Chapter Text
The Reckless Head and the Healer
The flickering light of torches danced across the shattered stone walls of the ancient fortress. Smoke curled up from collapsed beams, the scent of charred wood and iron thick in the air. Outside, the faint rumble of thunder echoed through the mountains — the storm that had witnessed their battle now moving on, leaving the guild amidst ruins and ash.
Bakugo’s clawed leather gauntlets, topped with metal, were scraped and blackened, the metal still faintly warm from explosive bursts. Leather belts wrapped his frame, streaked with soot and dust, few half-torn where claws had grazed his ribs. He stood tall anyway, the stubborn set of his jaw daring pain to try him again.
“Tch. Fucking overgrown lizard thought it could take me on.” His voice was gravelly, his hands still trembling from the fight.
“K-Kacchan!” The green haired boy hurried to his side, his must-take backpack thumped against his back with who knows what's inside of it. The slightly loose hem of his pants brushed along cracked stone as he moved — nothing dragging, only urgency in every step. His hands glowed faintly with green light, mana gathering between his fingers. “You’re hurt— sit down, please!”
“I don’t need your damn help,” Bakugo snapped, but his knees betrayed him with a faint quiver. “Shit,” he stumbled once before Izuku caught his arm, steadying him with gentle force.
The others followed close behind — Todoroki with frost still clinging to his hair, his fire magic glowing to give the others a warm air to cover up the chill Ness they were feeling from the aftermath.
Ochaco used her staff to lift fallen debris from what had once been a hall room, while Kirishima let out a shaky laugh, his skin still roughened from his hardening spell.
“You say you don’t need help, man, but your gear looks like it went through a meat grinder,” Kirishima grinned, clapping a hardened hand against his back.
Bakugo gritted his teeth. “Shut it, Shitty Hair—”
His words cut off as Izuku’s glowing hands pressed against his side. A wave of warmth spread through his body — steady, healing, real. The torn skin closed, pain fading into a dull throb. Bakugo’s breath hitched, not from the wound — but from the look on Izuku’s face.
Focused. Gentle. Too damn kind.
He pulled back sharply, nearly swatting Izuku’s hands away. “I said I don’t need you fucking babying me, Deku!”
Izuku flinched but stood firm, his voice soft and raw. “It’s not babying, Kacchan. You fought recklessly again... if I wasn’t here—” His words faltered, worry flickering in his emerald eyes.
For a second, Bakugo’s chest tightened, something clawing up from beneath his ribs — something unspoken, unwelcome. He turned away, clicking his tongue.
Che. Don’t waste your pity on me.
Midoriya’s lips parted, but before he could speak, Aizawa — cloaked in black, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion— interrupted.
“We set camp here. And departure at dawn. Stay alert. The storm hasn’t cleared the mountain fully.”
The group began their quiet routine — Momo drawing sigils to seal open walls, Jiro tuning her magic through her cords to listen for if any lingering creatures. A small fire flickered in the center of the ruin, warm against the cold draft that whispered through broken archways.
But Bakugo couldn’t sleep. Not when Izuku’s voice still echoed in his ears.
When the others finally drifted off, Bakugo sat by the slowly fading flame, the firelight traced sharp line of his jaw. Across from him, Izuku had fallen asleep mid-watch, head bowed, one hand still faintly glowing with residual mana — as if even in sleep, he refused to stop healing the world around him.
Bakugo clenched his fists.
Damn nerd... why do you have to fucking care so much?