shut, hands twitching.
“You don't need to share more than you feel comfortable with. I'd like to circle back, though. What happened today? Did it have to do with the tea?” Mr. Aizawa's voice was as calm and monotone as ever. He hadn't reacted obviously to anything Katsuki had said.
“I–” Katsuki felt his neck heating up. He grit his teeth. So stupid. If he hadn't lost his shit he wouldn't be talking to Mr. Aizawa like this. It pissed him off.
“Pink Cheeks made tea for everyone.”
“Did you drink it?”
“I'm not fucking stupid.” Katsuki snapped. Aizawa's voice, however monotone it really was, sounded to Katsuki like it was dripping in condescension. “If I'd known what it was I wouldn't have fucking taken it. The extras switched the boxes for some fucking reason and I thought—I thought it–” Frustration curled his hands into fists. The lump in his throat grew, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't speak around it.
“I don't think you're stupid. You've been very good at hiding this from everyone for quite a while, and I assume it's because you take care to avoid your triggers to the best of your abilities. Otherwise, I'm certain someone would've noticed sooner.”
“Every one of these extras are always drinking tea or coffee.” Katsuki had to adapt. He could deal. Just not when he had to drink the stupid shit.
“Does coffee also cause you to remember?”
“The taste. It's not–” He hesitated, shifting his weight, all too aware of the sweat building up on his palms. “The taste.” He repeated, unable to find the words to explain the difference between the two drinks. The smell wasn't as bad to him. Especially cause no one in the dorms drank it without adding some form of sugar.
“Okay. So tasting it makes it worse?”
Katsuki remained silent. Mr. Aizawa continued.
“I'm guessing that's why you were sick.”
Katsuki dug his nails into his palms.
“What happened with Kirishima then? Were you somewhere else, mentally? Did you see someone else?”
Katsuki was feeling sick again. He scratched his already damaged neck, stinging pains removing the feeling of a hand around it.
“That fucker with the hands.” He supplied, waiting for the next question he'd inevitably end up answering. Even if it made him feel like shit.
“I see.” His teacher stood and brushed himself off. Katsuki stiffed, straightening his posture again and hardening his stare. “We should treat your neck.”
Without meaning to, Katsuki leaned back slightly. Aizawa noticed before he could fix his posture. “Either I take you to Recovery Girl or we disinfect and wrap your neck.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes, feeling adrenaline rushing back into his veins. “Fuck that. I'll deal with it.”
“I'm sure you will. I won't do anything. You choose. I just need to stay to explain what disciplinary action you'll be receiving.” It sounded like a fucking lie. Whatever.
Katsuki bit his tongue and whirled around, stomping his way back into the dorms and up to his room. He was careful to keep his gaze off the shattered cup and spilled tea near the T.V.
He pulled out the aid kit from under his bed and used his phone as a mirror, hastily cleaning the wounds on his neck, pushing away the jeering thoughts hiding him for his improper treatment of burn wounds.
Mr. Aizawa didn't mention it. He stood toward the edge of Katsuki’s line of sight, clear of the door, which remained half-open.
“Well,” Mr. Aizawa began once Katsuki had nearly finished his half-hearted attempts at fixing his neck up. “Bakugou, you will be on house arrest for the weekend, and will attend remedial courses for your behavior twice a week for the next month.
Katsuki didn't respond, too focused on the feeling of the bandages on his neck. He had to force himself to wrap the wounds, grip too tight on the bandages, movements too stiff to be normal. He kept pulling too tight, then left the wrap too loose. His struggle was too obvious for Aizawa not to notice, even if he was pretending to be on his phone.
Once he finally fixed the wrap on right, Aizawa cleared his throat and straightened. “I'll get going, then. Your classmates should be back soon. Recovery Girl said Kirishima is fine. Get some sleep, Bakugou.”
Katsuki watched him leave silently, relief washing over him once the door clicked shut. His limbs gained twenty pounds each, and he stumbled his way to the door to lock it before collapsing onto his bed. He shoved the blankets away, watching them fall onto the floor.
The light was still on. He wanted it off. He should turn it off.
He covered his eyes with his arm, instantly removing it and bolting upright in his bed, ripping the bandages off with fumbling hands.
He grabbed a can of febreze and sprayed it in his room until he nearly choked on the smell. He dropped his head into his hands, digging his nails into his forehead.
“This is fucking stupid.”