Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kirishima stared at the elegantly written script on the note card in his hand. He could see the letters, but his mind wasn’t registering what he needed to do. Staring in front of him, he saw a beautiful assortment of dark flowers arranged in a sleek black vase. An eerie chill ran down his spine. He felt as though he should be remembering something, but the image was blurry, like he was viewing a picture underwater. Come to think of it, why was he outside? A harsh winter breeze rushed towards his face, snatching the breath from his lungs. He shivered instinctually, pulling his body in on itself to keep himself warm. His legs were heavy, as if gym weights were resting on his thighs. Peering down, he noticed Bakugo’s limp form cradled in his lap. 

Kirishima’s eyes widened in alarm. “Katsuki!” 

Bakugo laid limply in Kirishima’s lap; his body rolled with Kirshima’s movement. Terror pierced his heart as he shakily rested two fingers on Bakugo’s pulse point. Seconds stretched on for hours as he held his breath, waiting for the rhythmic feeling. Vaguely, he felt the pulsating thump of Bakugo’s heartbeat. He exhaled a painful breath, releasing the suspense and anxiety that was currently having a cage match in his chest. 

The events of the last few minutes came rushing back through Kirishima’s mind with disorienting urgency.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Bakugo whispered evenly. 

He had hoisted himself off the couch and stomped outside, saying he needed fresh air. 

“Kats, come back in so we can…”

Kirishima’s heart dropped to his stomach as he looked at the note in his hands. 

See you soon, Dynamight. 

  Shit, shit, shit! He had checked out. Now’s not the time, Eijirou! He berated himself. You can disassociate later. Kats is in danger. 

Kirishima was a hero. Dangerous situations and traumatic experiences were his unfortunate specialty. In his ten plus years as a pro hero, he had been privy to the worst of humanity. Mutilated corpses, murdered innocents, and deity level wrath haunted his dreams. Despite the vile, gruesome things that he had the unfortunate privilege to witness, none of it compared to the gut wrenching sight of Bakugo passed out in his lap. He was sweating profusely despite the frigid temperature. His pale face was scrunched up in a scowl, causing his glasses to sit askew on his nose. 

Bakugo had passed out from sheer terror. That fact made Kirishima’s blood run cold. Bakugo had tried to tell him that something was wrong, that someone was messing with him. A painful, guilt ridden stab jolted through Kirishima’s chest. One week into their relationship and he had already fucked everything up. 

Kirishima snapped out of his downward spiral at the sound of his name. 

“Ei.” Bakugo’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m scared.” He rasped out weakly. 

Kirishima wrapped his arms tightly around Bakugo. A fierce sense of protectiveness overcame him, ridding him of any other self deprecating feeling. Unbridled anger surged through his body. His skin felt hot despite the cold air swirling around them. Everything took on a deep red hue as the rage seeped into his very bones. He may not be able to control people’s minds, call lightning like a god, or unleash explosions that can decimate entire cities. But, he was Red Riot, the unbreakable hero. He could hold the heavens on his back, like Atlas himself, if need be. At that moment, all he wanted to do was shred the people who had caused this hellish nightmare to ribbons, inch by agonizing inch. His darkest, most villainous thoughts had a front row seat to his internal plight. If Bakugo was willing to voice his fear aloud, then the situation was truly dire. 

“I’ve got you, Kats.” Kirishima whispered reassuringly. 

Gently, he shifted his legs underneath him, ignoring the searing pain shooting through his right knee. He pulled Bakugo towards him, cradling him in his arms. Slowly, he stood up, hardening his thighs and legs to give himself some extra support as he carried Bakugo back inside. He slammed the door shut with the heel of his foot and made his way towards Bakugo’s bedroom, careful to not jostle him awake. 

“Eiji?” Bakugo asked sleepily. “What…”

“Sshh,” Kirishima chided softly. “Everything’s alright. I’m just laying you down in bed.” 

A look of contented relief washed over Bakugo’s face. He curled onto his right side, twisting the comforter in his hands. 

 “Thought it was real this time,” he murmured sleepily. 

Kirishima’s brow furrowed in worried confusion. He tentatively sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, rubbing comforting circles on Bakugo’s back. “What do you mean, Katsu?” 

Bakugo sighed contentedly as the heaviness of sleep steadily overtook him. “Recurring dream. Thought it was real this time.” 

Kirishima’s hand stiffened on Bakugo’s back. “You’ve had the same nightmare?” He asked carefully. 

“Hmm.” Bakugo hummed. He sighed as exhaustion and worry painted his features. “I thought those mindfucking bastards had figured it out.” 

Kirishima’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Just another nightmare.” Bakugo muttered sleepily. His eyelids drooped heavily as he finally succumbed to his tiredness. 

Kirishima waited until he could see the steady rise and fall of Bakugo’s chest, indicating he was fast asleep, before padding out of the room and into the kitchen. 

Methodically, he grabbed the coffee beans from their designated spot on the counter. He poured them into the grinder and flipped the switch, listening to the outer shells of the beans crack under the pressure before their tough exterior caved to the sharp blades, slowly grinding them to a grainy texture. Once the grinder came to a stop, he silently poured the finely ground powder into a filter and placed it into the machine. Carefully, he filled the brewer with enough water and turned it on.

Focusing on the task at hand was helping him stay grounded. It was a technique that he had learned very early on in his days at U.A. Basic, mundane tasks helped him rid his mind of unnecessary, intrusive thoughts and sort through the rational facts of a situation. 

Kirishima perched himself on one of the kitchen bar stools next to the counter. He watched the water filter over the coffee grounds, slowly dripping coffee drop by drop into the pot beneath. 

As he stared at the drops of liquid sanity pattering steadily into the vessel beneath, he determined three essential facts. 

One, he needed to call Denki and Hitoshi immediately. 

So, relying on his hyper focused executive functioning, he sent a text to their group chat. Calling would have been much better, but he didn’t want to speak for fear of breaking his trance-like state. 

Emergency. Come to Bakugo’s ASAP. 

Two, let the agency know they would be staying there indefinitely. 

He fired off a text to Momo, asking that she prep their apartment and set the security to maximum lock down, no questions asked. Thirty seconds later, she responded with a simple understood . She really was the best at what she did. The substantial raise they had just given her wasn't enough to express their gratitude, but it was a start. 

Kirishima refocused his gaze on the half filled pot. He inhaled a deep breath, allowing the heady, rich smell to wash over him. 

The third and final step, he needed to acknowledge what was happening. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes, willing himself to state the facts one at a time. 

Two years ago, Toshi's family wreaked havoc on their psyches, demolishing their innate abilities to trust their intuitions, even after all this time. Three months ago, Bakugo started having bouts of severe anxiety. One week ago, Bakugo's heart gave out. One hour ago, Bakugo admitted he was having night terrors. Thirty minutes ago, they found Nightshade's calling card on their doorstep. He read the note and actually comprehended the meaning . We know your secret. See you soon, Dynamight. 

Now, he was sitting in his and Bakugo’s shared apartment, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. 

“Kiri?” Kirishima snapped his head up to see Denki kneeling in front of him. 

“When did you get here?” He asked breathlessly. Panic coursed through him. Did he really not hear someone come through the front door? It could have been anyone! He must have hauled ass here. 

“Kiri, hey.” Denki placed a hand on Kirishima’s knee, squeezing gently. “I have a key, remember? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

And damn Denki Kaminari for being so perceptive. 

“Here, this should help.” Denki stood up, made his way to the counter, poured coffee in Kirishima’s favorite Dynamight mug, added an obscene amount of sugar and creamer, and passed it to him. 

Kirishima smiled graciously. “Thanks,” he murmured. His voice sounded raw, as if he had swallowed broken glass. He took a sip, focusing on the taste and warmth. Sighing heavily, his eyes closed briefly before opening again with renewed clarity. 

“There you are,” Denki encouraged. “Now, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” 

Kirishima locked eyes with Denki. He must have come straight from his patrol shift. His uniform was torn in places and covered in dirt. His hair was tousled and matted with sweat, despite it being the middle of winter. Blood slowly seeped out of a shallow cut on his cheekbone, just under a fading lichtenberg scar. Amongst all of the details, one stood out to him more than any other. Denki’s eyes were puffy, swollen and an irritated red color. He had been crying. Studying him more carefully, Kirishima could see the anguish in his eyes, even though he had a reassuring smile on his face. 

“Denks?” Kirishima reached out his hand, resting it on Kaminari’s elbow. 

Kaminari exhaled a shuddered breath. “I’m alright, Kiri. Just a really, really long day. Are you all okay? When I got your text, I thought something might have happened.” 

“Katsuki’s…” Kirishima trailed off, unsure of how to explain what had occurred. 

“Kiri?” Denki prompted. 

Wordlessly, Kirishima dug his right hand into the pocket of his worn out jeans, pulled the note out, and held it out to Kaminari. 

Kaminari’s brow furrowed in hesitant confusion before taking the note. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he read. He placed a shaky hand over his mouth, shock and concern etched into his face. 

“The flowers are still outside,” Kirishima whispered. 

“That’s…. I mean, it can’t be…. But they….” Kaminari dropped into the stool beside Kirishima, planting one elbow on the counter while keeping his other hand over the lower half of his face. 

Kirishima observed his friend's reaction with a sympathetic understanding. He was still trying to process the news as well. Since the ordeal with Shinsou’s family, they had kept tabs on the Nightshade organization. True to their word, they didn’t bother Shinsou or any of his friends, thanks to his parents. His parents ensured no one in the organization interfered with their hero work. Although it was never actually requested of them, they all assumed it was a penance of sorts. There were other facts in play that no one but Shinsou and Aizawa were privy to. Even Bakugo, with his number two hero rank, hadn’t been briefed on the real situation. Regardless, it didn’t make sense for them to be targeting Bakugo when they had been protecting him from the shadows all along. 

“Shit!” The buzz of Denki’s phone jolted him from his seat. Checking the caller ID, he answered the call and placed it on speaker phone. 

“Hey, Hito. They are okay.” Kaminari rushed out. “Have you made contact with your parents lately?” 

“Denks.” 

The sound of Shinsou’s voice stole the breath from Kaminari’s lungs. His voice sounded hollow, completely devoid of any emotion. 

“Hito? What’s wrong?” Denki asked urgently. “Are you safe? Did something happen? Where…”

The sound of Shinsou sucking in a ragged breath, as if he was struggling to breathe, dropped Kaminari’s heart to the pit of his stomach. An alarming sense of dread suffocated the air. Kirishima held his breath, begging futility for his instincts to not be right. 

“Denks, my parents are dead.”

Chapter Text

Opening his eyes, Bakugo could see nothing but a pitch black void that stretched on and on, seemingly endless. The space was eerily silent. His rapid  breaths filled the air, overwhelming his ears. He licked his lips, tasting the salt from the sweat on his upper lip. Inhaling slowly, he willed his heartbeat to slow down, knowing that he would be as good as dead if he let himself succumb to his anxiety and fear.

The creaking groan of a heavy, wooden door nearly stopped his heart. A sinister presence filled the air, causing each inhale to sit thickly in his mouth and throat. He sucked in a breath as he twisted his head to his left then to his right, trying to discern where the noise came from. Time stood still as he swallowed the dry, large lump in his throat. Exhaling harshly through his nose, he spun on his heels quickly, lowering himself to a defensive crouch before peering behind him. 

“What the fuck?” He cursed in undeniable confusion. 

Before him stood his childhood bedroom door. There was no mistaking it. The old, rickety, oak frame stood alone amongst the void. Bakugo reached out shakily as his palm cupped the frigid, iron doorknob. The circular chunk of metal fit his hand perfectly, down to the indent of his fingers, a deformity left over from the day his quirk manifested. His explosions weren't strong enough to do any real damage back then, but he still warped the metal knob. 

Reaching his free hand out in front of him, palm facing outwards in case he needed to attack, he slowly pushed the door open, one short inch at a time. The door hinges groaned at the effort. Finally shoving the door completely open, he took a guarded step over the threshold, into another pitch black expanse. He twisted the upper half of his body around, ensuring nothing had changed in the landscape behind him. 

Unexpectedly, the door shut with a quick snap of finality. His heart skipped a beat as an unintentional explosion escaped his palm at the jarring sound. 

“Fuck,” he cursed harshly. Closing his eyes, he dropped his shoulders and rolled his neck from side to side, relishing the instantaneous relief he felt as his joints popped one by one. Releasing a deep breath through his nose, he unwillingly opened his eyes and turned back around. A chill ran down his spine, locking his knees in place. His whole body visibly shook. 

Laid out in the expanse before him on each side, to his horrible pleasure, was an infinite row of glass rooms. Each room, he realized with soul destroying clarity, contained his nightmare inducing thoughts playing on repeat. 

Gulping harshly, he took a step back, only to be met with a solid black wall. Cornered with no means to escape, the landscape rocketed towards him. Row by row of nightmares passed by him in a hellish blur, projecting the emotions and sensations that went with each one. 

Bakugo cowered helplessly as he choked from the water filling his lungs from the day he fell into the river as a child. His windpipe constricted from the suffocating, tacky slime feeling of the sludge monster slinking its way down his throat. The acrid scent of smoke filled the air as he watched his section of the USJ go up in flames from an explosion he detonated. 

Pain burst from his chest as he watched Shigaraki land the final blow, exploding his heart into a bloody pulp. He felt as though someone had set his body on fire as he witnessed the moment every vein in his body constricted as micro explosions detonated within his bloodstream, kickstarting his freshly mended heart. 

Image after traumatic image whirled past him, overwhelming his senses. A blur of prismatic colors swirled in front of him like his own personal, satanic whirlpool. The adrenaline pumping through his veins burned with a searing fluidity. Each new visual kicked his heart rate into a higher gear. Abruptly, the kaleidoscope from hell came to a screeching halt. 

“No, please.” Bakugo begged. 

Of all the nightmares he had experienced, this one set off the chain of events three months ago that nearly caused him to check himself into a psych ward. The dream was so viscerally real. He could remember the night he first experienced it so vividly. 

They had gone drinking with their friends after a grueling week of non stop villain attacks. It was as if the villains were purposefully targeting them, more so than they usually did at least. Kirishima got completely wasted and Bakugo all but carried his two hundred and forty pound muscular frame to his apartment before wrestling him into a shower like an angry koala bear. Finally ridding Kirishima and himself of the vomit, grime, and bittersweet ending to the day, Bakugo slumped onto the couch, tired as fuck, and ready for the night to be over. Sleep overtook him quickly. His dreams had always been vivid, but this night was an exception. He usually could convince himself during some part of the dream that he was in fact dreaming and then he would wake up. But this time, he was completely paralyzed. His body stiffened as his mind conjured up his absolute worst nightmare. A situation, a decimating scenario that he kept under lock and key, entombed in a sarcophagus, trapped miles beneath the conscious part of his mind, was unleashed like a plague of Egypt, scouring his psyche for the worst possible moment to make its presence known. 

Bakugo crouched down, feeble and helpless, as the horrifying dream replayed in front of him. 

The overwhelming scent of chlorine permeated the air as the wet, cold sensation of rain splattered against his skin. Before him sat Kirishima, bent over his lifeless body. Kirishima’s chest heaved as gut wrenching sobs shredded his throat. Kirishima’s agonized screams chorused through the air, filling the endless void with a symphony of despair and anguish. 

“Damn you, Katsuki!” Kirishima berated in a fit of anguish. “Why?! Why did you come here? You knew your heart couldn’t handle it! Why did you save me?!” Kirishima wailed. 

Kirishima’s body stilled as he shakily wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You said your heart would give out one day,” he recounted. “You knew, yet you came anyway.” 

“You left me.” Kirishima choked out. 

“Come on, Dynamight.” Bakugo nearly keeled over at the maniacal, omnipotent voice. “I thought you were stronger than that.” 

“Holy shit.” Bakugo whimpered. His eyes stung with tears against his will as his arms wrapped tightly around his body. He was the number two hero, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. But, nothing in his thirty one years on this God forsaken Earth had ever struck this amount of fear in him. 

Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of his subconscious, Bakugo knew he was dreaming, but lost in the torment of his night terrors was the rational part of his brain that could pull his mind and body out of this hellish, paralyzing state. 

“Bakugo, wake up!” Kirishima commanded frantically. 

Bakugo heard his best friend's desperate pleas. Why was Kirishima so upset? He sounded scared, yet infuriated. What could possibly have angered him so much? Bakugo could count on one hand the number of times Kirishima was truly angry. When it did happen, it was a sight to behold. When he was pushed to the tipping point of rationality and lost his grip on his emotions, he was damn near unstoppable. Nothing, literally nothing, could stand in his way. His skin hardened to the point it could cut diamonds. He would roar with a titan-like power, destroying everything that dared to defy him. 

His brain lit up with rapid fire, panicked thoughts. On the verge of hyperventilating, he placed both hands on his head and rocked back and forth, chanting, “It's just a dream, just a dream, just a…” 

“Ah, ah, ah.” The demonic voice chided. “Don't lie to yourself.” 

“Shut up!” Bakugo shrieked. The pain coursing through his chest was crippling. 

“I'm going to die,” he sobbed. 

A dark, ominous laugh boomed throughout the room. “That’s the idea.” 

Bakugo’s body went rigid as he peered up with a defiant smirk on his face. “So that’s your plan, damn bastard.” 

A fire ignited inside Bakugo at the realization of exactly what was happening. He had his suspicions, and this certainly confirmed them. Someone was indeed fucking with his mind again, and this time, they were using his night terrors as a means to unravel what was already a patchwork frame of trauma therapy and semi-healthy coping mechanisms. These bastards had assumed, rightfully so, that he would succumb to his darkest thoughts and be dragged into the depths of hell with them. One thing they didn’t account for though, was the sheer stubborn tenacity ingrained into his very core. 

Bakugo centered his weight on the soles of his feet and bounced up, palms facing towards the glass room housing his worst fear. 

“You obstinate little prick.” The voice spat. 

Bakugo’s face split into a shit eating grin. “Get the fuck out of my head.” 

Aiming towards the glass, he faced both palms outwards and shot the largest explosion he could muster, shattering the image before him. 

Chapter Text

“Hito, what do you mean?” 

Denki could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. He knew what Shinsou had said; yet the information wasn't computing in his brain. How could his parents be dead? These people, Toshi's parents, were lethal, powerful beings with a god like aura. His father could erase a person's neural pathways, causing them to lose everything from memories to basic motor functions. If he was pissed off enough, a psych ward was a five star resort for the victim. Although he had never witnessed it first hand, Hitoshi had told him enough stories for him to know just how terrifying his father could be.

 Hell, when Toshi's uncle threatened to expose their secret, broadcasting to the world that Shinsou was the descendant of a world renowned crime syndicate, his father erased all of his neural pathways. His uncle died within minutes of the altercation, due to asphyxiation. The autopsy report didn't list any signs of choking or suffocation. He simply forgot how to breathe. 

Toshi's mother, in Denki's opinion, was by far the scarier of the two. She was a beautiful woman, seemingly harmless and by all appearances quirkless, that could remap neural pathways with the smallest of touches. Her quirk was the other half to her husband's, repairing what he damaged. When provoked, she could leave a person trying to drink through a straw with their ear. The slightest caress and a person would be convinced that their loved ones were demons searching for hosts. 

Ultimately, Toshi's father was responsible for erasing his childhood memories and his mother slowly repaired his mind over years of discreet contact. In the end, they protected their son, but the convoluted web of deceit and secrets was too much for anyone to fathom. Hito had told Denki bits and pieces, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t choke out the words to tell the entire story. Two years of intense therapy and Shinsou still grappled to even gather the words to explain what had happened. Right after everything went down, the panic attacks triggered by the smell of coffee and random stray cats passing by on the sidewalk were enough for Denki to cast aside any notion of ever finding out. At this point, whatever feelings or thoughts Hitoshi had about his parents were good enough for Denki. Toshi had suffered too much. They all had. 

“Kaminari.” Aizawa’s voice broke through the deafening silence. “We're on our way to Dynamight and Red Riot's Agency. I'll explain everything there. Right now, your top priority is to get Dynamight to the agency. Nightshade is after…” 

Before Aizawa could finish, a broken, distressed shout pierced through the tension in the air. 

Kaminari and Kirishima’s head whipped around towards Bakugo’s bedroom. 

“Was that Kacchan?” Denki asked. 

Whimpered cries of “It's just a dream, just a dream” echoed behind the closed door. 

“Katsuki! Shit. He's having another nightmare.” Kirishima set his cup down, quickly jumped up from his seat and rushed towards the bedroom. 

“Kiri, take it slow! Your knee, man!” Denki knew it was pointless in trying to stop him, but he was still going to say it. Although Kirishima was usually a bit more restrained than Bakugo in terms of pushing his body to its physical limits, that concept didn't exist when it came to protecting his friends. This was especially true when it came to Bakugo. 

Denki watched Kirishima hobble quickly towards the door, seemingly unaware that he was still injured. He slammed the door open without any sense of decorum, focused solely on making sure Bakugo was okay. 

“Kaminari!” Aizawa shouted on the other end of the line. 

Denki's shoulders tensed at the sudden noise. He exhaled a harsh breath, shifting his gaze towards the phone resting on the counter. “What was that Sensei?” 

“Kaminari, did you hear me? Nightshade is after…” 

Denki could hear the crackle of the heat in the air before the sound hit his ears, as if he was experiencing an explosion in a vacuum. He twisted around in his seat just in time to see Kirishima diving towards him at full speed. 

“Move!” Kirishima roared. 

Kirishima tackled Denki out of his chair, sending a mix of limbs and furniture crashing towards the ground. Kaminari's head cracked harshly against the hardwood floor, scattering black and white spots across his vision. Kirishima laid on top of him, solid as the floor beneath him. His face was scrunched up with a scowl, pain and tension keeping his eyes squeezed shut. 

Seconds passed as they both laid there with baited breath. Blinking his eyes open slowly, Kaminari could see the bits of splintered wood swirling in the smoky air. He grasped both of Kirishima’s forearms, silently confirming to himself that this wasn't a dream. 

“Kiri?” He gasped. “Are you okay?” 

Kirishima released a deep, shaky breath. He squinted his eyes open before slowly pushing his top half off Kaminari and rolling over to lie next to him. His unbreakable form sluggishly dissipated as he concentrated on willing his quirk to stop despite his body still being in a heightened, defensive state. 

“Yeah.” Kirishima said breathlessly. “You?” 

“I'm okay, I think.” Kaminari whispered incredulously. 

“Denks.. Hello? What's happened? Are you there?” Denki turned his head towards the pile of charred oak and decimated rubble that once was a kitchen counter and reached his hand out, fishing for his phone under a slab of wood. 

Shinsou's muffled shouting came in staticky spurts. “Denki…. Are you…. Can you hear…” 

Denki hoisted himself into a sitting position, pointedly ignoring how fast the room was spinning. He looked down at the phone in his hand. It's a wonder the thing survived the blast. The screen was shattered and completely black. Whoever came up with the concept of hero grade phone cases was a genius. 

“Denki? Please!” Shinsou begged. 

“Hito.” Kaminari rasped. His throat felt tight and dry. He coughed painfully. “I'm here.” 

“Fuck.” The instant relief in Shinsou’s voice brought the smallest of smirks to Kaminari's face. 

“What happened?” Shinsou asked again. “It sounded like an explosion.” 

“It was.” Kirishima groaned as he stiffly pulled himself to a sitting position. “Bakugo’s.” 

Leaving Denki to explain the situation, Kirishima flipped over on his hands and knees and stood up. His knee screamed at him, but the feeling vaguely registered in his mind. The only thought on his mind was Katsuki. The image of him rocking back and forth, sobbing to himself that he was going to die, was imprinted in Kirishima’s head. Nothing else mattered except making sure Katsuki was okay. 

He stumbled over the debris, ignoring the sharp edges and splinters catching on the edge of his slippers. 

“Kats?” He whispered nervously. “Are you alright?” 

Approaching the mound of drywall and wood that was once Bakugo’s doorway, he clambered over the mess to the other side. Kneeling on the bed, soaked in sweat with a wild, distant look in his eye was Bakugo. His palms were still extended out in front of him. 

“Katsu?” Kirishima approached the bed hesitantly, wary of accidentally eliciting another explosion. 

Bakugo’s eyes snapped towards Kirishima. A look of recognition cast over his expression. 

“Eiji?” 

Kirishima smiled timidly. “Yeah, Katsu. It's me.” 

Bakugo’s arms dropped heavily into his lap. His shoulders slumped, head dropping to his chest as he exhaled a relieved sigh. 

Kirishima’s gut twisted at the sight of tears falling silently into Bakugo’s lap. He sat on the edge of the bed. Unsure whether Bakugo would want to be comforted or not, he settled on placing his hand on top of Bakugo’s. 

Bakugo’s head turned slightly towards Kirishima. “You're not afraid?” 

“Why would I be?”

“I just blew a hole through the wall with that hand.” Bakugo deadpanned. 

Kirishima chuckled fondly. “Unbreakable, remember?” 

Bakugo shrugged his shoulders but didn't bother responding. His energy was fading rapidly. 

“It was them.” Bakugo’s voice was dangerously low. 

“I know.” Kirishima whispered regretfully. “I should have believed you.” 

Bakugo gently tugged his hands out from under Kirishima’s. He couldn't have this conversation, not now. Maybe, not ever. Admitting his biggest worry to Kirishima only for him, of all people, to write it off like everyone else did, only confirmed for him what he had thought all along; he couldn't rely on anyone but himself. Trusting people, confiding in them, was only a weakness. This was what he got for being vulnerable. 

Bakugo wiped his face with the back of his hand, ridding it of his tears and damned emotions. Despite being out of commission for the time being, he was still the number two hero. At least, for now. He didn't have time for this emotional bullshit. 

With more effort than he'd ever admit to, he crawled away from Kirishima, swinging his legs off the opposite side of the bed. 

“What are you doing, Kats?” 

“Going to the agency.” He stated, devoid of any emotion. 

“Let me help…” Kirishima’s offer of help was silenced by the icy look Bakugo shot at him. 

“Kacchan?” 

Bakugo stood up, ignoring the pain shooting through his entire body.

 “Denks.” Bakugo tore his eyes away from Kirishima’s heartbroken expression and directed his attention to Denki. “Call Aizawa and Toshi. Tell them to meet us at the agency.” 

“They're already on their way over here.” Kaminari confirmed. They were on the phone when…well…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously while motioning to the pile of smoky debris. 

“Oh.” Bakugo sighed. “Did I actually set your ass on fire this time?” 

Denki grinned from ear to ear, knowing that was Bakugo's emotionally constipated way of asking if he was alright. “I'm fine, but more importantly, are you?” 

With a sick sense of irony, Bakugo’s heart skipped a few beats, forcing him to drop to his knees. He grasped his shirt with the palms of his hands, sucking in a ragged breath. “Fuck!” He gasped. 

“Kacchan!” Kaminari lept over the debris and bound to his side. 

“I'm fine, Denks.” Bakugo whispered painfully. “We need to go.” 

Kaminari knelt next to Bakugo, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Of all his friends, Kaminari was the only one who ever touched him without any sense of hesitation or self preservation. When they were young, he would get a blast to the face for his brashness. As they got older, his brazenness grew on Bakugo, against his better judgment. 

“Denks? Kiri? Kats?” Shinsou’s worried voice carried down the hall. 

“We're in here!” Kaminari shouted. 

Shinsou’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the chaos around him. It looked as though someone had detonated a bomb. It was a miracle the floor or ceiling hadn't caved in. He cast a glance side to side, assessing the structural integrity of the room. Satisfied that the walls wouldn't cave in, he turned his attention back to the pair on the floor. “What happened?” 

Bakugo locked eyes with Shinsou. Even before uttering a word, Shinsou knew something was seriously wrong. Bakugo’s face might have been masked over with indifference, but his eyes spoke volumes. The raw anguish in his eyes stole Shinsou’s breath away.

“It was a night terror, Toshi.” 

“A…” Shinsou’s chest started heaving in short gasps. “A night…” He dropped to the floor as he quickly approached hyperventilating. 

“Shinsou?” Aizawa appeared at the entrance of the room. “Breathe, Hitoshi.” 

“Hito?” Kaminari questioned. 

“My parents.” Shinsou gasped. 

Aizawa walked past Shinsou, patting him firmly on the shoulder as he passed. The small, yet comforting touch visibly calmed Hitoshi enough to help him regain his composure. He placed his hands on his head, focusing on taking deep breaths. 

Kneeling down in front of Bakugo, he studied his former student's expression. He appeared lucid, but at this point, he wasn't taking any chances. Pulling his goggles down, his hair rose as his eyes flashed red. Only sensing the pull of Bakugo’s quirk, he closed his eyes, releasing his hold. 

“We need to leave.” Aizawa stated matter of factly. “Nightshade is after Bakugo.” 

“Yeah, I already know.” Bakugo whispered venomously. “Bastard was fucking with me in my dream.” 

Aizawa's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Is that what caused the explosion?” 

“Yeah. Blasted the fucker back to hell.” A proud, defiant smirk settled on his face despite his body's desire to fall over and simply lay down. 

“We need to leave. Now.” Aizawa said urgently. 

“What are you not telling us?” Kirishima asked angrily. 

“We can talk later,” Aizawa dismissed. “Our top priority is…” 

“My top priority is Katsuki!” Kirishima yelled. He had fucked up and he didn't know if he could mend what was broken. But, no matter what, he would protect Bakugo, even if he didn't want him to. He made a promise. No matter how dire the situation was, he was not going to leave him. 

“What the hell is going on?” Kirishima whispered evenly. 

Cold, eerie silence blanketed over the room. 

“My parents,” Shinsou murmured. “Were killed by a nightmare.” 

Chapter Text

“They…. Hold on. What do you mean killed by a nightmare ? Like something out of a horror movie?” Kirishima asked incredulously. 

“Dude!” Kaminari scolded. “Have some respect, man.” 

Kirishima’s face lit up in a deep shade of red. Of course he never meant to disrespect Shinsou or his parents, but it all sounded so unbelievable. His mind was reeling at the idea and trying incessantly to keep the obvious conclusions at bay. The scary films were terrifying enough; a real life adaptation was not on his bucket list. 

“Nothing so mundane as that, I can assure you.” Aizawa replied swiftly. “I'll explain everything at the agency. We don't have much time.” 

Without another word, he silently turned on his heels and headed towards the door. 

“Toshi, I’m sorry. I never meant…” 

Shinsou held a hand up calmly. “It’s fine, Kiri. I promise.” 

Nothing, not a single thing, was actually fine, but Shinsou was not ready to process anything yet. He was trained for situations exactly like this. It was why he tried so desperately to not have close attachments. He glanced at Denki, fretting over Bakugo like a mother hen, and felt the weight of just how miserably he had failed in that endeavor. 

The idea that he had just started to understand his childhood, piece together what his parents did, and come to terms with how their meddling influenced his life, only for it to all be snatched away again was a suitcase he didn’t feel like unpacking. For the time being, his mind was on autopilot, only concerned with details needed to survive. 

“Okay. I already called Momo. Everything should be ready by the time we get there.” Kirishima stood reluctantly, desperately wishing Aizawa and Shinsou would just explain what the hell was going on. “I'll grab our bags.” 

Shinsou’s head perked up. “You still keep them in the office, right?” 

Kirishima nodded wordlessly. Since their last encounter with these villains, they always kept emergency bags tucked away in the spare bedroom turned office. Kirishima and Bakugo had also left a duffle bag at Shinsou’s and Kaminari’s place too, just in case. Even Aizawa silently stashed a spare sleeping bag and a change of clothes at each of the apartments and the agency. 

Although everything was deemed successful, according to the official reports, the events of those two weeks left everyone exposed to a side of hero society that they thought was snuffed out over a decade ago. After the war, when they were just teenagers, the HPSC vowed to dissolve the ghost hero practice. And, for several years, it was. But, with most things, corruption leeched its way into the cracks over time, leaving a path of rot and decay, forcing the people in power to return to old habits. 

Strictly speaking, off the record and buried in a vault of unknown, completely redacted documents, lies the original report that Aizawa and Shinsou created. Of course, only the two of them knew that. The Hero Public Safety Commission, for all its grandeur and talk of change, still held some cases in a vice grip. This was explicitly evident when, in the light of day, they were not only unwilling to acknowledge what truly happened, but they flat out refused to provide, let alone pay, for the therapy they all needed. 

“I'll get them. Kiri,” Shinsou said pointedly, “find your crutches and brace.” 

“I'm fi…” Kirishima’s stubborn willfulness was cut off by a low growl. 

“Eijirou. Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo snapped. He placed a palm on Denki's arm, slowly but surely pulling himself up until he was standing. Well, more like leaning on Denki like a human crutch, but he was on his feet and that's what mattered. “Stop being a dumbass. We'll get Doc to take a look at your knee when we get to the agency. Until then, use your damn crutches.”

“Ri…right.” Kirishima stuttered. 

He wanted to push back, to say everything was fine, but one glance at Bakugo and he knew it wasn't the time. Any sense of self dignity left his body like the air from a deflated balloon. What was he thinking? He was ignoring his own problems and not taking care of himself. Of course his knee hurt. He tore his meniscus for fucks sake, but the doctor at the emergency room specialized in tissue repair, so the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It was truly more like a terrible sprain at this point. Since Bakugo was ordered to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks, Kirishima intentionally decided to let the rest of his injury heal on its own. Sadly, going to Recovery Girl was no longer an option. No one had the abilities to trade your stamina in exchange for healing a wound. A few more sessions with the physician at the hospital could have probably healed it completely, but, it was always better to let injuries heal naturally if possible. Otherwise, the muscle, bone and ligaments were forced to mend and never held the strength they once did. 

“Jeeze, Romeo,” Denki snorted. “Tell him how you really feel.” 

Kirishima locked eyes with Bakugo, wishing they had the time to do that very thing. Not knowing where they stood with one another was unsettling. Each thought and every gesture was mulled over three dozen different ways in his head before he acted. It was overwhelming and exhausting to be so wound up. No doubt, Bakugo was experiencing the same thing, if not more so due to the lack of solid sleep for months. The fact that Bakugo was able to keep everything normal for so long only fueled the godlike complex Kirishima had unknowingly bestowed upon him. 

Aizawa peeked his head around the hole in the doorframe. “Let's go,” he repeated, very much akin to a teacher scolding a student. 

“Yeah. Working on it.” Bakugo muttered peevishly. “Denks, I… Ugh, fuck this. Denks…” Despite his bravado, he couldn’t get to the car alone and the idea of that bruised his pride. 

Bakugo hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, causing his glasses to sit askew on his face. Exhaling harshly, he ground out, “I need help.” 

Everyone froze at the mumbled confession. Their eyes widened comically for the briefest of moments before masking back to neutral expressions lest they scare the vulnerability away like a skittish animal. It was no secret that he did, in fact, need help. He shouldn't be out of bed, let alone walking. It was a miracle he hadn't died. If it had been anyone else, they probably would have. That's what made Bakugo so lovable yet so irritating; he was stubborn down to the very essence of his soul. The man's body literally reignited itself over a decade ago. He refused to replace his arm with a prosthetic, choosing to endure countless, grueling hours of therapy until he had full function again. The effects of his heart literally exploding and being sewn back together were never ending. Yet, he pushed through it all, determined to do what he wanted, no matter what. 

Shinsou stared at Bakugo, struck by the sheer audacity of the man. Intertwining his fingers together, he stretched his arms up and over his head before hastily shuffling to his feet. Nightshade might be after Bakugo, but undoubtedly, he was the most obstinate fucker on the planet. Members of the organization had some hellish quirks, but truly, they had no idea who they were dealing with. And now that he felt backed into a corner, helpless and vulnerable? 

A faint smirk settled on Shinsou’s face. “Denks, you get Blasty to the car. Kiri, you're with me.” 

“Um, what about all of this?” Kaminari swept his arm open wide, gesturing to the literal pile of ash and wood. 

“It's no problem. I own the apartment.” Bakugo said matter of factly. 

“Okay, what about your neighbors?” Kaminari shot back. “Should we make sure they're…” 

“Fuck’s sake!” Bakugo rolled his eyes, annoyance and seething anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “I own the flat above and below, too. Can we go now?” 

For the second time within minutes, Bakugo stunned everyone into a shocked silence. 

“When did you…?” Shinsou looked visibly ill. It was as though someone had cut open his chest, ripped his heart out and stomped it to a bloody, visceral pulp on the floor. 

Bakugo cut him off, walking towards the door on his own accord. “I'm not having this conversation.” 

Kirishima, Shinsou and Kaminari all stood silently, mouths slightly agape, as Bakugo shuffled out of the room. 

“What crawled up his ass?” Denki asked as he scurried out behind Bakugo.

“A memory.” Shinsou whispered. His voice cracked halfway through as his throat tightened from unshed tears. 

“Right,” he turned towards Kirishima, painting an unbothered, kind expression on his face. “I’ll grab the bags. Be right back.” 

Kirishima studied his friend's demeanor. His smile was kind but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a melancholy sadness that he couldn’t keep hidden. Clearly though, it was a deeply personal memory between the two of them and a discussion Kirishima had no business knowing anything about. 

Neither Bakugo or Shinsou were willing to discuss their previous relationship on a detailed level. Kirishima and Denki had been given the abridged version after Shinsou’s parents decided to forcibly change their lives with the guise of protecting their son. The realization that Bakugo and Shinsou would probably still be together had that not happened was a dangerous rabbit hole that no one ventured near. 

Seven years later and there were still times that Kirishima couldn’t quell the ugly green monster that feasted on his insecurities. Kaminari, the literal ball of positive energy that he was, had no doubt that he would have ended up with Shinsou. His perpetual optimism was nauseating at times, but a lifeline to Kirishima on nights when we needed to vent. This was especially true over the last three months. The nervous, love sick puppy energy that engulfed him any time he was around Bakugo was obvious to everyone but the object of his affection. Dozens of late night ramen talks, video game chat therapy sessions, and hundreds of texts later finally convinced Kirishima that Bakugo was well and truly over Shinsou. He felt ridiculous at times, seeking out reassurance from his counterpart in the situation, but asking Shinsou was out of the question. They were best friends, but anytime Kirishima even thought to ask about what happened, he remembered Toshi showing up in the early hours of the morning, face completely blank, with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a pillow in another. It only took one glance at that broken expression to know it was a topic to never bring up. And now, knowing his family was inadvertently involved in the whole affair, Kirishima would rather live with whatever intrusive thoughts popped into his head than cause either of them any more pain. 

“Alright, K.” Hitoshi sauntered back into the room with three bags and Kirishima’s crutches in tow. “Let’s get moving. Aizawa and Kats are already heading to the agency. You’re with me.” 

They made their way out of the rubble and towards the parking lot with little trouble. 

“Where’s your motorcycle?” Kirishima asked. 

Shinsou huffed out a short, amused laugh. “Can’t exactly ride on a bike with a leg injury, K. Denks took it. We’re taking your car.” 

Kirishima stopped mid step, leaving his crutches suspended in the air. “The keys are…” 

Shinsou held up a pair of keys in his free hand. “Got ‘em. I’ve got it, Kiri.” 

“Okay.” Kirishima couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes at Toshi’s reassurance. 

The trip to the agency was altogether uneventful. They both rode in silence with neither of them attempting to make conversation. Idle chit chat wasn’t really going to help anything at the moment. Watching the blur of the cars and buildings pass by in a mirage of muddy, neutral colors, Kirishima finally let his body and mind relax briefly, dozing off to catch a much needed nap. 

“Kiri! Wake up!” 

Kirishima jolted up, smacking his head on the roof of the car. “What the hell, man?” He murmured groggily. 

Shinsou sat pressed against the driver's side door, chest heaving as if he had just ran for his life. His eyes were wide, filled with a scared concern. “You,” he panted. “Your quirk, it… it was…” 

Peering down, Kirishima could see the tattered shreds of his shirt. He unbuckled quickly, twisting around to confirm what he already knew; the seat and headrest were torn to pieces, stuffing sticking out at various places where his hair had hardened, slicing the fabric at an odd angle. 

“What the…” He turned around slowly, staring straightforward. The agency towered above them as they sat parked at the back entrance. Thinking back, he remembered watching the cars pass by before everything started to blend together. Then he felt an overwhelming exhaustion creep up on him. Next thing he knew, Toshi was frantically screaming at him to wake up. His brow pinched together, desperately trying to recall anything useful, but all he could come up with were blurry images. 

Shinsou reached out, grasping both of Kirishima’s shoulders in his hands. “What did you see, Kiri?” 

“I… I don’t…” He struggled, trying to remember what he might have dreamed about.

“Think!” Shinsou yelled desperately. He shook Kirishima’s shoulders harshly. “Tell me, Kiri! What did you see!” 

Kirishima leaned away from Hitoshi, shocked by his sudden outburst. He placed his hands calmly over his friends, squeezing firmly, before slowly moving them away. 

“I don’t know, Toshi,” he asserted calmly. “We were driving and then you were yelling at me to wake up.” 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Shinsou quickly got out of the car and raced around to the other side, swinging Kirishima’s door open. “We need to get inside quickly.” 

“Hitoshi!” Kirishima shouted. “What the hell is going on?” 

Shinsou froze, taken completely off guard by Kirishima using his full name. Inhaling a deep breath, he crouched down by the passenger door. Clasping his hands together, he exhaled deeply, pulling the reins on what little sanity he had left. 

“Kiri, this villain, they…” Shinsou swallowed harshly, struggling to find the words to say. 

After several agonizingly long seconds he rasped out quietly, “They use your intrusive thoughts, all your worries, doubts, insecurities, and turn them against you.” 

Shinsou’s shoulders slumped. He stared at a patch of busted up concrete, avoiding Kirishima’s watchful eye. 

“Kiri, this villain makes your worst fears come true.”

Chapter Text

Bakugo wasn’t sure what was grating on his nerves more, Denki fretting about the room, fluffing pillows and rearranging blankets or Kirishima hovering so close to his side he could feel his hot breath on the nape of his neck. 

After Toshi and Eijirou unknowingly stumbled into a staff meeting after barreling their way through the back door of the agency, making their presence and their situation known to the whole damn building, Bakugo was thoroughly pissed off. Momo had kept things on a strictly need to know basis with the staff. There was no need to incite unnecessary panic both in the office and throughout the city. She had even managed to stave off the HPSC, for now at least. 

The media fueled story was that number two pro hero Dynamight and number eight pro hero Red Riot were on a secret hiatus getting married and honeymooning on a secluded island. And, as in most cases, the media took a spark and turned it into a forest fire. Apparently, everyone knew about their feelings before they had even confessed it to one another. Hell, they technically weren't the first to tell one another. The entire foundation of the relationship was a muddled mess of miscommunication, misunderstandings, mutually oblivious pining, and fortunate accidents. 

 If his heart didn't give out on its own, it would certainly stop from the sheer annoyance he felt at the entirety of the last three months of his life. Every inch of his body felt prickly, no doubt from the miniscule amount of voltage Denki was emitting as he skittered about the room. 

Like a ticking time bomb, the fifth time Eijirou repeated the question of, Are you sure you're okay Kats?, his pent up fury finally unleashed. 

“Fucking stop it!” He shouted. 

Everyone paused what they were doing and turned to face him, which only annoyed him further. Kirishima leaned away from him on the couch they were both sitting on while Kaminari quietly sat in a chair opposite from them. Shinsou turned from his perch at the windowsill. Aizawa remained standing at the edge of the room, between the small kitchenette and open sitting area, studiously observing their interaction.

“For the last goddamn time, I am okay.” He whispered evenly. 

A sarcastic, unamused laugh broke the palpable tension in the room. 

Bakugo whipped his head around towards Shinsou, staring him down with a venomous glare. “The fuck is so funny?” 

Shinsou met Bakugo’s glare in kind, unafraid to keep eye contact. “Katsuki, you are not okay.” 

“Thanks for the reminder, Hitoshi.” He snapped back. “What gave it away? The way my clothes are sticking to me from sweat because I still haven't had a goddamn shower today or my lazy ass sitting on the couch unable to do shit without someone's fucking help? Or, was it the fact that I'm one nap away from literally losing my mind because your shitty family is fucking with my head again? ” 

Without breaking eye contact Shinsou stated simply, “It was your eyes.” 

“My…” Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly before he inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned his head back against the couch as his eyes fluttered closed. 

This petulant asshole, Bakugo thought. Always could read me like an open book. 

Although the interaction appeared commonplace for the two involved, Kirishima squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. The pang of jealousy that radiated through his chest at the exchange unlocked a slew of intrusive thoughts that he had kept hidden away for months. Peering over at Denki, he appeared seemingly unbothered by the exchange, as if Shinsou calling out Bakugo based on a personal detail that he only knew from years of intimacy was completely normal. 

“Hito?” Denki asked softly. 

Shinsou twisted around to face Denki sitting to his right. Something about the soft cadence of his voice struck a chord within Shinsou. For the first time today, he actually looked at Denki. He was covered with dirt and grime. His hair stuck out at odd angles from wearing the motorcycle helmet. Faint purple bruises were starting to form on his hands and face where small cuts had dried up after a rough day of hero work.

Despite his disheveled appearance, it was Denki's expression that worried him the most. 

“Yeah, Denks?” He asked kindly. 

“What's happening?” 

The question, uttered between two shallow, barely controlled breaths, simultaneously demolished the last of Shinsou’s rational demeanor and shattered his heart. Denki, the usually vibrant, bubbly man who wielded a terrifyingly powerful quirk, was visibly shaken from the whole ordeal. He was clearly scared and struggling to keep his anxiety under control.

Yes, his parents had… nope. Shinsou couldn't allow that thought to cross his mind. That didn't excuse the fact his mind was so far gone that he didn't even see Denki struggling to keep it together too. 

He quickly crossed the room and knelt down in front of Denki before wrapping his arms around him tightly. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough so their foreheads rested against one another's. 

With a shuddered breath, Shinsou choked out, “We are being targeted, Denks. All of us.” 

Kirishima instantly asked, “But why?” 

“Apparently,” Aizawa interjected, “they want to remove some of their biggest obstacles.” 

“By either using us or killing us.” Bakugo said flatly. 

“In short, yes.” Aizawa confirmed. “In your case, they hope to use your condition to their advantage.” 

“Hm.” Bakugo hummed. The lack of a fiery response sent a bone chilling concern through Kirishima’s core. Risking a glance towards Bakugo only solidified his worry. It was a miracle the man was still upright and coherent. He looked like he could pass out at any moment and him rubbing small circles over his chest to alleviate his obvious discomfort only further proved the point. 

“What do you know about this villain?” Kirishima asked earnestly. “Toshi said he's able to use your dreams and thoughts against you?” 

That coaxed out a derisive scoff from Bakugo. “Like some sort of demented fairy godmother?” 

Shinsou pulled himself away from Denki, settling himself on the floor between his legs. Muscle memory guided Denki's hands to Shinsou’s head as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through the messy mop of violet hair. 

Shinsou wasn't usually one to accept this type of affection, let alone in public. At the moment though, the rhythmic glide of Denki's warm hand through his hair was keeping him grounded. It provided a sense of comfort and security that he never realized he needed until Denki was already doing it. Somehow, as with most things, Kaminari knew what Shinsou needed, even before he did. 

Shinsou pulled his knees to his chest and intertwined his fingers around them. With the reality tethering touch of his best friend's hand, he picked a slightly discolored spot on the hardwood floor, avidly averting his gaze from everyone in the room. 

“Their quirk is like a virus. It feasts on psychological trauma. Once they have access to your mind, they trigger night terrors. Then, they extract your most terrifying thoughts and use the information to coerce you. If…” 

“If?” Kirishima prompted. 

“If it doesn't kill you first.” Bakugo finished for Shinsou. 

A deafening silence blanketed over the room. 

“How did they manage to use their quirk on Kacchan?” Denki scooted his legs closer to Hitoshi's sides and leaned over him slightly while bringing his other hand to rest on his shoulder. Shinsou reached up and placed his hand on top of Denki's, intertwining their fingers together. 

“We aren't certain, but…” Shinsou trailed off, unable to finish as his throat tightened from the emotions he couldn’t keep at bay anymore. 

Aizawa padded silently into the room and squatted down at the edge of the makeshift circle the group had unintentionally formed. “People that have been exposed to certain neurological quirks are more susceptible to other related quirks. They have an aura that can only be perceived by people with psychological type abilities.” 

Bakugo exhaled sharply before sitting up and slouching over, resting his elbows on his knees. The faintest hint of smoke filled the air as he rubbed his palms together. “So, we're fucked up homing beacons for these monsters?” 

“Essentially.” Aizawa stated. “It only takes one exchange to give them access.” 

“How long have we been targets?” Bakugo whispered harshly. He already knew the answer, but he asked anyway, just so the last ray of optimism could be snuffed out, ridding him of any false hope. 

“You and Shinsou…” Aizawa stopped abruptly at the sound of a strangled, muffled sob.

“Since the last time we went to the coffee shop.” Shinsou murmured. His voice held a desperate, apologetic plea that caused a tightness in Bakugo’s chest he wasn't willing to acknowledge.

Denki wrapped his arms around Shinsou, pulling him in tightly. “Sshh. It's not your fault, Hito.” 

“I thought Shinsou’s parents made sure no one knew?” Kirishima questioned adamantly. 

“They did.” Aizawa confirmed. 

“It was insurance.” Bakugo said calmly. “The villain didn't know why we were marked.” 

“More than likely, yes.” Aizawa sighed, looking sullen and tired. No matter what he did over the last few years to keep this group safe, things kept creeping out of the shadows, testing his prowess and pushing his body past its already limited abilities. 

“They didn't know we were connected to Hito's parents.” Denki murmured to himself. 

“They were just waiting until the right moment.” Kirishima felt a surge of anger course through him. With a sick, twisted glee, he very much hoped this bastard could see the violent thoughts going through his mind. When he managed to get ahold of this asshole, he would shred him from limb to limb, hero oath be damned. 

As if knowing exactly what he was thinking, Bakugo placed a hand on his thigh, effectively snapping him out of his murderous planning. 

 “How did they make the connection?” Kirishima asked. 

Shinsou inhaled sharply. He coughed, choking painfully with the haggard breath as his throat muscles tightened. 

“Hito!” Denki quickly patted Shinsou’s back, desperate to aid in any way he could. 

“I'm fine.” He managed to croak out.

With tears silently falling down his face, a ghostly expression cast over his usually stoic features. 

“It was my dream.”

Chapter Text

“Your dream.” Bakugo repeated. The hollow tone of his voice cut through the heavy, suffocating shroud of tension that permeated the room. 

“It was…” He exhaled harshly through his nose and closed his eyes, willing himself to keep a level head. He had his suspicions for a long time, but there was no way to prove it. And, if he was being honest, he didn't want to face the truth. The way his life had been sickly twisted upside down, forcibly shoving him on a different path than he intended to take was a big enough pill to swallow. Sure, being treated like a sacrificial pawn in some diety's chess match had ultimately resulted in him being with Eijirou, but even that blessing didn't make up for the agony and heartbreak he had endured. But now, there was simply no way to deny the trigger that catapulted him into a completely new life.

Bakugo lifted his head up slowly as he leveled a deathly glare towards Shinsou. “It was your nightmare that started all of this.” 

Shinsou wanted to look away, to avoid Bakugo’s eyes. He wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. Yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his friend’s intense stare. He couldn't avert his gaze away from the crimson eyes that once held so much trust and love for him. The same beautiful, vermillion colored eyes that pulled him out of his darkest moments when life didn't seem worth living anymore. The same eyes that could always see through his pathetic bullshit attempts at masking his emotions. 

A guttural, horrid sob ripped his throat to shreds as his body shook from grief. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he cried out desperately. 

Denki slid off the edge of his chair and wrapped his whole body around Shinsou’s trembling frame. He emitted the faintest hint of electricity, just enough to provide a constant sensory rhythm for Shinsou to focus on. “Kacchan!” He whispered harshly. “What the hell?!” 

“Fuck off Denki.” Bakugo snapped evenly. “You don't understand.” 

“I don't need to know the details to know you are hurting him!” He yelled defensively. 

“Katsuki,” Kirishima murmured firmly. “His parents just passed. He doesn't need a reminder that…” 

Bakugo whipped his head around so quickly black spots swam at the edge of his vision. “You can fuck off too, Eijirou.” 

“Kats, now's not the time to…” 

“I said stay out of this, Kirishima. You have no goddamn idea what…” 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” Shinsou wailed. 

“Sshh, Hito. It's alright.” Denki cooed softly. 

Kaminari petting Shinsou, whispering reassuring nothings to him while he tried to avoid the conversation shattered the last of Bakugo’s heavily cracked composure. All of the deceit, anger and lies came to a raging, burning boil. In that moment, time itself seemed to slow down as he vividly heard the metaphorical glass shatter. He could feel the surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins. The nitroglycerin scorched his body’s blood vessels. It was going to happen and he was helpless to stop it. His body was acting on its own accord; a natural fight or flight response to the danger. There was no time to warn anyone. Bakugo could only sit, paralyzed by his own mind as his body reacted to the situation on its own. 

With what dredges of control he could desperately claw at, he strangled out an unintelligible, “Sen…” just as the nitroglycerin made contact with the surface of his highly heated skin. 

Several things happened simultaneously, causing a commotion that stunned everyone into a breathtaking silence. 

As Bakugo began to detonate explosions from every visible pore of his body, Kirishima’s quirk activated on instinct before he realized what was happening. In the mere seconds it took for his mind to catch up, he threw himself on top of Bakugo, covering as much of his body as he could as he braced himself for the blunt force of a direct hit. He held his breath, waiting for the searing pain to come, but after a few heart stopping seconds, he risked a glance to his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowing red eye staring them down. 

“What the hell?” Kaminari whispered, confused and concerned about the blur of movement he saw only moments before. One second, they were arguing but then literally in the blink of an eye wisps of smoke surrounded Kirishima, who was laying on top of Bakugo instead of sitting next to him. 

“Ei.” Bakugo sucked in a painful, short breath. “I can't…” 

“Shit!” Kirishima scrambled quickly off of Bakugo and settled in the seat next to him. “Kats, are you okay? What was that? You need to…” 

“Don't.” Bakugo held his hand up in Kirishima’s general direction. He remained where he was, lying against the couch like a human pancake. If he had any energy left, he might have even laughed at the idea. But, having two hundred and fifty pounds of rock dropped on you while having your quirk forcibly stopped erased all traces of humor. 

“Kats…” Kirishima began desperately, hoping to make the man see reason. 

“Eijirou,” Bakugo whispered hoarsely. Despite his head resting against the back of the couch, everyone could see the stream of tears flowing down his face. “Please,” he begged. 

Bakugo was acutely aware of just how fragile his mind and body were, despite his insistence that everything was okay. He knew the feeble attempts at brushing off his friends' worried concerns were not fooling anyone. But, he needed to say it; he needed to hear the reassurances. He had to convince himself that everything was fine and that everything would be okay. Otherwise, if he succumbed to his fears, if he let the cesspool of intrusive thoughts that lurked in his mind get the best of him, then the villain would win. Losing meant giving up the life he had fought so incredibly hard to keep. No matter the odds, he was Bakugo fucking Katsuki, and he was not giving up. His body just needed to get the memo. 

“Katsuki.” 

Bakugo didn't need to move or look to know who spoke his name. He had heard his name roll off that tongue on multiple occasions with varying degrees of emotion behind it. 

“Yeah, Hitoshi?” 

“I never meant for this to happen.” 

“I know.” 

The room was quiet except for the soft padding of Aizawa's slightly limping footsteps heading towards the door. The moment was personal enough, but what he knew they were about to discuss was fodder for his own nightmares. Deeming it safe for the time being, he exited the room with a quiet murmur of going to find the doctor. 

An awkward silence settled over the room. Kaminari resumed his previous task of running his fingers through Shinsou’s hair while Shinsou fidgeted with the string of his hoodie that he had donned as soon as they had settled at the agency. Kirishima sat pressed up against the side of the couch, using his hand to support his head as he tilted to the side, using his elbow to prop himself up. 

After a few minutes of unnerving quiet, Bakugo finally spoke up. Without a hint of emotion in his voice, he asked calmly,“It was your nightmare from that night, wasn't it?” 

Every muscle in Shinsou’s body tensed up. 

“Kacchan, what are you talking about?” Kaminari asked as he wrapped his arms around Shinsou's shoulders again. 

Shinsou patted Denki's hand, assuring him it was okay. This conversation should have happened years ago. 

“That night…” Shinsou swallowed the painful lump in his throat. His vision blurred as his eyes unfocused, stepping seven years into the past to explain what had happened that had unknowingly derailed all of their lives.

“The first time I found a bouquet of nightshades on our doorstep was the night Bakugo and I had moved into the apartment. We had been moving all day, but made a quick stop at the coffee shop.” 

“We remember, Toshi.” Kirishima murmured as politely as he could, but he couldn't keep the slight annoyance out of his voice. “Denks and I were at your old place, finishing up the last of the packing.” 

“Right.” Shinsou agreed. “But, just… listen. Please.” Although he may be repeating known information, he needed to say this like he was writing a report for work. Otherwise, he didn't think he would have the ability to actually say the truth aloud. 

Sensing his motives, Kaminari patted his shoulder encouragingly, urging him to continue. 

“While we were at the coffee shop, I couldn't help but feel like we were being watched. Even as we left, when I looked over my shoulder, I knew someone was looking at me, but I couldn't see anyone. Kats and I went to our new place to unpack and wait for you both, but I just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.” 

A sarcastic, sad chuckle escaped from Shinsou as the emotions from that day came rushing back. “I started to think maybe I was just getting cold feet about moving in together. So, I volunteered to go take the keys back to the landlord. I thought a drive would clear my head, and it worked until I came back and saw the nightshades on our doorstep. I knew then that…” 

He paused, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I knew then that we were targets, but at the time, I thought that…” 

Inhaling a deep, shuddered breath, he willed himself to finish. “I thought my Dad had set the targets on us. I thought my family had finally tracked me down. After we made it to Aizawa's, my body and mind simply gave out and I started floating in and out of consciousness. I was ensnared in a dream like reality for days.”  

“Kats,” Kirishima twisted in his seat, pulling his left leg underneath him as he turned towards Bakugo who hadn't so much as moved since the story began. “Where were you during all of this?” 

“I was at home.” Bakugo answered blankly. 

“You just left him there?” Denki asked incredulously. 

The accusation, although understandable from an outside perspective, still stung. He was many things, but he wasn't heartless. He cared about his friends and he had loved Shinsou so fiercely that he had almost made the selfish choice to stay with him. “No. I didn't just leave him.” 

“Then what…” Kaminari stopped abruptly when he felt Shinsou’s grip around his hand tighten almost painfully. 

Shinsou tore his unfocused gaze away from the divot in the hardwood and looked at Bakugo. Although he didn't acknowledge it, Bakugo knew all eyes were on him. With a heavy sigh, he lamented, “I left to protect him.” 

The air felt thick with the implications of his admission. This entire time, it was assumed that Shinsou had broken things off because of his family and the irreparable damage they had caused. Neither Kirishima or Denki had once thought that Bakugo had made the heart shattering choice to end things. 

“Protect him from what?” Kirishima whispered. He was afraid to ask, but he knew it needed to be said. 

They sat expectantly for several minutes. Just when everyone thought he might have fallen asleep, Bakugo exhaled a heavy sigh. The weight of what he was about to say already felt suffocating. 

“I had gone to the doctor the day before it all happened. Once we realized that his family was fucking with him, I knew those bastards would use the information against him if they found out. Dating a top ten hero was already hard enough for him with his type of work. Then his family decided to come fuck around in his life.” 

Everyone's eyes were filled with tears as they recalled their own memories of those few days. 

“He didn't need another burden.” Bakugo’s voice sounded haunted, as though he was a ghost regretting his choices in life. 

The heaviness of Bakugo’s statement left everyone speechless. They all sat there, drowning in the sorrow and despair of the situation. 

After several minutes, Kaminari asked quietly, “So how did they find out about Kacchan's condition?” 

“I hadn't told Toshi about my heart, but he wasn't a stranger to my ptsd attacks or anxiety.” Bakugo answered. “They didn't know those would make my heart condition worse.” 

Kirishima perked up. “Wait. That's why the doctor at the hospital said it was crucial for you to not have any more panic attacks. They make your quirk kick into overdrive. That's what you were trying to tell me this morning when…” His voice died in his throat as waves of nausea sloshed around violently in his stomach. 

“Kiri?” Kaminari leaned forward, squeezing Shinsou’s shoulders as a means to ground himself. 

“You already knew that they had figured it out.” Kirishima hesitantly placed his hand on Bakugo’s knee, not daring to push his luck. “Why didn't you say anything?” 

Bakugo placed his hand on top of Kirishima’s own and squeezed with all the strength he could muster before gently moving it off of his knee. 

“I didn't want to believe it. If it was true, then it meant they had known for who knows how long. One particularly terrible night, about a month after we broke up, I called Toshi after a night terror nearly caused a heart attack. He took me to the hospital. That's when I told him.” 

“I haven't said anything because …” Bakugo paused, gathering his thoughts. “I didn't want anything to taint what good memories of Toshi and me that were still left.” 

A soft knock on the door interrupted the somber conversation. Kirishima, being the closest, stood up and stiffly took the three steps to the door. Expecting Aizawa, he yanked the door open. It felt as though his heart dropped to the floor and plummeted fifteen stories to the pavement of the street below. Staring back at him, as though it had a soul of its own, was a vase with a single black flower. Tied around the stem was a small piece of parchment. 

Kirishima stumbled backwards, falling unceremoniously to his ass as he scrambled away from the doorway. 

“Ei?” Bakugo asked as he shuffled sluggishly to stand. 

Shinsou quickly held a hand up to Bakugo before crossing the room to Kirishima. Even though he already knew what to expect, it did little to quell the fear that shot through him when his eyes landed on the omen sitting at the door. 

Grabbing the vase, he hurriedly slammed the door shut and secured all three deadbolts. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a message to Aizawa, telling him what had happened and to lock the building down. He fired off one more text before shoving his phone back in his pocket. 

“What does it say?” Bakugo had resumed his half sitting, half laying down position. 

Shinsou crouched down next to Kirishima. Setting the vase carefully on the floor, he plucked the note from the stem. His ragged gasp caused everyone to hold their breath. 

When Bakugo insinuated that Nightshade had gleaned their information about him from Shinsou, he couldn’t deny there was a possibility. Hell, it didn't really matter whose fault it was because he blamed himself anyway. Although, after the initial incident where he was lost in his own personally built hell for days, he actively suppressed all of those memories in an effort to avoid that situation from ever happening again . His psychological training had afforded him certain opportunities. One being that he could lock his most precious memories away, protecting them from watchful eyes. 

His hand trembled as he read the note again. Uncertainty, rage and anguish coursed through him. 

“It says… Thanks for the help, Red Riot.” 

Chapter Text

“Kirishima!” 

“Kiri!” 

“Eijirou!” 

“Fuck! He can't hear us!” 

“Eiji, please!” 

The desperate pleas of his friends fell on deaf ears as Kirishima sat on the floor. Hearing, breathing, moving, it was all impossible in his current state. All he could do was stare straight ahead, unmoving, as his mind completely disconnected with his body. 

Thanks for the help, Red Riot. That's what the note said. It didn't matter that it could be a bluff, a ploy to fuck with his mind. It didn't matter that it could very easily be a trap. None of that mattered because that note, those six words gave life to all of the intrusive thoughts that he kept tucked away behind his sunshine persona. The validity of the message was irrelevant; they had accomplished their purpose. Sitting on the frigid hardwood floor of an apartment in an agency he owned, surrounded by those he loved most in this world, Kirishima finally succumbed to the words that the demon locked away in the depths of his subconscious murmured to him on a nightly basis. 

Kirishima Eijirou, The Red Riot, The Unbreakable Hero, Co-Owner of the Dynamight & Riot Agency, was nothing but a fraud. The optimistic personality and positive attitude were only a guise, a means to hide his true thoughts. The unyielding resolve he exhibited day in and day out to put people first, to protect those around him, was only a thin sheet of glass patched together with fake smiles and empty platitudes. He wasn't anyone's hero. How could he be when he couldn't even keep his friends safe? How could he be herald as a worthy hero, a worthy partner, hell, even a worthy human being, if all he did was give the villains a key to the treasure chest of information they needed to destroy everything he held dear? 

As soon as Shinsou read the note aloud, Kirishima knew. He knew exactly what it was referring to. Everything, each minute detail returned with soul destroying clarity. When he had broached the subject with Katsuki earlier in the day, his response had left him uneasy. Bakugo describing the events of that night, the night he had admitted his feelings for him in a drunken stupor, set off warning bells in his mind. Something had happened that night, but Kirishima had been too drunk to remember, until now. 

“Come on, big guy. Just a few more steps.” Bakugo huffed as he struggled with the weight of a heavily drunk Kirishima clutching to his back like a baby koala. 

“M’fine right here.” Kirishima pointed to a random spot on Bakugo’s recently polished floor and unlocked his arms from around his trusty steed’s neck, promptly falling to the floor. 

“Kirishima!” Bakugo nearly fell as he quickly balanced himself from suddenly losing the weight of his brick shithouse built friend. “Goddamn it, Eijirou!” 

Kirishima sniffled slightly, unsure as to why Bakugo was yelling at him. He felt awful and his head was pounding. “I’m sor..” His confused apology was swiftly cut off as his stomach lurched violently. 

“Fuck.” Bakugo exhaled, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. He kneeled down in front of his stupidly drunk best friend, upset at himself for yelling at him. “It’s alright, Kirishima. I shouldn’t have…” 

Kirishima had no time to warn Bakugo before the contents of his stomach spewed up his throat and out of his mouth, all over himself and his best friend. If he wasn’t already emotional and drunkenly confused, then he might have had the decency to at least feel embarrassed. Instead, he only let out a small chuckle. 

“Oops.” He giggled. 

Bakugo closed his eyes and counted back from ten slowly. Do not kill your best friend. Do not explode your hero partner. Do not beat the shit out of Kirishima. He’s drunk. He probably won’t remember any of this. Just breathe. 

“Aw, fuck.” Bakugo regretted breathing. “Fucking shit. Alright, just wait right here.” 

He stomped off to the bathroom, leaving Kirishima sitting on the floor, covered in the copious amounts of alcohol he had drank that night. When he returned, Kirishima was sprawled out on the floor, snoring softly. 

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Bakugo scrunched up his face in a scowl. With an unceremonious tug, he hauled Kirishima to his feet and half carried, half dragged him down the hall, leaving a trail of fuck knows what on his newly polished floors. Roughly, he sat Kirishima on the edge of the bathtub before shedding his own shirt, tossing it somewhere in the general vicinity of the trash can. 

“Hey!” He reached out quickly, catching Kirishima just before he started falling back into the bathtub. 

“I’m good, bro.” Kirishima patted Bakugo’s arm. A faint blush spread across Kirishima’s cheeks as he covered his mouth, stifling a snicker. 

“What,” Bakugo deadpanned. He had been against going out tonight. It had been one hell of a week and he just wanted to relax at home. Instead, at Kirishima’s insistence, he went, knowing that it would make the big idiot happy. Eyeing Kirishima’s disgusting, vomit-covered clothes, he was starting to regret all of his life choices. 

“You’re…” Kirishima pointed a finger directly at Bakugo’s bare chest as he continued to giggle like a child. “You’re naked.” He then smashed both hands against his face, apparently too embarrassed to look at the man he had seen shirtless literally hundreds of times. 

Well, he at least appeared embarrassed. Bakugo promptly ignored his childish antics and reached into the shower to adjust the temperature. As he turned around, Kirishima’s eyes were peeking out between his fingers. He made a squeaky noise that sounded foreign for such a large man, before covering his eyes fully again. 

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing.” Bakugo punctuated each word clearly. 

“Put your shirt on!” Kirishima cried indignantly. 

“No.” 

“I can’t see you naked!” 

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “I’m not naked, dumbass.” 

Slowly, Kirishima peaked out between his fingers, raking his gaze from Bakugo’s head down to his feet. “Oh.” Bakugo’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Kirishima’s disappointed tone. 

“Fucking hell.” He muttered under his breath. “Do you need help or can you shower on your own?” 

“I can…” Before Kirishima could even finish his response, he twisted around and unleashed the gates of hell into the bathtub. 

“Jesus Christ, Eiji.” Bakugo’s voice turned incredibly soft. Padding over to his miserable friend, he pulled his hair out of his face as he started dry heaving. Tears trailed down Kirishima’s face as he muttered, “Sorry… Not… very manly.” 

“It’s fine, Eiji.” Bakugo backed away a few steps. “I’m going to help you into the shower, okay?” 

Kirishima nodded, wincing slightly as his head vehemently disagreed with the action. The little jolt of pain helped sober his mind, at least enough to be utterly humiliated by the last thirty minutes. If there had even been the slightest chance of him dating Bakugo, it was long gone now. 

“I’ve got it. Thanks, Kats.” He averted his eyes as he stood up carefully, pulling the hem of his shirt up and over his head as he stood. “Thanks for all of this.” 

Bakugo stared at him with an unreadable expression before whispering, “Anytime, Ei.” He turned around and left without another word, leaving Kirishima speechless. 

After discarding his vomit covered clothes, Bakugo quickly showered in the guest bathroom before hastily mopping up the trail of vomit from his living room to the master bathroom. Deeming the quick clean up as passable for now, he rummaged through the closet in his spare bedroom until he found a box of old gym clothes.

 “It’ll have to do.” He murmured to himself as he pulled out a pair of sweatpants that might, might, fit Kirishima. 

Eyeing the clock on the hallway wall, he knew it was going to be a hell of a patrol the next day. Considering what time they usually arrived at the office, they were going to be able to get a decent nap instead of a good night’s sleep. 

Rounding the corner of his bedroom, he held up the sweatpants, blocking his field of vision. “Here, Red. These are all I’ve got, but they’ll have to…” 

The sounds of soft snores drew his attention to his bed, where, in all of his naked glory, lay Kirishima, sprawled out on his stomach. He had a pillow cuddled up to his chest as drool slowly left a wet patch on the grey pillowcase. 

Bakugo exhaled a loud, exasperated sigh as he rubbed his temple with both hands. “I swear to fuck, you’ll be the death of me.” 

Quickly, he grabbed the throw blanket at the edge of the bed and draped it over Kirishima. 

“Goodnight, Red.” He whispered in a tender voice that he only allowed himself to use when he was sure that no one could hear him. 

Unexpectedly, Kirishima mumbled, “Kats…” 

He turned slightly and reached out with both hands, pulling Bakugo to his chest. “I love you.” He mumbled. 

Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly as he held his breath. Kirishima’s eyes never opened as his arms slowly sank back to his sides. He had been asleep this entire time. 

Pulling the blanket up a little further, Bakugo ran his hand through Kirishima’s damp hair before leaving the room. 

A few hours later, Kirishima woke up to a blinding light cascading through the curtains of a vaguely familiar room. Sitting up, he looked around slowly as he started to recognize the black bedding and dark grey walls. His brow furrowed as he tried desperately to remember how he ended up in Bakugo’s room. Wisps of blurry images swirled behind his eyes, sending an uneasy feeling through him. 

“Must have had a nightmare.” He murmured to himself. 

Shifting his legs, he felt the soft, cool sheets graze his… Oh. 

Grasping his blanket, he slowly pulled it down revealing…

He flopped back down on the mattress with a groan. 

“Definitely a nightmare.”

“K?” 

“Kiri, buddy?” 

“Red?” 

The most disconcerting part of it all was that this had probably been the villain's plan from the very beginning. It was a perfect set up and Kirishima had willingly walked right into it. No doubt, letting his guard down and lowering his inhibitions gave the villain easy access to his mind. The bar was filled to capacity that night; personal space didn't exist. If one touch was all it took, there was no telling when and where it happened. 

The thought of that caused an involuntary shiver to run down his spine. If he hadn't missed the opening earlier that day when he was fighting off those villains, then those civilians wouldn't have been injured. If he had been faster, gotten there sooner, Denki wouldn't have had to emit so much electricity, causing him to blackout momentarily. If he would have just done his job and stopped staring at Bakugo mid-battle, then Bakugo wouldn’t have had to overextend his quirk. If he could have just let go of his jealousy when the fans hung all over Bakugo after the fight, he wouldn't have had a reason to be irritated that evening. He wasn't good enough, and instead of facing his weaknesses, he tried to drown his failures with copious amounts of alcohol. 

Kirishima could see the pieces of the puzzle snap into place. Everything revolved around that night at the bar. It wasn’t just a coincidence. That's not how Nightshade operated. Each pawn was meticulously placed on the board and every move was planned ten steps in advance. They were all connected. 

“Eijirou, please.” Bakugo sat on his knees with his face buried in the crook of Kirishima’s neck. His arms hugged Kirishima tightly as his body shook from the tears flowing unbidden down his face. In all of their years together, Bakugo had never seen Kirishima in such a state. Nothing was snapping Kirishima out of his mental spiral. His eyes were glazed over. His body was present but his mind was far away, somewhere Bakugo couldn't go. And the thought of that tore another heart wrenching sob from his chest. 

He had been an idiot. As much as he wanted to say that he didn't need anyone, that relying on others was a weakness, he knew that his life would be meaningless without Kirishima. This man was his rock. He had always been there for him, even when he had been in love with someone else. Kirishima’s loyalty had never wavered. Bakugo felt like a fucking dumbass for being angry with him. Kirishima had only been trying to help him rationalize his thoughts when he admitted that he thought that someone was messing with his head. That's what any caring person would have done. Instead, Bakugo had projected his own insecurities onto the situation and morphed them into thoughts that Kirishima didn't even say. 

“Eiji, please.” Bakugo begged. “You promised me. You promised you wouldn't leave me.” 

It wasn't the same context as the initial promise, but the reminder had its intended effect. 

“I'm here, Kats.” Kirishima mumbled. “It's okay. I'm here.” He lifted his arm robotically, wrapping it around Bakugo. 

“Kiri?” Denki hovered closely near the pair. “Where did you go, buddy?” 

“I…” He gulped harshly. “I remember now, Kats.”

Bakugo pulled back slightly, looking intently at Kirishima. “Remember what?” 

“That night. I remember everything. And…” a small whimper escaped his throat. “It’s my fault, Kats.” 

“What are you talking about?” Bakugo leaned back on his legs, giving Kirishima some space. 

“I was too drunk to remember before, but I do now.” 

Looking over at Shinsou, who had remained silently by his side, he glanced down at the note still clutched in his hands. 

“A few weeks ago, the day you told me…” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to spit out the words before his emotions overtook him. “When you told me that your quirk was destroying your heart, do you remember what I said?” 

Bakugo’s body went rigid. He could hear his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his ears. His breathing hastened, turning erratic with each passing breath. 

“No. Fuck. No!” He wailed as he wrapped his arms around himself protectively. 

“Kiri?” Denki shifted frantically to Bakugo, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“K, what did you say?” Shinsou felt the pit of fear twist in his gut. 

Kirishima stared straight ahead, seeing the scene of that moment play out before him. 

Tears streamed down Bakugo’s face. “It erodes the arteries in my heart. Eventually…” He tried to keep talking but he could only hiccup barely intelligible words. 

“Event… tually… my… my h… heart… wi… will… stop…" Bakugo wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s going to stop again, Ei.”

Hasn’t this man been through enough? 

“Kiri, what did you…” 

Bakugo locked eyes with Kirishima. “He said it was a recurring nightmare come to life.” 

Chapter Text

The oppressive bomb of information that Bakugo and Kirishima dropped rendered the room utterly silent. Everyone froze, struggling to process and accept the news. 

Kaminari shifted, sitting by Bakugo’s side on the floor. Bakugo squeezed his arms tightly around himself, pulling his knees to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. 

Slowly, he removed his glasses, letting them dangle limply in his hand. Resting his forehead on his knees, he murmured in a broken, muffled voice, “So, the last seven years of my life have been a lie.” 

No one spoke, but nothing needed to be said. It was a statement, not a question. For the last seven years, he had simply been a pawn in a master's chess game. Any decision he had made was an influenced choice. These villains had coerced him with such finesse that he believed he was the one calling the shots for his own life. When, realistically, they were merely positioning him right where they wanted him. 

The thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. When Hitoshi had first divulged his family's secret, trusting him with the devastating knowledge that his past was tainted with villainy, Bakugo never once considered that he would be pulled into their nefarious schemes. At most, he worried about Shinsou having to confront his demon infested family , but he didn’t think anyone would be brash enough to mess with a top ten hero. 

But now, it was painfully evident that no hero would be fully equipped to take on these monsters. Not even Aizawa or Shinsou had the mental fortitude to withstand these obstinate bastards. Although the situation is entirely different, the feeling of being outmatched by a villain who could easily kill you was an overwhelming emotion that he hadn't felt since high school. 

“That's not true, Kacchan.” Kaminari tentatively wrapped an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. 

Bakugo inhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to return to normal. “It is.”  

“What makes you think that?” Kaminari asked kindly, as if he was consoling an upset child. 

Walking away from his relationship with Hitoshi was one of the toughest decisions he had ever made. At the time, he truly believed breaking things off was the right thing to do. Loving Hitoshi was as easy as breathing. They were high school sweethearts, first loves, first everything. They were each other's person. That night, watching Toshi drown in horrors that Dante himself couldn't fathom, the decision was painfully clear. 

Bakugo couldn't risk endangering Hitoshi. Moving into their new home wasn't the only special occasion planned for that day. But, the puppet masters of his fate had other plans. 

“Blasty?” Kaminari prompted softly. 

“These conniving bastards specialize in mind manipulation. They know how to profile their marks. Strengths, weaknesses, personality traits, character flaws, it's all blatantly evident to them. Nothing happens unless they want it to happen. They must have known that…” 

Bakugo paused, trying his damndest to shove his emotions away until he could deal with them without risking his life. “They had to know that I had something else planned for that day.”

Shinsou sucked in a choked gasp. His eyes widened as Bakugo’s point sunk deep into his chest. “You…” 

Bakugo slowly lifted his head and leveled an unreadable expression at Shinsou. “They wanted to prevent that from happening.” 

“I…” Shinsou trailed off, at a complete loss for words. He had no idea how to process the fact that instead of moving to the next level, their relationship ended seemingly without their consent. Their lives literally changed overnight, and the most sickening part of it all was that his family set into motion the event that changed everything. 

Shinsou scrambled to his feet and dashed down the hall to the bathroom. His body simply couldn't handle the rollercoaster of emotions he had been forced to ride over the last twenty four hours. Slamming the door open, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and emptied his stomach. 

Vaguely, he heard the footsteps that had followed him, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Thankfully his poor eating habits were a blessing in disguise. By the time he could make out Denki's reassuring words, he was just trying to breathe through the dry heaves as his lungs struggled to fill up with enough air. 

“That's it, Hito. Try breathing through your nose. Nice, slow, deep breaths.” Denki rubbed soothing circles on his back as he tried to calm Shinsou down. 

“Denks?” 

Kaminari peered over his shoulder in the general direction of the living room. 

“We're okay, Kiri.” He yelled. “Just give us a minute.” 

Kirishima quietly stood up and shuffled his way to Bakugo’s spot on the floor. 

Reaching out a hand, he said, “Come on, Kats. You shouldn't be sitting on the cold floor.” 

“And you shouldn't be walking on an injured knee,” Bakugo retorted. 

Seeing that he wasn't going to move on his own accord, Kirishima promptly knelt down next to Bakugo and scooped him up into his arms, as if carrying a child to bed. 

“The fuck, Eijirou! Put me down!” Bakugo sputtered indignantly. 

Despite his outburst, he didn't struggle as Kirishima carried him back to the couch. 

“Goddamn it, Red,” Bakugo seethed. The flurry of emotions from the short proximity to Kirishima mixed with the recent news left a twisted, tight feeling in his chest. 

Kirishima unceremoniously dropped down on the other side of the couch. “Katsuki.” 

Reclining his head on the back of the couch, he exhaled a deep, tired sigh. “Yeah, Eijirou?” 

“What exactly did they want to stop?” 

Bakugo tilted his head towards Kirishima so he could look at him. For a man of his stature, he looked so small as he waited for the answer to a question he already knew the answer to. 

“I'm not sure how they found out, but...” Bakugo paused, carefully considering what he was about to say. “They didn't want me to propose.”

Staring straight ahead, unable to meet Bakugo's eyes, Kirishima whispered hoarsely, “Why?” 

“Honestly?” Bakugo quipped. 

Although blissful ignorance was its own hell, knowing the truth could at least confirm or deny the insecurities that Kirishima harbored about his relationship with his best friend. Kirishima never pushed the subject with him. If Bakugo wanted to share, he would. But, with all of the recently discovered realizations that someone else had been pulling the strings, he couldn’t help but succumb to the waves of self doubt crashing over him. 

What if, now that they knew it wasn't actually their fault, Bakugo and Shinsou wanted to try again? Did they still care for one another? What if these assholes meant for this to happen too? Was their relationship going to end before it even began? Shit, even their night was initiated by those bastards. 

“Eijirou.” Bakugo placed his right hand on Kirishima’s thigh, squeezing firmly. “This changes nothing.” 

Kirishima stifled a strangled sob. “I'm sorry, Kats. This is just…” He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears he couldn't hold back anymore. 

“It's overwhelming,” Bakugo finished for him. He reclined his head on the back of the couch again, but he left his hand on Kirishima’s thigh. 

“They needed me out of the way so they could get to Toshi.” He stated matter of factly. There was no arrogance to his tone. At the time, he was the number sixth ranked hero, but he was quickly rising in the polls. Outright targeting Shinsou when he was with someone with as much clout as Bakugo had didn't bode well for the group. “They weren't going to target him with me around, but they miscalculated.” 

“How so?” Kirishima asked. 

“They underestimated us,” Shinsou said. He stood in the doorway, leaning slightly against Denki, who had his arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Well, more like they underestimated Denks,” he said with a proud smile. 

Denki's cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. “I don't know…” 

“Since when are you so modest?” Bakugo jeered. “If I recall, you summoned a fucking thunderstorm, Sparky.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“But nothing. Those assholes underestimated you and they paid for it.” Bakugo spoke with such a tone of vindictive finality that Denki simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. 

After Shinsou and Kaminari settled themselves on the chairs opposite of the couch, Bakugo murmured, “That's why they are doing this, ya know.” 

“Doing what exactly?” Kaminari questioned. 

“Targeting us from afar,” Bakugo answered. 

“They are afraid of us.” Shinsou’s mouth twitched slightly into the smallest of smirks.

“As they fucking should be,” Bakugo sneered. “Goddamn cowards.” 

“Isn't that what makes them so dangerous though?” Kirishima shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Without a single doubt,” Shinsou confirmed. “But, the leaders have terrifying quirks regardless of whether they choose to target you head on or not.” 

An involuntary shiver raked up Kaminari's spine. “Like what?” 

Shinsou propped his left ankle over his right knee and wrapped his hand around his shin. He fixated on a particularly vibrant painting hanging slightly off center on the wall in front of him, directly behind Kirishima and Bakugo. 

“All of the leaders of Nightshade have either psychological or neurological quirks. It's taken years to gather this intel and we still don't know much. But, besides the man who can trigger and watch these nightmares, there is a woman who can cause neurological diseases. Another man can make you schizophrenic or cause intense, unending hallucinations.” 

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered in horror. “How many more are there?” 

“There used to be five leaders. Now there's only three.” A despondent silence blanketed the room as they all grappled with the varying thoughts and emotions that coursed through them at that statement. 

Making sure his presence was known, Aizawa rapped on the door with a quick, “It's Aizawa” before letting himself in. The sight of his former students made him question his oath as a hero. He had been around for a long time. He'd seen the absolute worst of hero society. It was one of the reasons he chose to become a teacher. Those kids, with their naive aspirations and reckless ideals, needed a reality check without completely decimating their confidence. It was a tall order, but it was his duty to prepare them for the real world. Now, he wishes that he could hide these kids and protect them from the world. 

Aizawa made his way to the remaining free chair and eased himself down, promptly ignoring the audible pops and cracks his protesting joints made at the movement. “The chief medic will be up here shortly. Apparently, the media caught wind of your philanthropic work. The clinic's waiting room is packed.” 

“Huh?” Kaminari's face was painted with confusion. “Charity work? I thought the clinic was just for the agency, their families and other heroes.” 

“It's for anyone who needs it.” Kirishima supplied. 

“So you have a mini hospital?” Kaminari asked incredulously. 

“Sort of, yeah.” Kirishima placed his hand on top of Bakugo’s. “It was Kat's idea. It's for basic medical needs, like illnesses, stitches, broken bones. But, its main purpose is to serve as a safe place for trauma victims.” 

“Oh.” Kaminari mumbled, completely stunned. 

A loud sniffle snapped his attention towards Shinsou, who kept his red rimmed, wet eyes latched to the painting on the wall. “You still went through with it?” 

“Of course.” Bakugo instantly replied, as if it was an obvious answer and not an admission that he continued to live out their dreams even though they weren't together. 

Reaching the tipping point of his reminiscent tolerance, he inhaled deeply, gathering all of his remaining strength, before launching himself off of the couch. “I'm disgusting. Gonna shower.” 

“Kats, do you need…” Bakugo shook his head, abruptly cutting off Kirishima’s valid concern. 

In all honesty, he probably needed the help. Was he going to accept it? Absolutely not. His mind had dragged out dormant memories that he thought were permanently vaulted away. He felt exposed and raw. Above all, he needed a few minutes of actual privacy, away from his friends and away from the nosey, prying eyes of the bastards who were causing all of this to happen. 

Risking a glance towards Kirishima, his resolve softened slightly at the anxious concern etched on his face. “I'll let you know if I need anything.” 

As he dragged his bone tired, exhausted body towards the hallway, he caught a glimpse of green light outside of the window. Swiveling around to face the living room, he saw Hitoshi's shrinking form trying to sneak off towards the kitchen. 

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” Bakugo’s whole body shook from the anger coursing through him. 

At the sound of his full name, Shinsou froze in place. His shoulders tensed as goosebumps covered his skin. He was terrified to make any sudden moves lest he be obliterated within seconds. He knew what they needed to do in order to beat Nightshade once and for all. Unfortunately, it came with a heavy price. 

Without turning around, he scrunched his eyes closed, exhaling a deep breath. “Yeah, Katsuki?” 

“Why the fuck is Deku here?” 

Chapter Text

“Fuck you, Hitoshi.” Bakugo’s entire body trembled. He wiped his hands up and down the front of his shirt, trying to rid himself of the explosive sweat rapidly pooling in his clenched fists. 

“Of all the people, you had to pull him into this shit?” Small wisps of smoke emanated from his clothes as he furiously rubbed his palms against the fabric.

 “I….” Shinsou started to explain, but stopped when his eyes followed Denki's line of sight.

“Kacchan, your shirt!” Kaminari scrambled up to help Bakugo. 

Looking down, he saw the fabric of his shirt catch fire. 

“Goddamn it!” Bakugo yelled in frustration. “Back off, Spark Plug!” Unceremoniously, he started to pull the shirt over his head. 

“Kats, hold on! You could catch your hair on fire!” Kirishima shot up from the couch and bound over to Bakugo in three long strides, wincing as he did so because no sense of self preservation applied when it came to Bakugo. 

“You dumbass! Your knee! Honestly, Eijirou…” 

“Kacchan, you're shirt man!” Kaminari stood, undeterred by Bakugo’s previous admonition. 

“I said fuck off!” Bakugo yelled at them both as the small embers continued to eat away at the fabric of his shirt. 

Meanwhile, Aizawa casually sauntered past Shinsou and reappeared with two cups of coffee from the pot he had started earlier. He silently held one out to Shinsou, who took it with a small nod of thanks. They both stood there side by side, watching the impending chaos with unbothered expressions. All the while, Kaminari and Kirishima were on either side of Bakugo, patting him down and trying to drag him towards the shower so the blaze could be snuffed out. 

“Get your hands off me, Denki!” 

“You're literally on fire, Kacchan!” 

“I said fuck off! I'm fine!” 

“Kats, come on. Let us help!” 

“Goddamn you! I said…” 

Before Bakugo could scream another stubborn, defensive I'm fine, Kirishima decided to take matters into his own hands. Finding the growing hole in the middle of Bakugo’s shirt from the literal fire spreading on it, he hardened his hands and pulled on each side, ripping the shirt clean off in one go. 

The sound of fabric ripping was akin to gunfire as it was the only sound in the otherwise stock still room. 

Five agonizingly long seconds passed before a soft rap on the opened door snapped their attention away. 

“Um, hello.” Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck while waving sheepishly with his other hand. A faint blush spread across his cheeks at the sight he had walked in on. 

And it was certainly a sight to behold.  

Kaminari knelt against Bakugo’s right side, as if he was supporting some of his weight. One arm was wrapped around his hips while his free hand was holding onto Bakugo’s leg. 

Bakugo stood at the edge of the room leading into the hallway. His left arm was propped against the wall while the other laid flat against the middle of his chest, directly over the scar that poked out around the edges of his hand. He was breathing as if he had just finished some sort of strenuous exercise. A deep red blush flushed his features from the tips of his ears to his collarbone. 

Kirishima stood slightly to Bakugo’s left side. He held the tattered remains of Bakugo’s shirt in his hand. His eyes were as wide as saucers. Embarrassment and utter mortification quickly replaced the no nonsense attitude he had exuded only moments before. 

“Hi Midoriya!” Kaminari chirped, as if he had just ran into him on the street instead of the rather precarious position he was in. “When did you get here?” 

“Ha! I, um…” He shifted his weight from side to side. “ I got here just as Kirishima was ripping Kacchan's shirt off.” 

 Kirishima quickly took a step back, balling the shirt in his still hardened hands to put out the last of the embers. “I, um… I'm just going to take this in here.” He mumbled swiftly, before dashing out of the room. 

Bakugo swallowed the painful lump in his throat. He willed his heart rate to slow down. Closing his eyes that undoubtedly expressed every surprised, wrecked thought sprinting through his mind, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Without his mind's consent, his body slumped against Kaminari. Denki immediately stood up to better support his friend. 

Bakugo leaned against Kaminari without any argument. The lack of protest immediately launched Midoriya into action. 

“Kacchan? Oh my god, what's wrong?” He whipped his head towards Aizawa and Shinsou, looking for some sort of explanation. 

But, before they could explain, he crossed the room and stood directly in front of his childhood best friend. His hands hovered, unsure of what to do. “Kacchan? What's happened? Are you hurt? What's going on? Shinsou said that he needed my help for a case and that you were involved too and to come to your agency right away because it was a dangerous situation. Was I too late? I came as soon as I got his text. I didn't even wait for classes to end. Kacchan? What's…” 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa drawled. “You left your students?” 

Midoriya’s shoulders tensed at his former teacher's words. It didn't matter that they were technically colleagues now; he would always be Mr. Aizawa to him. “Um no, Mr. Aizawa. They joined another class for training.” 

Bakugo ignored everyone and everything around him as he stared longingly at the couch. The entire reason he was even still coherent was because he wanted a damn shower. That's all he had been asking for since early yesterday morning. He wanted to scrub the literal and metaphorical grime away. 

“Kacchan?” Midoriya tilted his head to the side, observing his friend. Viridian eyes met crimson eyes, and that's all it took for Midoriya to understand the true nature of the situation. 

His expression shifted to a fierceness that sent goosebumps racing along Bakugo’s spine. “Who did this?” 

An eerie chill settled over the room. Very few people had ever had a front row seat to this side of Midoriya, and, no matter what side you were on, it was utterly terrifying to witness. Bakugo had been privy to it twice. Once when he was stabbed fighting Shigaraki and the other during the final fight of the war. Aizawa had seen it when Midoriya arrived at the Coffin in the Sky, only to find the gaping hole in Bakugo’s chest that Shigaraki had left as a present. 

As soon as he saw the flash of green light from his suit outside the window, Bakugo realized immediately what Shinsou’s plan was, and although his intellectual brain could acknowledge it was the best course of action, his emotional brain was raging at the idea. He didn't want anyone else to get involved. He could barely keep himself safe, let alone what family he had left that wasn't already involved. Deku and his mom were literally the only tie to his parents he had left. Inko had always been a second mother to him and, despite their history, Deku was like a brother. 

Asking Deku to join meant they were putting all of their eggs in one shiny, neon, all you can eat basket. Yes, they all had varying degrees of interaction with psychological quirks, and they were all certainly different shades of fucked up, but all of their psychological type encounters combined didn't hold a candle to Deku. He would be the trophy of a lifetime, if Nightshade could accomplish it. And, admittedly, it wouldn't be a chance they could pass up. 

“Izuku.” 

Midoriya audibly gasped. Bakugo rarely called him by his first name. 

“I want to shower.” Bakugo pleaded. “You're fucking here now. And I can't do a damn thing about it because you are the only fucker on the planet more stubborn than me.” 

“Which I am assuming,” he shot an angry glare towards Shinsou, “is why he asked you to come.” 

Shinsou nodded in acknowledgement. “It's the only way, Kats.” 

“I won't forgive you for this,” Bakugo whispered bitterly. 

Shinsou took a sip of his coffee. “I know.” 

He knew as soon as he sent the text to Midoriya that he was crossing a line that he couldn’t go back from. Their relationship had been over for years and although there weren't any romantic feelings left, he would never stop caring for Bakugo. He would always protect him, even at the detriment of their friendship. It was the same reason Bakugo had bought the flat above and below his apartment and why he started the medic center in his agency. Too much had happened for them to stay together, but nothing would keep them from caring about each other. They were permanent fixtures in one another's lives, even if it turned out to be different than they had intended. 

Bakugo rolled his eyes in defeat. “Fucking fine, but first, I'm taking a shower. I don't feel like setting something else on fire today.” 

“Sure, Kacchan. I'll get up to speed while you do that.” Midoriya glanced nervously at Shinsou. Whatever had happened to make Bakugo so docile must have been awful.

“Kats?” Kirishima timidly padded back into the room. “I started a bath for you.” 

“Finally.” He swiveled out of Kaminari's grasp and half stepped and half fell into Kirishima. “Let's go, Red.” 

“Oh! Sure, Okay!” Kirishima sputtered, completely stunned at Bakugo’s willingness to be helped. 

“Um, excuse me.” A sturdy, middle aged man in a pair of red and black scrubs stood in the still open doorway. “I was told Red Riot and Dynamight needed to see me?” 

“Hi Doc!” Kirishima chirped. “Yeah, follow us.” 

“Goddamn it.” Bakugo seethed under his breath. 

“It'll just take a few minutes, Kats.” Kirishima scolded. 

“Fucking fine.” Bakugo started walking down the hall. Without checking to see if he was being followed he said, “Come on then.”

Kirishima and the medic followed quickly behind him down the hall towards one of the rooms. 

“I'm going with them,” Kaminari announced. “Just in case.” 

Shinsou nodded in agreement. “Probably a good idea, Denks. Make sure he heals K’s knee and checks Bakugo out too. See if there's anything he can do for him.” 

“Right.” Kaminari shuffled down the hall. He could already hear Bakugo shouting, so he picked up his pace and quickly made his way towards the room. 

Midoriya watched his friends disappear down the hallway before he quietly walked over to the door. He shut it, locked it, and clicked the deadbolt in place for good measure. 

Shinsou had told him everything that had happened. He had known since the incident at the coffee shop. These villains were notorious in many circles. Midoriya may not have been an underground hero like Shinsou or Aizawa, but his unique position as a top hero and a teacher at UA gave him a different perspective. And, if he was being honest, Shinsou trusted him. Aizawa had agreed to pull Midoriya into the case after what happened. It was logical, and they could discuss things at work, which was one of the few places they didn't have to worry about being seen or heard by the wrong people. 

“So…” Midoriya walked over to one of the vacant chairs and sat down. Aizawa and Shinsou followed suit and sat opposite him. “I take it Nightshade made a rather bold move?” 

“That's one way of putting it.” Aizawa propped his bad leg on top of his good one. 

“They've made several moves in the last twenty four hours,” Shinsou confirmed. 

Midoriya simply nodded, prompting them to continue. 

“I take it you are aware of Bakugo’s heart condition?” Aizawa asked. 

“Yes. I was the one who finally convinced him to go see a doctor.” A dark bitterness seeped into his words. His eyes clouded with a tortured expression that held years of emotions. 

“Nightshade knows, too.” Shinsou whispered. 

Midoriya’s eyes widened in alarm. “How?” 

“One of the leaders has been infiltrating our minds for a long time. His quirk allows him to trigger nightmares. Once the trigger is planted, he can not only cause nightmares, but he can see them.” 

Shinsou pressed both palms to his eyes. “Once he sees your worst fears, he will use the information to either coerce you or kill you.” 

Midoriya exhaled a deep breath. It was no wonder Shinsou asked him to get here so quickly. “But how did they find out?” 

“Losing Bakugo is Kirishima’s biggest fear.” Aizawa stated bluntly. 

“Oh…” Midoriya couldn't help the wetness pooling around the corners of his eyes. “Poor Kirishima.” 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa's voice held an edge to it that absolutely frightened him. “These villains feed off of psychological trauma. People who have experienced that have an aura about them that only people with psychological or neurological quirks can identify.” 

“I'll do it.” Midoriya stated firmly. 

“But we didn't even…” Shinsou started to protest, but Midoriya cut him off. 

“You want me to be the bait, right?” 

“Well, essentially, yes.” Shinsou huffed. “But when you say it like that, it makes me sound like a real asshole.” 

Midoriya chuckled. “You are an asshole, Shinsou. But, not in this case. You are protecting your family, my friends. Besides, you knew I would say yes. That's why you didn't hesitate to message me.” 

Aizawa hummed in acknowledgement before hiding a smile behind his coffee mug. 

“Before we discuss how all of this will happen, there's one thing I don't understand.” 

An uneasiness pooled in the pit of Shinsou’s stomach and it had nothing to do with emptying it an hour ago. “What's that?” He asked cautiously. 

“I thought your parents were keeping things under control. Are we stepping in because they need our help?” 

Of course Midoriya would be that perceptive. Shinsou slowly dropped his hands from his eyes. “They're dead. They were killed by the same man who triggered the nightmares.” 

“They.. “ Midoriya tried to mask his shock. “I didn't think anyone knew about them?” 

Shinsou exhaled slowly. He had been trying to avoid this conversation. He was sure Aizawa had pieced the puzzle together, but so far no one else had figured it out. 

“I was aware that my nightmares were being influenced by someone else. I've had my suspicions for a while. So, when the bastard finally decided to make himself known, I…” Shinsou trailed off as the emotions he had kept at bay held a vice grip on his throat. 

“You were aware that was happening?” Midoriya asked in disbelief. 

Hoarsely, he whispered in a soft, resentful tone, “Call it a tortured blessing. My quirk, being the type it is, makes me aware when someone is messing with my mind. That, along with my training, allows me to keep certain thoughts hidden, even to those who have the ability to sift through my mind.” 

“Hitoshi?” Kaminari stood in the doorway with a pained expression. One brief glance was all it took for Shinsou to know that Kaminari had heard the last minute of their conversation. 

Silent tears streamed down his face. His voice was devoid of any emotion as he admitted, “I let him see what I wanted him to see.” 

Chapter Text

“Eijirou, stop! I'm sitting right here. Just…” 

Bakugo covered his face with his hand, pulling it slowly down his face. His social battery was completely drained. What little bit of patience he had left for this sordid affair died with the addition of Deku. He was beyond exhausted, absolutely famished and atrociously aware of the fact that the next time his heart decided to take a break, it might be permanent. All things considered, he was acting like a saint. 

 Admittedly, finally taking a shower, ridding himself of the mental and physical grime, lightened his mood. Kirishima’s idea to draw a bath instead of starting the shower was the right idea. Having to ask for his help to just get in the tub was a fact Bakugo would deny until his dying breath. Even though it wasn’t the first time that Kirishima had to help him bathe, it wasn’t ever a topic Bakugo cared to discuss. Sure, he had done the same thing for Eijirou, but the silent understanding was still there. In those intimate moments, when one of them couldn’t muster the strength to handle something so mundane as a shower, whether it be because of an injury, a close call at work or a dark day, they wordlessly helped one another. They didn’t worry about appearing weak or being vulnerable. It was times like these that Bakugo realized just how much he cared for the big, red headed idiot. Kirishima was always there, ready to pick up the pieces and put him back together. And, although words and feelings weren’t his greatest asset, Bakugo tried his damndest to reciprocate the same care and devotion that he received but never felt like he deserved. 

Kirishima leaned back in his chair that sat opposite of the bed Bakugo was perched against. “Just what, Kats?” 

“Just,” Bakugo exhaled a deep breath and looked directly at Kirishima. “Thank you.” 

Kirishima blinked rapidly, taking a few seconds to process what was said, before a genuine smile spread across his face. For the briefest of moments, Bakugo could see the lighthearted, embodiment of sunshine that he had fallen for years ago. “Of course, Katsuki.” 

Shifting against the edge of the bed, he planted both hands firmly next to his hips. “Ei, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What are you talking about, Kats?” Kirishima propped his elbows on his knees, leaning as far into Bakugo’s invisible bubble of tolerance as he dared. The fact he hadn't been forcibly blasted across the room due to his unstoppable hovering was a miracle. He tried to stay calm; he really had. But, after the doctor checked on Bakugo, he couldn’t help it. The doctor's assessment of Bakugo’s condition only reaffirmed his worst fears. Every short breath and each wince he played off as a scowl caused Kirishima’s own heart to skip a beat. Bakugo was beyond a shadow of a doubt the strongest man he had ever known, but the brutal fact hidden behind the mythological, god-like level of bravado was that he was still human. 

“Doc healed my knee. I’m fine. Sore and tired, sure, but that just comes with the territory.” Kirishima chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about me, okay, Kats?” 

Bakugo curled his hands into fists at his sides, hiding the slight tremor that persisted as a constant reminder of just how dire his situation had become. “That’s not what I was talking about, but I’m glad you let Doc fix your knee, you big idiot.” 

“Hey!” Kirishima sputtered indignantly. “I was being…”

Bakugo’s eyebrows raised as a questioning smirk settled on his face. “Careful?” He finished. “I would hardly classify what you’ve done the last few days as careful.” 

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “I mean…” 

“If I recall,” Bakugo leaned slightly forward, locking eyes with Kirishima, which only caused him to squirm further back into his seat. “You could have had the doctor at the hospital heal your knee weeks ago. But, you decided to leave it. It was a sweet gesture and it would have been fine, if you weren’t walking on it all the damn time. ” 

“You’re one to talk!” Kirishima cried. “You should be resting. Hell, how are you even awake right now?!”

“Newsflash, Red. I can’t sleep. Believe me, if I could, I fucking would. But I’d rather not be killed in my sleep by some asshole who knows how to trigger my heart into overdrive because someone decided to...” Bakugo abruptly stopped, hoisting himself up from the bed. He leaned slightly back against the edge, using it to keep himself steady. He took his glasses off of his face and absentmindedly started cleaning them with the hem of the hoodie he had put on after the doctor left. 

“Decided to have nightmares about you?” Kirishima whispered in a small voice. 

Bakugo breathed deeply through his nose, already regretting his words. “Eijirou, that’s not…” 

“Yes, it is, Katsuki.” Kirishima’s voice dripped with pointed sarcasm. “That’s exactly what you meant.” 

“Fuck.” Bakugo tossed the glasses on the bed and raked his hands through his hair. “You didn’t know.” 

A bitter laugh escaped from Kirishima’s tightening throat. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m the reason they found out.” 

Bakugo chuckled mirthlessly. “You want to know what I was dreaming about when I blew up half of the damn apartment?” 

Kirishima peered up at Bakugo with an unamused expression. “Sure.” 

“I was dreaming about dying.” 

“Kats,” Kirishima whispered somberly. “You don't…” 

Bakugo held a hand up. “Just… let me finish.” 

“When that bullshit of a nightmare started, I could see every terrible, triggering thing that I've survived. The sludge villain, the moment my heart exploded, killing All for One, finding out my heart would give out again, all the close calls from work, my last night with Toshi…” He paused, rubbing the back of his palm swiftly across his face. “That bastard sifted through every horrible moment of my life. And you want to know what finally caught his attention?” 

Kirishima hummed out a mild, “hmm?” 

“He stopped at a nightmare I've had a lot the last few weeks. In the dream, I've…” Bakugo swallowed thickly, trying to push the emotions of the harsh reality down. “I rescue you, but my heart gives out. All I can hear is you repeating, over and over, you promised, you promised. ”

Kirishima stared at Bakugo’s red rimmed eyes. 

“My worst fear isn't dying, Eijirou. It's leaving you.” 

Bakugo stiffened as a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist. Hesitantly, he put his arms around Kirishima. “Everything's going to be fine, Ei.” 

“I know.” Kirishima murmured. 

Taking the opportunity to soak in the moment, Bakugo squeezed Kirishima tightly before reluctantly pulling away. “We should go tell them what Doc said.”

Kirishima exhaled a deep breath. “Yikes.” 

“My sentiments exactly.” Bakugo agreed. “And I thought the damn nerd was pushy before.” 

“Kats, Midoriya cares about you.” Kirishima scolded. 

“Yeah, well, you didn't have to grow up with his pushy ass. He'll never leave me alone now.” Bakugo let out an exaggerated groan. 

Kirishima twisted slightly, picking up Bakugo’s discarded glasses. Gently, he placed them on his face. Then, he held out his right arm to Bakugo, who scowled at the gesture like it offended his ancestors. “What Doc said will change some things.” 

Bakugo placed his hand on top of Kirishima’s arm, intentionally ignoring Kirishima’s smirk and unwillingly accepting the help. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Hito!” 

“What the fuck?” Bakugo and Kirishima hurriedly walked out of the room and down the hall, towards the sound of a panicked Kamanari. 

Entering the room, they both abruptly stopped at the sight before them. Shinsou knelt on the floor in front of a chair. His hands were clutched to either side of his head as he rocked back and forth. He stared vacantly ahead as he mumbled I killed them, I killed them in a broken, tortured voice. 

“What happened?” Bakugo demanded. He approached Shinsou, half sitting and half falling to the ground in front of the panicking hero. He looked to his left, taking in Kamanari’s panic-stricken face. 

“Denki,” Bakugo said firmly. “What the fuck happened?” 

“He…” Kamanari choked on a sob, trying his damndest to keep it together. “His dream, that’s what killed his parents.” 

Bakugo’s brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face. “He already said that.” 

Of course, this reaction was completely valid and normal for someone who finally processed the fact that they inadvertently killed their parents. The guilt of accidentally revealing information that resulted in a family member being harmed was a cold truth that they all had to risk. But, Hitoshi wasn’t just anyone. He was trained to deal with these things. And, if there was anything that truly scared Bakugo to his very core, it was Hitoshi’s ability to frigidly cut all emotional ties like the flip of a switch. He had been on the receiving end of that skill when they first separated, and it was not something he ever cared to experience again. 

So, what was causing Hitoshi to panic now? It’s not like it was his…

Bakugo’s jaw clenched so tightly he was sure it might shatter some teeth. Everything snapped together with a gut-wrenching clarity. “You intentionally dreamed that.”

“He did what?” Kirishima dropped to the couch, his body suddenly feeling very heavy. 

“Toshi can control his thoughts and who sees them.” Bakugo spoke softly. Years of emotions shrouded the statement, and despite not knowing all of the details, everyone in the room could feel the weight of his words. 

Shinsou stopped rocking. His body shook violently. “It was the only way,” he pleaded. “I had to choose.” 

“Choose what, Hito?” Kamanari whispered. 

“Between losing my parents or losing you.” Shinsou’s tone seeped with a haunted, desolate tone that sent chill bumps racing across everyone’s skin. 

He dropped his head between his knees, inhaling steadying breaths. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable. At least, that’s what he was going to tell himself, that it was an intentional breakdown, and not a forced one. He didn’t have time for a mental walk down the streets of hell right now. 

Deliberately ignoring his mind’s desperate pleas to process the situation as a normal, healthy human being, Shinsou lifted his head, observing Bakugo’s half slumped body and alert, wild eyes. “What did the doctor say?” 

“First,” Midoriya interjected, “Let’s get you guys off the ground.” 

He stood up from the edge of his seat and silently offered his hand to Bakugo, who took his hand without hesitation. 

After depositing Bakugo on the couch next to Kirishima, he slipped into the kitchen and brought back a tray of coffee and snacks. He wasn’t sure about everyone else, but he was going to need the energy. Apparently, everyone else was of a similar mindset. The steaming mugs and bags of snacks were grabbed with mumbled thanks. 

Sipping on his coffee, Bakugo made a split-second decision that he knew he would regret later but was currently too tired to give a fuck about. “If I go to sleep again, I’ll probably die.”

Three sets of shocked eyes stared at him. 

 “My previous doctor was a dumbass and the therapists were too. Doc said these Nightshade assholes are the reason I’ve had such a problem. I still have a heart condition, and…” Holding up a hand to Deku, he sighed before continuing. “And, yes, it could still give out one day. But, the problem is that I’m not using the nitro stock piling in my bloodstream because it’s building up in my sleep.” 

“Your quirk is reacting to your nightmares.” Shinsou surmised. 

Bakugo fixed him with a pointed look. “Exactly.” 

“Holy shit.” Kamanari whispered. “They had this planned for years.”

“Seems that way.” Bakugo took a huge gulp of coffee, relishing the slight burn to his tongue. 

“Isn’t nitroglycerin meant to help with heart problems?” Kamanari questioned. 

“Not in Kacchan’s case.” Midoriya shifted in his seat, straightening his back. “Nitroglycerin acts as a vasodilator, which helps pump blood to your heart. But, too much of it can overly relax the blood vessels, sending a person’s heart rate into overdrive because the heart is trying to pump too much blood too quickly. If too much blood rushes to the heart, it can cause cardiac arrest. It’s always been a concern with his quirk, but only after he leveled up during the war did it become a real concern. That’s why he has to train after work. It’s a delicate balance, but if he hasn’t burned off enough nitro during work, he has to get rid of it some other way, so it doesn't build up.” 

“You have a notebook on this or some shit?” Bakugo scoffed. “Always were a creepy, nerdy fuck.” 

“The point I think Midoriya is trying to make…” Aizawa leaned forward in his chair, gleaning the attention of his former students, “Is that Bakugo can’t handle this problem on his own. He is too weak in his current state to burn off the build up of nitroglycerin his body has stored and he also can’t sleep, because his quirk and body will react on its own. Which is exactly why Midoriya was brought into this case.”  

Bakugo shot a deathly glare towards Aizawa. Current physical abilities aside, he was still the number two hero. He did not appreciate being called weak or incapable. However, his mouth snapped shut at the pointed expression on Aizawa’s face, daring him to contradict him. 

Sensing the tension, Kirishima asked, “How will you help?” 

Midoriya leaned back in his chair. He intertwined his hands, cracking his knuckles before fidgeting mindlessly with his fingers. 

“I was technically brought into the case months ago, so I know what’s been happening. It’s no secret that I pretty much have a neon sign over my head that says trauma buffet .” He chuckled. 

“You are going to be the bait.” Kamanari interrupted. He turned his head, catching a glimpse of Shinsou’s guilt ridden face. Shinsou met his gaze, nodding his head. 

“You can’t!” Kirishima argued. “You’re just going to willingly endure these nightmares? Have you even had any nightmares lately? Don’t they have to make physical contact first in order to plant the trigger? How will this even work? It’s not…” 

“Red,” Bakugo said evenly, sufficiently stopping Kirishima’s worried spiral. “If it goes to plan, he won’t actually have nightmares.” 

“Uh?” Kirishima stuttered. “I don’t understand.” 

The expression on Shinsou’s face was all the confirmation Bakugo needed. A bitter fury clouded his eyes. “Hitoshi is going to use Deku as bait in his own nightmare.”

Chapter Text

“You… I mean you're able to… Have you been…” Kirishima swallowed audibly, horribly attempting to quell his immediate judgments. His initial, instinctual thoughts to the plan made him feel woefully ashamed and unabashedly relieved. 

Initially, he thought Bakugo would have to battle this demon alone, in a place he couldn't protect him. As dramatic as it seemed, when Toshi said that he would be the one to confront the villain head on, he had wanted to break down and sob in relief. He cared for Shinsou and loved him like a brother, but if he were ever forced to choose between him or Bakugo, there would be no question as to who he would pick. Judging by the cool expression and unreadable glare on Shinsou’s face, he knew the answer too. 

“Ha! What I mean is… Um, can you…” Kirishima's embarrassing attempt to scrape the shrapnel of his dignity off the wall was marred by the heinous chuckle that escaped between his lips. His throat felt like he had just swallowed wet sand mixed with muddy, conglomerated gravel. The nervous cackle rang through the room with all the grace of two cars colliding. Adjusting his posture, he unconsciously leaned into the farthest corner of the couch.

He raised a closed fist to his mouth, stifling a tickle in his throat that threatened to turn into a cough. He quickly sipped on his piping hot drink, which only exacerbated the issue, causing the muscles in his throat to seize up. His face contorted into an odd mix of pain and shock. 

With his dignity effectively decimated, coffee spewed out of his mouth, as a rabid coughing fit took over him. 

“God damn, Ei.” Bakugo slapped Kirishima’s back with all the strength he could muster. “How the hell do you always manage to choke?” 

“Oh, is that what you two…” 

“Kaminari!” Midoriya squeaked. He knew where that sentence was heading, and despite it being a gossip worthy and admittedly curious topic, he didn't really want to be exploded by proxy. Reaching out, he offered a napkin to Kirishima who took it with a stuttered “th…anks.” 

Continuing his reassuring pats on Kirishima’s back, Bakugo fixed his gaze on Kaminari, flattening him with a wicked, devious grin. “Anyone would choke if…” 

“Oh.. okay, Kacchan! That's… um…” Midoriya leaned as far forward in his chair as he could without face planting on the floor. He waved his hands excitedly, trying to physically ward away the embarrassing conversation. “Any… Anyway! Let's, um… get back to the case.” 

Bakugo’s devilish smirk and glinting eyes never left Kaminari's scandalized face as he leaned back into the cushions behind him, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind Kirishima, whose mortified face was as red as his signature hair. “Whatever you say, nerd.” 

“Right… Kirishima, you were trying to ask about something before…” Aizawa half heartedly waved a hand towards the group, choosing to not waste precious air on whatever the hell had just transpired. Sometimes, he wondered how they managed to function as contributing, socially redeemable adults, let alone top pro heroes. 

“Kiri was about to ask if I have been intentionally planting information in my dreams.” Shinsou interjected. His voice held the knowing, resentful contempt of decades worth of defensive sarcasm. It wasn’t a new or even remotely surprising question. It just hurt to hear it from a friend. 

Long ago, when he first started out as a pro hero, it became immediately and painfully evident that all of his inspiration to be seen as a good person, someone worthy of being a hero, was nothing more than a naive aspiration misguided by an unrealistic view of the world. Sure, his line of work certainly didn't do him any favors in that regard, but the harsh reality of it was that he had a villainous quirk with the dangerous skills to match. Strangers, friends, or relatives were all the same when they realized what he could do. Kirishima’s body language only sharpened that point. Shinsou had outgrown holding grudges about it years ago, but each person sitting around him, at one point or another, had all stared at him with those terrified, judgemental eyes. 

Kirishima opened his mouth to deny what his body subconsciously reacted to, but he quickly snapped it shut again. He finally registered the disgraceful fact that he had scooted as far away from one of his best friends as he could possibly get without actually leaving the room. At least he had the decency to avert his eyes down to his lap, where his fingers nervously drummed against his thighs. 

Shinsou looked at Aizawa, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Aizawa gave an imperceptible nod. “What I'm about to tell you three never leaves this room. I…” 

“Woah, wait!” Kaminari screeched. His hands flew to his ears, as if the simple act would serve as a proxy for noise canceling headphones. “What if one of us dreams about this? What if we're targeted again? I don't want to put you in danger, Hito!” 

“Denks,” Bakugo made an ugly noise between a laugh and a snort. “That's the point. Anything he tells us is either a known fact or he's purposefully telling us.” 

Kaminari tentatively lowered his hands. “But doesn't that..” 

“Put him in constant danger?” Bakugo finished for him. 

“Denki,” Shinsou stared intently into his eyes, avoiding the discerning gazes of everyone else. A fond grin turned his lips up into a Cheshire like smile. “I said the three of you.” 

One at a time, he pointed deliberately at Kirishima, Bakugo, and Midoriya. Then he held three fingers up. “You already know.” 

The three heroes who were called out all watched the interaction with different degrees of confusion. Kirishima simply felt lost, and the lightbulb in Midoriya’s head was clearly flickering with a possible idea. Bakugo, however, immediately understood, and he wasn't sure his heart could handle it. 

Kaminari's eyes widened comically as the gears in his head were clearly turning. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, a nervous gesture that he had picked up at U.A. “I'm still not good at this undercover work stuff, am I?” 

“It takes time, Kaminari.” Aizawa leaned forward, taking the spare mug from the table. He lifted it in Midoriya’s general direction as a silent nod of thanks. Being coworkers with such an observant person had its perks. The most important one being that Midoriya not only knew how he liked his coffee, but he knew it was vital to everyone's well-being that he never ran out of it. 

Despite enjoying the nostalgia that this situation made him feel, his patience was starting to wear thin. “We're running out of time. The personal questions about why Kaminari is privy to Shinsou’s work can wait. Go on, Shinsou.” 

“Right.” Shinsou leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. “Simply put, I can remember and forget what I want at will. I started training myself to do that after my last visit to the coffee shop. It was part trauma response and part job training.” 

“So, you can just forget things and recall them whenever you want?” Kirishima asked skeptically. 

“It's like muscle memory,” Midoriya interjected.  

“Because of your Dad's quirk, your mind forcefully forgot things. But, after your Mom reversed the damage, your mind still remembered how to forget. So now, you can do it at will.” Bakugo surmised. “You're the perfect undercover agent.” 

“Far from it.” Shinsou mused. “But, it has its uses, so long as I don't fuck up.” 

“No pressure.” Bakugo said evenly. 

Shinsou’s shoulders rose up with an amused laugh that never quite left his throat. “Something like that.” 

“Explains why you've looked even shittier than normal lately.” 

“Kacchan!” Midoriya scolded. “If anything it's been because of you!” 

Bakugo’s head snapped towards Midoriya. “Shut the fuck up, Izuku.” 

“So,” Kirishima intervened. “How do you remember something that you willingly forget?” 

“Ironically, neural stimulus.” Shinsou smirked in spite of himself. 

“You've learned how to use the effects of two quirks without actually having multiple quirks.” 

“Exactly, Deku.” Shinsou knew that if anyone would understand the sheer amount of work it took to hone skills for a quirk he didn't actually possess and also use those abilities effectively, it would be the last holder of One for All. 

Kirishima's reaction earlier had probably severely regressed the trust and mutual respect that he had with Shinsou. The bar was about as low as it could get at this point. Taking that into account, he decided, against his better judgement, to be the martyr and hammer the last nail into the coffin of his fifteen year long friendship. “Does that mean you intentionally chose to have your parents killed?” 

“Kirishima!” Kaminari yelled. The tingle of static electricity hummed through the room, sending a quivering sensation across everyone’s skin. Their hair floated around their heads, as if they had just touched a live wire. “What the hell is your problem?” 

Shinsou held a hand up, saving Kirishima from death by electrocution. “It's a fair question, Denks.” 

He inhaled and exhaled a long, deep breath, allowing his diaphragm to suck in the most calming, relaxing breath that he could manage.

“I messed up. During that dream, that attack, I couldn't hide my thoughts so I started spiraling. Once I realized what he was searching for, it was too late. Towards the end, I was able to get a grip, but if I had just cut off my memories abruptly, he would have figured out that I was aware of what was going on. So, I hid my most important moments.” 

“And your parents weren't a part of those moments.” Kirishima murmured. It was a statement, not a question. 

“Blood doesn't make you family,” Shinsou whispered as he locked eyes with Bakugo. 

At that moment, Bakugo understood just how much Shinsou would lose if this didn't work. He wouldn't just be risking Deku's safety. No, there was so, so much more to it than that. The fact he was so willing to ask Midoriya to serve himself up as bait only affirmed Bakugo’s suspicions. If these villains won, they would annihilate the one thing Shinsou and Bakugo were never able to have. 

Shinsou had finally moved past his emotional bullshit and tried desperately to cling to the semblance of the life he had once planned. 

Last time, Bakugo spoke those words when they were all gathered in the very same room they were sitting in now. Being the preceptive, arrogant bastard that he was, he knew Shinsou was struggling to come to terms with the knowledge that the family he had desperately longed for no longer existed. Even if he was able to see his parents again, he couldn’t bring his past into his future. The rare, fleeting moments of happiness that he held onto like a lifeline were nothing more than pictures of the past. The lonely, lost fourteen year child that woke up on Aizawa’s lumpy, worn couch desperately prayed for the parents he saw in his dreams. Instead, he was sucker punched in the gut by the realization that the parents in his dreams no longer existed as he remembered them. 

When he was met with the decision to either lose the people who merely held the title of biological parents or lose the one person who made him feel the same comfort and happiness that he longed for in those naive dreams, there was no contest. 

“Damn right,” Bakugo agreed. 

Midoriya drummed his fingers on his chin, clearly lost in thought. “Since the villain is still unaware of Shinsou’s ability, it gives us the upper hand.”

“Theoretically, yes.” Aizawa stood, shifting his weight from side to side. “We should get started.” 

Shinsou extended his arms and legs out in front of him, stretching like a cat after a lazy afternoon nap in the sun. “Right. I could use a nap.”

“You just drank two cups of coffee,” Midoriya pointed out. “Will you be able to go to sleep?” 

Kirishima, Bakugo, Shinsou and Kamanari burst out in boisterous laughter. Even Aizawa lifted his mug to hide his smile. They all continued to laugh, holding onto their stomachs and wiping the corners of their eyes. Kamanari fell out of his chair and onto the floor, cackling manically. 

“What’s so funny?” Midoriya felt like he was the punchline of a joke that he didn’t know the set up for. 

Midoriya’s innocence only fueled their hyena-like laughter. 

“Shit, good one, Deku.” Bakugo’s body trembled with laughter. He dabbed the sleeve of his hoodie on the corners of his eyes. “I needed a good laugh.”

Feeling pity on the poor man, Shinsou walked over and patted his head. “No worries, man. I’ll be just fine.” Then, he and Aizawa walked out of the room and down the hall. 

“Um, one last thing.” Kirishima said. “What should we do?” 

“We are going to call Momo and see what kind of PR nightmare we are dealing with.” Bakugo launched himself off the couch, only taking a few seconds to gain his balance. “Deku and Kaminari, there's a cafeteria downstairs if you want something.” 

“Don't push yourself, Kacchan,” Midoriya reminded him. 

Bakugo flipped him off in response. 

“I'm staying with Hito.” Kaminari murmured. 

As they all started to go their separate ways, the piercing wail of sirens rushed past the building. 

“What the…” 

Before Bakugo could finish his question, the agency alert system broadcasted, large fire three blocks south, unknown situation, possible casualties. All available heroes report immediately.

“Kats…” 

Bakugo stared at Kirishima with wet, red rimmed eyes. “No, Eijirou.” 

“But they need…” 

“I don't fucking care!” Bakugo screamed. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya launched himself on the floor next to Bakugo. “ Breathe, Kacchan.” He wrapped his arm around Bakugo’s trembling shoulders. Staring up at Kirishima, he stated, “I'll go with him, Kacchan.” 

“Izuku, I…” Bakugo’s shoulders heaved with the overwhelming emotions he couldn’t contain. 

“I promise, Katsuki. I'll keep Eijirou safe.” 

Bakugo nodded his head in defeat. He knew he couldn't make Kirishima stay. And, as much as he hated to acknowledge it, Kirishima would be safer with Deku, away from him. “Thank you, Izuku.” 

Kirishima knelt down and rested his forehead against Bakugo’s. “I promise. I'll be back. It's nothing we haven't done hundreds of times before. Besides, our crew needs to see that we are still fighting, that we haven't given up.” 

Bakugo could only nod his head in response. 

“Let's get going.” Midoriya made his way towards the door with Kirishima taking the lead. Before disappearing out the door, Midoriya looked over his shoulder. “Call me if anything happens, Kaminari.” 

“Sure thing,” Kaminari assured him. Midoriya flashed one last caring smile before he closed the door behind him. 

“They'll be okay, Kacchan.” Kaminari said as he locked the door. 

Dropping his head between his knees, he exhaled a deep breath. “Yeah.” 

“Besides, they aren't in the top ten for nothing.” Kaminari mused. “Come to think of it, all four of us are in the top ten.” 

“Huh, I guess you're right.”

Although the sentiment was meant to be reassuring, it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Bakugo’s stomach.  

The grating sound of the agency broadcast system distracted his uneasy thoughts. Fire and rescue update: fire is localized to a stand alone building, a coffee shop approximately...

The rest of the broadcast fell silent as a ringing noise filled Bakugo’s ears. He could hear Kaminari screaming his name, but only vaguely registered what was happening. 

They were playing a deadly game of chess, and Nightshade just called checkmate. 

Chapter Text

Aizawa followed Shinsou towards the bedroom that had been unofficially designated as his and Denki's room. After their first ordeal with Nightshade, Bakugo adamantly refused to let them go home, even if the medics gave the all clear after Shinsou regained consciousness. Shinsou put up quite a fight about it, but it had ultimately been Denki to convince him to stay. None of them wanted to be alone those first few weeks, but no one was willing to admit it. Even Aizawa stayed most nights, silently slipping in after work and leaving before breakfast. It took Denki doing the tango with a complete mental breakdown before Shinsou finally caved to logic and reason. Bakugo and Kirishima had their own loft on the top floor, where they each had an en suite and bedroom attached to their respective offices. True to form, immediately after Shinsou woke up, Bakugo threw himself into work. Kirishima, being a loyal partner and hopelessly lovesick idiot, did the same. 

Glancing around the room, it was apparent that Shinsou and Denki visited on a semi-normal basis. At least, they were here often enough to have an agency phone installed in the bedroom. The spare hero outfits hanging in the closet and the various personal items littering the shelves only confirmed that they had made this a safe haven for rough times. 

Aizawa cast a wayward eye towards Shinsou, who was circling the bed like a cat, twisting the covers and wadding the sheets up into a comfortable mound of fabric, before nestling a Chargebolt themed pillow into the middle of the mess. Shedding his worn, thread bare, black hoodie, he meticulously folded it, ensuring all of the seams were smooth and making sure the small design on the front wasn’t creased. Seemingly satisfied, he placed the perfectly folded top next to the pillow. 

Then he stepped back and cast a discerning gaze over his work before murmuring, “Best it can get, I guess.” 

Aizawa couldn't stop the inquisitive chuckle that escaped his lips. “Are you sure you're not a cat hybrid?” 

A feral grin spread across Shinsou’s face. “Eh, they have some practical habits.” 

Shinsou crawled into the pseudo nest and pulled the pillow and hoodie tightly to his body. “Besides,” he whispered softly, “it's the only way I can fall asleep.” 

Aizawa nodded his head in understanding. “It's your yellow sleeping bag.” 

“Yep.” Shinsou buried his face in the pillow and hoodie, inhaling a deep, calming breath. 

“If I don't…” He paused, struggling to rasp out the words that needed to be said. “If this doesn't work, promise me that you'll keep Denki safe.” 

“Kid, you know I don't make promises.” Aizawa slumped down into the chair adjacent to the bed. 

Shinsou peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with his mentor. He couldn't prevent the stinging tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I know. But, please. ” His voice broke as he poured every ounce of his desperate plea into the single word. 

“He's…” He hurriedly wiped his face with his hands, ridding his ruddy cheeks of any emotional evidence. “He's my…” 

Aizawa's heart shattered at his adopted son's request. He didn't make promises. Too many times in his life had he made a promise only to break it. The motives behind the promise were rendered irrelevant when circumstances beyond his control, or even worse, well within his means of control, altered the outcome, forcing him to break his promise. Over time, each broken promise, every empty oath, slowly ebbed away at his faith in humanity, until all that remained was an empty, jaded shell. 

He didn't know if he could keep this promise. In all likelihood, he couldn’t. But, if he was going to bet on anyone or anything, it would be the tenacity of his former students. Holding a hand up, he cut Shinsou off before he could manage to say anything else. Paranoid as it might be, he wouldn't risk letting him say those words aloud. 

The fact he was willing to speak the thought vocally only further cemented Aizawa's decision. “I promise, Hitoshi.” 

Shinsou’s body visibly uncoiled at the reassurance. He slumped into the bed, relishing the instantaneous relief of simply being horizontal for the first time in almost forty eight hours. 

Sighing contentedly, he closed his eyes, enjoying the silent stillness of the moment. 

“Don't worry, though.” He mumbled sleepily. “I've got this.” 

“You do.” Aizawa agreed. 

Glancing at Shinsou, Aizawa belatedly realized he was already sound asleep. His chest rose and fell with steady, even breaths as the tension in his haggardly tired face softened. His grip on the various articles of fabric surrounding him relaxed as he swiftly fell into a deep sleep. 

Curiously, Aizawa stood and examined the hoodie that Shinsou had given special attention to. It wasn't anything particularly spectacular. It was a faded shade of black, threadbare and unraveling at several seams. It was clearly made of a sturdy material and was more than likely a popular choice when it was first made. He chuckled mirthlessly at the irony of that thought. 

Knowing it would take a few minutes for Shinsou to fall into a deep enough sleep to draw out their target, Aizawa meandered about the room, observing the photos and trinkets strewn around the place. Resting on a bookshelf between two worn out, leather bound novels sat a nostalgic picture of class 3-A at their last Sports Festival. Amazingly, someone was able to wrangle all of them into a somewhat uniform crowd just in front of the entrance to the stadium. 

Attention: Large fire three blocks south, unknown situation, possible casualties. All available heroes report immediately. 

“Well,” Aizawa mused, “That's unfortunate.” 

He cast a wary glance over to Shinsou, who remained soundly asleep, despite the screech of the alert system. His eyes were clearly starting to move under his eyelids, confirming that he was entering REM sleep. 

Returning his attention to the nostalgic picture, a melancholy smile settled on his face. Of all the classes that he had encountered in his decades of teaching, this group of students held his heart unlike any other. They were thrust into horrible situations and forced to fight side by side with veteran pro heroes in a war that was caused by the generational rifts human nature inevitably imposed on society. 

Gently, he picked the frame up, examining the goofy, triumphant smiles of his students. In the corner, Shinsou stood slouching next to Bakugo, who had his arm casually slung over Shinsou’s shoulder. 

A piercing, frigidly horrific realization coursed through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “Please, no.” He rasped. “Tell me I'm seeing things.” 

Twisting towards the bed, he snatched the hoodie that now lay strewn to the side next to the mess of covers Shinsou was wrapped up in. Slumping down in the chair adjacent to the bed, he inhaled a shaky breath before holding up the photo in his left hand and the hoodie in his right hand. 

His entire body went rigid, as if he had just been doused with a freezing bucket of ice water. 

“Fuck,” he cursed harshly. This . This is why he didn’t make promises. 

Staring back at him in the corner of the picture was Bakugo, with his signature scowl painting his face, his middle finger proudly on display, and a black hoodie with a white skull hanging loosely over his built frame. It was the same hoodie that he gripped harshly in his hand and the same piece of clothing that he had seen Shinsou wear dozens of times. 

Unfortunately, to his utter dismay, the devastating fact that Shinsou still held onto this tattered, mediocre excuse for a jacket wasn’t the most gut-wrenching fact. Behind the pair, standing just at the edge of the frame, stood a sharply dressed man with a nightshade flower tucked into his lapel. 

Aizawa leaned his head back against the chair, letting his arms go limp against his lap. These people had been tailing Shinsou since he was at U.A. The extent of their scouting was unclear. There could have been any number of reasons or motives for them to have been tracking Shinsou for so long. He certainly had a reputation even before he officially graduated. 

Regardless, assumptions were irrelevant. Peering at the picture again, he gripped the hoodie tightly as the harsh truth stared back at him. 

Nightshade had been keeping tabs on Shinsou since he was a teenager. 

“No! Run!” 

Aizawa snapped his head towards Shinsou, who started thrashing around wildly. 

“Run!” Shinsou screamed. His voice cracked and broke with the sheer force of yelling. “Kamanari, please, run!”

Aizawa launched himself out of the chair. His quirk activated before his tired body stood upright. “Shit, shit, shit!” He planted a hand firmly on Shinsou’s forearms. “Hitoshi, wake up!” 

He used his quirk with all his might, pulling as harshly as he could against any semblance of a quirk. After three heart-stopping seconds, Shinsou continued to twist and turn, wailing at the top of his lungs. 

“Denki!” Shinsou sobbed. “Denks, please. Get up. You have to… you have to get up!” 

“Goddamn it!” Aizawa cursed. His quirk was useless. 

How did things go wrong so quickly? He and Shinsou had mulled over this plan numerous times with various different variables. It was within the expected scope to pull Midoriya in to be the bait. They both knew that Shinsou had the mental prowess to handle this type of mission. Why the hell was Shinsou dreaming about Kamanari and not Midoriya? The whole point of this course of action was to keep Kamanari out of his nightmares. The second Shinsou revealed that part of his life, the villains would relentlessly hunt them down. Shinsou asked Midoriya to put his life on the line to protect Kamanari. He wouldn’t risk losing the same thing that Nightshade had snatched away from him and Bakugo. 

“Denki! No!” Shinsou cried desperately. 

“Hitoshi, wake up!” Aizawa shouted firmly, but to no avail. The firm, albeit increasingly frantic commands were falling on deaf ears. 

Shinsou was trapped in his nightmare. 

The screeching siren of the alert system reverberated through the room. 

Fire and rescue update: Fire is localized to a stand alone building, a coffee shop approximately three blocks south. Red Riot and Deku en route. Remain alert and proceed with caution. 

Murderous, psychotic rage mixed with deathly terror surged through Aizawa’s chest. “Son of a…” Before he could finish his tirade, Kamanari’s frantic pleas carried down the hall, through the closed door of the room. 

With one despondent glance towards Shinsou, he sprinted down the hall, ignoring the agonizing spurts of pain shooting through his leg up to his hip. Entering the room, he saw Bakugo sprawled out on the ground, his torso propped up against Kamanari’s thigh. 

“Kacchan! Stay with me Kacchan!” Kamanari begged. He held Bakugo’s hand tightly, hoping the gesture would provide any miniscule amount of comfort. 

“Those bastards.” Bakugo wheezed. He weakly tried to swat Kamanari’s hand away, but the mild gesture only spurred his friend’s incessant fretting. 

They knew. They had known from the very beginning what would happen. Just when the heroes thought they were ahead, Nightshade humbled them in the most devastating way possible. Scrambling their brains like cookie batter wasn’t enough. Usurping their intuition and pride didn’t satisfy these bastards. No, they had to make sure no ounce of rationality was left. These people were masters of mental manipulation. Every action had a purpose and each outcome was significant. 

“Get off me, Denks.” Bakugo growled. Now was not the time to faint like a damsel in distress. With borrowed energy from his next life, he slowly struggled to his feet. As soon as he stood to full height, the room spun dangerously. He felt two pairs of strong hands steady him. 

“Sit down, Bakugo.” Aizawa scolded. 

Bakugo scowled in what he hoped was a menacing manner before half falling into the chair Kamanari had guided him towards. 

“Kacchan…” 

“Don’t start, Denks.” 

“Bakugo…” 

“You either, Sensei.”

Both men stared at Bakugo, irritation and concern morphing their features into pinched expressions. 

Locking eyes with Aizawa, Bakugo spat, “Those mindfucking bastards knew this would happen.” 

“Apparently.” Aizawa admitted. 

“What are we going to do now?” Kamanari asked. 

“We…” Bakugo straightened up in his chair, taking on his best in charge posture. “We are going to deal with these assholes once and for all. I’m fucking sick of my head being used like a goddamn scrapbook from a psychotic horror movie.”

“ You, ” Aizawa said pointedly, “ Are staying here.”  

“Oh, fuck…” 

“Kacchan, Mr. Aizawa is right.” Kamanari crossed his arms, glaring at Bakugo. 

“Denks, I can…”

“Stop it!” 

The sound of glass combusting from the surge of electricity that coursed through them snuffed out any remaining arguments. 

“Kacchan,” Denki whispered, “I won’t risk losing you. You’re…” He wiped the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, ignoring the tiny jolts of electrocution dancing across his skin as his tears made contact with his still active quirk. 

“Number two hero or not, you’re still human, man. You’re too important, Katsuki.”

Bakugo made a choking noise at the sound of his name. His throat felt as if it had been forcibly squeezed shut. All he could do was nod. 

“Besides,” Denki uncrossed his arms and crouched down in front of his friend. “I need you to stay and protect my… protect Toshi.” 

Bakugo’s mouth quivered into a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah Denks, I will.” 

“Kamanari,” Aizawa interjected,” You and I will go assist Kirishima and Midoriya. Bakugo, do you think you can watch out for Shinsou?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got him.” Bakugo planted both hands firmly on the chair and hoisted himself up, determined to not show any signs that his body was ready to give up. 

“He’s stuck in his dream.” Aizawa cleared his throat, making a noise that closely resembled a quiet sob. 

“Whatever is going on in his mind, they’ve seen Kamanari.” 

A low growl escaped Bakugo’s throat. “Denki.” 

Kamanari met Bakugo’s eyes. “Yeah, Kacchan. I know.” 

“Let’s get going.” Aizawa made his way towards the door. 

Turning to leave, Kamanari whispered, “Kacchan, please, protect my …” 

“Your husband. I know.” 

Chapter Text

Kaminari froze mid-step at the threshold of the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob. He lifted his head slightly, making eye contact with Bakugo. 

“How did you know?” He whispered. Sure, he was about to say that exact word, but what he was woefully unprepared for was for Bakugo to finish the statement for him. What made matters worse was that it was Bakugo, Toshi's former boyfriend, former almost fiancé, and his former person.

A wistful, sad smile flashed across Bakugo’s face before he steeled his features into a mask of indifference. “We'll talk later, Denks.” 

Stretching languidly, as if he was getting ready to go for a morning stroll, Bakugo reached his hands up and twisted his wrists, relishing the audible pops in his joints. 

“Now, go kick some villain ass.” 

A maniacal grin spread across Kaminari's face, matching the defiant, mischievous glint in his eyes. He gave a simple nod of his head before disappearing out the door. 

Now that he was alone, Bakugo’s feigned bravado took a swan dive off the roof of his metaphorical psyche. He was fairly certain corpses had more life in them than what he felt in that moment. Never in his life had he felt so utterly drained. Physically, he was teetering close to death. Mentally, he was staring the grim reaper in the eye and giving him the middle finger. This was always one of his biggest obstacles; his body could never quite match his mind's determination. 

For the tenth time in as many days, he muttered, “I'm Bakugo fucking Katsuki. I've got this.” 

Did he want to cave to his fear and anxiety? Every damn day. Did he want to whisk Eijirou away to some unnamed island and live out the rest of their lives in peaceful seclusion? Absolutely. Did he want to take a nap and wake up to find this was all just a horrible, shitty nightmare? More than anything else. 

But, if being a hero had taught him anything, it was that if he was indeed sleeping, he would only trade one nightmarish reality for another. There was no existence in which terrible people and the society that molded them didn't exist. 

 In a fit of cruel irony, his heart decided to skip several beats, fastidiously reminding him that he was alive, if only at the merciful whim of someone else. 

“Fuck!” He cursed as he swayed limply against the hallway doorframe. His left hand grasped the wooden side of the frame so harshly that tiny embers of smoke wafted into the air. His right hand clutched his chest, his hand splayed out over the starburst scar hidden beneath his shirt. 

“Is this it?” He laughed unsurprisingly.

His eyes glanced downward, because if there was an existence after death, he knew where he would spend the afterlife, no matter what anyone else tried to say. He was too much of an asshole to be redeemed, especially after he dragged an angel like Eijirou into his personal hell. At best, he would be allowed to visit Eiji on the borders of purgatory. A small “hmm” sound escaped his lips as he idly wondered if he and Kirishima’s fate would become a myth, a tragic love story passed down through time.

“Is this what finally gets me?” He asked the deity he didn't believe existed. 

A terrifyingly psychotic laugh bubbled up his dry throat and out his chapped lips as he painstakingly grasped the side of the wall, slowly making his way towards Hitoshi and Denki's room. 

“You're joking, right? Bakugo Katsuki, UA graduate, three time sports festival winner, war veteran and number two pro hero, is going to be taken out by his own heart?” 

“How pathetically tragic.” He answered himself. 

Rounding the edge of the bedroom, his upper body collapsed in the general direction of the chair placed next to the bed. Calling on his years of workout discipline, he shakily dragged his useless lower half into the seat. 

His chest heaved as ragged, dry gulps of air filled his constricted lungs. He was certain his heart had exploded out of his chest halfway down the hall. Acidic bile slid its way up his esophagus, undoubtedly warning him of the vomiting that was soon to come. 

Collapsing back against the plush cushion of the chair, he raised a clenched fist to his mouth, desperately fighting the urge to succumb to his body's begging pleas for relief. 

Not yet. He clenched his eyes closed. Not yet. He whispered to himself. Giving in, giving up, wasn't an option. 

As if he needed a reminder, the resounding cry of Shinsou calling out for Kaminari dragged Bakugo’s thoughts away from his inevitable reality. 

“Get away from him, you bastard! Denki, run!” Shinsou’s voice cracked painfully. Bakugo winced at the sound, knowing how meticulously careful Shinsou was about his vocal cords. His voice sounded like he had gargled broken glass. 

If his heart wasn't willingly shredding itself to a visceral pulp, the sight before him surely would. 

Shinsou was sprawled out on the bed, shivering and shaking like a leaf in a snowstorm. His violet hair was soaked in sweat. The covers and pillows that Bakugo was certain had been in a neatly circular pile were scattered around him or hanging off the edge of the bed. His Chargebolt pillow, Kirishima’s early Christmas present to him, was clutched firmly in his hands. 

“Please. I'm begging you, please….” Shinsou whimpered quietly, “not him.” 

Bakugo’s eyes clouded with tears. He didn't bother wiping the wetness from his cheeks. Anyone with a soul would cry at this moment. Shinsou, a quiet, passive aggressive asshole with a naive heart and stubborn will to match, was currently fighting for their lives in his own mind.

“I'd fight Shigaraki in a time loop…” He whispered brokenly to himself, “if it would make all of this go away.” 

And, in that moment, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he really would. He would relive that day over and over again if it meant he could save the people closest to him from this brimstone laced reality. 

Knowing it wouldn't work, but unable to stop himself, he reached forward, lacing his cold, clammy fingers between Shinsou’s warm, calloused hand. 

“Toshi, wake up.” He murmured in a tone he hadn't used in years. “Wake up, Toshi.” 

Shinsou’s body stilled for a moment before resuming its defensive posture. “Please, please…” he sobbed quietly. 

Blinding rage surged through Bakugo’s body, setting his blood vessels ablaze. If he wasn't actively suppressing his quirk, the entire room would have imploded. Whatever was happening, whatever torture Shinsou was willingly enduring, the monster causing Shinsou such agony wouldn't be given the grace of Tartarus prison. Once he was found and captured, he would simply disappear. Those things still happened. It was never acknowledged and heroes were never drawn into those dark shadows, but Bakugo was far from naive. 

Troublesome people disappeared every day. The people tasked with dealing with said issues never received any acknowledgement or accolades. They simply existed as an average hero doing routine work. Their true purpose, the one even the HPSC vehemently denied, was to make the difficult decisions that would cause any sane person to question their morality. And, one of the people responsible for ensuring those villains never reappeared was lying helplessly in front of him fighting a battle utterly alone, as he so often did. 

“Denki…” Shinsou rasped. His shoulders continued to tremble, but the rest of his body had stilled, seemingly giving up. 

“God fucking damn it!” Bakugo raged. “You fucker!” 

“You just had to go fight somewhere I couldn't go! Self sacrificing bastard!” He cried angrily. 

He roughly grasped the corner of the bed, dragging his stupid, uncooperative body onto it. All rational thoughts vacated his mind as he grasped Shinsou’s shoulders, pulling him like a rag doll into a half sitting position. 

“Fucking wake up, Hitoshi!” He begged. “I can't protect you if you don't wake the fuck up!” 

His desperate pleas were met with deafening silence. 

“Damn it!” He cried. “You can't, you can't do this!” 

He dropped Shinsou, not caring about how roughly he pushed him towards the bed. 

Still like it rough, I see.

The sarcastic quip Shinsou spat the last time he pulled a stunt like this, when he decided to be a martyr to his own depreciation, made an unwelcome appearance in Bakugo’s thoughts. 

“Fuck!” He yelled to the empty room. “I don’t…” 

His colorful soliloquy abruptly stopped as his eyes caught a glimpse of a picture frame on the bedside table. 

Nestled in that forsaken hoodie was a picture of class 3-A at their last Sports Festival. Seeing himself wearing the offending garment in the picture and then seeing its worn tattered remains lying under the picture did dangerous things to his heart.

He knew Shinsou still owned the hoodie. He had worn it on their last date. When Shinsou had shown up to the apartment to pick up his belongings, he was wearing it. Bakugo could never bring himself to take it back, even when Shinsou offered it. As far as Bakugo was concerned, it belonged to Shinsou. It wasn’t just a jacket that he had bought with Shinsou on their very first date, when they both stupidly thought going to the mall with the whole class counted as a date. It was a memory, a physical reminder of the time they had shared. 

Who was Bakugo to take that away from him? 

Slowly, he pulled his glasses off of his face and rubbed them against his shirt, trying to remove the dried, salty residue his damned tears had left behind. 

As he absentmindedly wiped his glasses, he squinted at the picture. 

He could see a blurry mop of green curls kneeling in the front row. A pinkish blob sat next to the green mess. Kirishima’s undeniable red hair stood out against the pale blue background, which was presumably a sky. Then, next to Kirishima stood two figures, both in purple? Or maybe black? 

“Shit. My eyes really are fucked,” he murmured. 

Holding his frames a few inches from his face, his pupils dilated, focusing on the circular glass orbs. 

“It'll have to do,” he acquiesced. 

Plopping the spectacles on his nose, he pushed the metal bridge up with his middle finger, as he observed the once purplish black blobs. 

“Oh,” he muttered. 

The last two people were himself and Shinsou. 

“Get away…” Shinsou murmured into his pillow. 

Bakugo placed a reassuring hand on Shinsou’s calf, squeezing firmly. 

“Toshi, it's Kats. Can you…” The words stuck in his throat as he looked at the heartbreaking picture.

 “Can you hear me? Denki's okay, Toshi.” 

“K… Ka…” Shinsou’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. 

A fleeting wave of hope crashed over Bakugo. “Hitoshi? It's Kats. Can you come back to me?” 

“Kats…. Katsuki?” Shinsou’s face morphed into a depressingly sad expression. 

Bakugo twisted around on the bed, reaching out his free hand to grip Shinsou’s shoulder. He hated the hopeful, broken sound of his voice.“Yeah, Toshi. It's Kats.” 

“But Denki…” Shinsou’s body tensed. 

“Yeah, Toshi, Denks is here.” He hated lying, but it was the lesser of two evils. 

If Shinsou heard him, he didn't visibly respond. His body resumed its half defensive, half limp position as he started incoherently mumbling. Bakugo exhaled deeply through his nose. Realist or not, he couldn't prevent the torpedo of emotions ripping its way through his chest. 

Keeping a firm grip on Shinsou’s arm, he turned his attention back to the picture still clutched in his right hand. 

Five eternal seconds later, a psychotic giggle escaped his lips. 

“Of course,” he said as the maniacal giggle distorted into a chorus of laughter befitting of a lunatic. 

“Of fucking course!” He cackled, clutching his chest, positive that this was the moment his heart would stop beating. 

Staring back at him, casually propped against the entrance to the stadium, in all his dastardly glory, was another member of Nightshade. 

“Denki…” Shinsou whimpered. 

Bakugo stared solemnly at Shinsou. The picture crumpled in his hand gave him no choice, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He never went down without a fight, and he wasn't going to start now. His friends, his family, were in danger. Living without any one of them was simply not an option. 

Snatching the agency phone from the table, he quickly dialed the medics direct line. 

One ring later he spat out a terse, “Can you strengthen my heart with your quirk?” 

Indignant sputtering could be heard on the other end of the line. 

“I didn't ask what the consequences were. I'm well aware of the effects. I asked if you could strengthen the muscles of my heart with your quirk?” 

A frigid silence settled over the room before the medic whispered a soft, “yes, sir.” 

“Fucking peachy. Get your ass back up here and do it.” 

The medic meekly tried to argue, “but sir…” 

“Get your ass up here and do it now!” Bakugo screamed into the receiver.

 “I know what will happen. Just….” He looked at Shinsou before exhaling a determined breath. “Tell Momo I'm leaving explicit instructions. Just, get up here. Please.” 

The medic murmured a quiet, “okay,” before the line went dead. 

Bakugo dropped the receiver onto the table. The soft sound of a dead phone line chimed eerily throughout the otherwise silent room. Shinsou had stopped moving and mumbling. The erratic, unpredictable twitch of his brow was the only indication that he was still trapped in a tailor-made hell. 

Placing his palm over his chest, Bakugo fixed his pointed stare on the bemused smirk of the villain in the picture. His entire body began to vibrate. The resolve and determination coursing through him destroyed any intrusive thoughts that threatened to weaken his decision. 

He wasn't a coward or an idiot. He knew what he was about to attempt. The thought of reliving the experience with Shigaraki replayed in his mind. It was never the villain or the war that terrified him. No, it was the moments between when his heart exploded and when he woke up that scared him the most. The infinite void of unending darkness that stretched out in all directions with no respite in sight chilled him to his core. 

The villain inducing these nightmares thought he had seen Bakugo’s worst fear. Certainly, leaving Eijirou is tied for his worst possible fate. But, facing the void between life and death matched his fear of leaving his best friend. 

A wicked, devious smirk settled on his face. 

Unbeknownst to anyone else, Shinsou wasn't the only one who could hide his thoughts in dreams.

Chapter Text

Sleep was a fickle bitch. It always had been for Shinsou. No matter what desperate, sacrificial offering he laid at her altar, breathing techniques, supplements, relaxation methods, a piece of his soul, it never sufficed. 

By his third year at U.A., he had completely given up on the notion of sleep. On the random occasion it did happen, he considered it a mercy from the all powerful being who had a demented hold on it. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to find him fast asleep in the library stacks, under the kitchen table, or on the roof of the dorms. The dire rest his mind and body needed were not within his ability to control. This became painfully evident after he graduated, when he tried more unsavory methods to grasp any semblance of sleep. Alcohol, prescription medications, overexertion, or a tawdry mix of it all, never worked. 

Every therapist that attempted to rationalize his troubles always came to the same conclusion: his trauma caused his insomnia. Thank fuck he never had to pay for such riveting intellectual insight. The why was obvious. It was the how to fix it part that was the issue. Of course he had psychological trauma. It would be concerning if he didn't have a complex of some sort. It was Katsuki who finally offered some sage advice and pointed out the obvious thread between all of his scattered moments of rest. 

Aizawa, Midoriya, and Shinsou had all discussed the necessity of leaving a trail of breadcrumbs like a psychologically twisted fairy tail story. The best course of action was to start with a neutral memory to introduce Midoriya. Once the seed was planted, it wouldn’t make the rest of the carefully planted treats so obvious. 

Snuggling into the nest of blankets, with Aizawa’s promise to watch over Denki, Shinsou instantly succumbed to sleep with bittersweet memories reeling in his head like a retro drive-in movie for his subconscious. 

The night of their graduation, Shinsou escaped to the roof, quietly slipping out of the raucous party that all of the faculty were intentionally choosing to ignore. Sitting on the smooth concrete, with his hands at his sides and his legs splayed in front of him, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Inhaling a deep breath of crisp night air, the chaos of the night slowly faded into the background.

“I thought you might hide up here.” 

He had been so relaxed, simply enjoying the stillness of the night, that he had only faintly registered the soft click of the access door opening and closing. 

Cracking one eye open, his head still tilted back, he smirked at the scowling man behind him. Even half upside down, it was a pleasant view. 

“Just needed some fresh air,” he mused. 

Bakugo scoffed. “Fuck knows you won't get it back there. The air reeks of cheap booze. Pretty sure if I breathe too deeply, I'll catch fire.” 

Shinsou’s eyes trailed Bakugo as he settled himself next to Hitoshi. “That'd be quite the fireworks show.” 

“Oi! Fuck off, Eyebags,” Bakugo shouted. 

An ugly snort escaped Shinsou’s throat. “Still going to call me Eyebags?” 

Bakugo twisted his upper body towards Shinsou, glaring at him with a pensive expression. Reaching around his back, he dragged a plainly wrapped, brown package across his lap. With slightly shaking hands he held it towards Shinsou. 

“Here,” he murmured. “Take it.” 

“Oh?” Shinsou quirked an eyebrow. “On the roof? Gotta say, I thought our first time would be a bit more romantic, but…” 

Before he could finish, Bakugo slammed his hand over his mouth, cutting off his defectively crude humor. 

Shinsou smiled under Bakugo’s hand. It was just too easy to make him blush. Staying silent, he unwrapped the package. Settled inside the parchment was Bakugo’s hoodie that he had bought on their first date. 

He raised his eyebrows. 

Bakugo dropped his hand back to his lap. “You need to sleep.” 

Not wanting to appear like a complete idiot, Shinsou muttered, “Right, but…” 

Exhaling harshly through his nose, Bakugo explained. “You only sleep when you're wearing it. Not exactly sure why.” 

Shinsou’s eyes watered as tears threatened to spill over. “Kats, that's…” 

“You look like shit.” 

“Ever the charmer, Katsuki.” 

“Seriously, just…” Bakugo shuffled to his feet. “Get some sleep, Toshi.” 

Shinsou reclined his head backwards, watching Bakugo slip back through the door. He closed his eyes and laid the rest of the way down before pulling the hoodie firmly against his chest. 

Confusion weasled its way into Shinsou’s mind. This was a melancholy memory, but it wasn’t exactly the stage for a villainous coup and there wasn’t any opportunity to introduce Midoriya. 

“Come on, Toshi. If you want to go to the coffee shop before we head to our new place, you had better get your ass in gear.” 

Shinsou sat up slowly, pressing his palms firmly against his eyes. Blinking heavily, his eyes slowly adjusted to the muted, warm black and grey tones filling his vision. The smell of steam mixed with spicy cedar bodywash wafted in from the bathroom to his right. 

Wait…

Shinsou rubbed his eyes harshly. Glancing down, he saw a navy blue comforter resting on his lower half. He was in his bedroom. They were in his first apartment. 

Panic inducing thoughts raced through his mind. Was he not…. Wasn't he supposed to be drowning in nightmares right now? And, more importantly, since when did this moment count as a nightmare? 

There was no way his body was finally resting like a normal human. Surely, after all this time, his brain wasn’t processing his experiences in a semi-healthy manner. He was never an optimistic man, but something about these dreams spurred ridiculous feelings of hope that his jaded, worn soul couldn’t fathom. The experience was disconcerting. Previously, the villain wouldn’t waste any time once Shinsou was asleep and dreaming. He had spent the last few months running on nothing but coffee and adrenaline scattered with short naps. 

Thunderous footsteps barreled down the hallway before slamming the bedroom door open. 

“Hurry the fuck up!” Bakugo yelled. “Get your…” 

Something about Shinsou’s bewildered, lost expression made Bakugo pause mid rant. He crossed the room quietly, a stark contrast to mere moments ago. 

“Hitoshi?” Bakugo gently sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his body in a neutral position, as if he was approaching an injured animal. Glancing around the room, half packed boxes littered the floor. 

Shinsou’s eyes followed Bakugo’s line of sight. Oh, right. This was the day they were meant to move. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, we'll meet up later. Thanks, Red.” 

“Toshi, Red and Denks are going to stop by and finish packing. Let's go get some coffee.” 

“Yeah, ok.” 

The soothing balm of these dreams was unnerving. Why was he dreaming about this? What did any of this have to do with the details that Nightshade undoubtedly craved? 

A dull, hollow ache settled in his chest. These were bittersweet memories that he didn’t necessarily avoid, but he certainly didn't intentionally think about. Usually, he only thought about these moments when something reminded him of it. 

“Toshi? Hey.” 

Shinsou peered up. Wait, now he was in the coffee shop? 

“Why the fuck do we come here?” Bakugo asked peevishly, resting against the back of a gaudy blue chair. 

“It's too damn loud and has too many cats.” Bakugo swatted a cat away from his mug. “I don't want a fur ball in my damn coffee.” 

Shinsou smirked as he took in the sight of Bakugo absentmindedly petting a cat while he sipped on his drink. 

“How did the mission go?” Bakugo asked offhandedly. 

“Fine.” Shinsou replied. 

Bakugo hummed in response, knowing he wouldn't get more of an answer. 

“It was overall a success, but a dead end for my actual mission.” Shinsou continued. 

“Oh?” Bakugo prompted, not wanting to push too far. Hitoshi rarely talked about his job. He wasn't going to inadvertently ruin the moment. 

“The last few missions have been dead ends. We caught most of the gang, but my target wasn't there. Even though each mission has a separate mark, I can't help but think they're connected somehow.” Shinsou’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. Goosebumps crawled over his skin. 

“Toshi?” Bakugo asked, noting the sudden change. 

Shinsou twisted in his chair, peering behind him and out the window to the crowded street. He squinted, feeling as though someone was staring at them. 

After a moment, he turned back around. 

“Thought I saw something.” He muttered. 

Bakugo’s face pinched into a scowl, disbelief painting his features. 

“It felt like someone was staring at us.” Shinsou admitted. 

“I'm sure it's nothing.” Bakugo tried to reassure as he quickly glanced up in the same direction. “Besides, you are dating the number six hero. Of course people are going to look.” 

Shinsou’s breath switched from steady to borderline hyperventilating within seconds. Something was horribly wrong. These memories were at the very least shared information and at the very worst nuclear weapons for his psyche. There wasn’t anything in these dreams that Nightshade hadn’t already seen. Even after he trained his mind to voluntarily manipulate his subconscious thoughts, he didn’t shy away from these moments. To be fair, he didn’t voluntarily choose them either, but it had never occurred to him that there would be any useful scraps of information left.

His next gulp of breath brought him to his knees. He hit the wet pavement harshly. His lungs screamed at him as he drew in haggard breaths. 

He clutched his head and squinted his eyes shut. 

No, no, no! Not this. Anything but this!

Why was his mind pursuing the most secretly guarded moments of his life? Sure, he might be sleeping well for the first time in years, but this wasn’t the time to forego all of the torturous training that he had willingly endured. Focusing as best as he could, Shinsou reached out within his own mind, searching for any indication that the villain might be tuned in to his satirical walk down memory lane. 

Nothing. He felt completely alone. The feeling was terrifying. This wasn’t what they had planned. 

He clawed at the edges of the scene before him, desperate to escape. Thoughts of the grocery store, pet shops, ice cream dates, morgue visits, HPSC low level conversations, U.A. dorm parties, all swirled in his head. He desperately reached out towards any train of thought that would rid his mind of the scene before him. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Nope! No! Not this! Anything but this!

Shinsou grasped his head, desperately trying to keep the last dredges of his sanity from seeping out between his fingers, but all he could do was simply stare at the fateful scene before him. If he by some miracle made it out of this alive, there wouldn’t be any semblance of rationality left. 

“Get away from him, you bastard! Denki, run!” Shinsou’s voice cracked painfully. Denki skillfully dodged an attack before retreating to Shinsou’s side. 

“Denks…” Shinsou wheezed. He doubled over, firmly grasping his midsection. “This shouldn't have happened.” 

Despite the depravity of the situation, Kaminari looked at his boyfriend with a soft smile. “We're going to be okay, babe.” 

“It was classified.” Shinsou rasped. “Only top brass knew.” 

“We'll worry about that later.” 

“Denki, they said my name.” Shinsou shuddered. Whether it was from uttering that horrifying fact out loud or from the rain that pummeled his skin, he wasn't sure. 

 “Right now, my main priority is getting you away from here.” Denki spared a brief moment to kneel in front of Shinsou. “When I give the signal, haul ass as far away from here as…” 

“I'm not leaving you!” Shinsou yelled. His voice cracked, desperation seeping into every word.

“You have to get out of the blast radius, Hito.” Denki asserted tenderly. “I'll be okay. I promise.” 

Kaminari squeezed Shinsou’s shoulders tightly before standing up to face the onslaught of villains. 

“Alright fellas! Let's do this!” Kaminari yelled with a maniacal grin. 

He lifted his arms and bowed his head as if in prayer. Shinsou's lavender hair stood on end as static filled the air. Kaminari peered over his shoulder. His eyes wrinkled at the edges as he smiled lovingly at his boyfriend. 

Shinsou cast a glance towards the enemy. Standing at the far edge of the front line, shrouded in a finely tailored suit, stood a man who never took his eyes off of them. The other henchmen were all gearing up for a fight, practically vibrating with energy. But this man, he simply stood there with a pocket watch in one hand and a nightshade flower tucked into his lapel. 

No. Fuck! No!

“Denki,” Shinsou rasped. He had failed. 

“Ah, finally,” an eerie voice boomed through the chaos. 

Shinsou whirled around on his heels. The landscape changed into an empty, endless void. He lifted his hand out in front of him, but he couldn’t see it. 

“Please, please,” Shinsou begged. 

“To think it took me this long to finally figure out what you were doing,” the chilling voice sneered. 

Never in his life had he felt so terrified. In that moment, he felt just how incredibly outmatched he was in this game of information and secrets. Rationally, he knew that his intellectual brain could make this stop at any moment. His emotional brain, however, the part of his mind that guarded all of these memories, was bleeding out at an alarming rate. At this pace, he would give up all of his treasured information without a shred of resistance.

The scent of chlorine and static encased Shinsou. 

“Wow Hito, you look…” A goofy, awestruck grin settled on Denki’s face, causing his eyes to crinkle at the edges. 

“Let’s get on with it,” Aizawa drawled, “before it starts raining.” 

“Right!” Denki beamed. “Come on, Hito.” 

He looped his arm around Shinsou’s, twisting both of their bodies so they faced Aizawa. 

“Do you Shinsou Hitoshi take Kamanari Denki to be your lawfully wedded husband…” 

“No!” Shinsou sobbed. “Please, please… Not this. Anything but this.” 

“Oh? Don’t care to relive such a happy occasion?” The villain jeered. “Suit yourself.”

A wave of relief crashed over Shinsou as the memory dissipated in front of him. He crouched down, wrapping his arms around himself. 

In the distance, he could see the plumes of smoke, seemingly from a fire. He tried to stand, but his knees gave out. Despite his mind’s ability to experience these horrors, his body couldn’t withstand the physical effects. 

“How pathetic,” the omnipotent voice scolded. “No matter.”

In the blink of an eye, the mirage off in the distance raced towards him until he was sitting in the middle of the scene. 

Surrounded by a raging fire, his eyes immediately landed on the bodies in front of him. To his left lay Midoriya and Kirishima’s mangled corpses, tangled in awkward, nauseous angles. The pool of red puddling beneath them snuffed out any shreds of hope that he might have had at their survival. To his right, Denki and Katsuki laid on the bejeweled colored floor. Rain poured through the sharp angles and gaping holes in the roof, undoubtedly left by lightning and explosions. The wedding band that Kamanari wore on a chain around his neck was resting on his chest. Bakugo was sprawled on top of Kamanari, as if he had tried to shield him. He was wearing…

A heart-wrenching, broken cry tore its way through Shinsou’s throat. 

They had always known. Not for one iota of a second was he ever in control. 

“I’ve got to say, it took me a little while to realize what you were up to, but once I saw the pattern, it all made sense.” The villain, the man from that outnumbered fight that neither Denki or him were meant to survive, stepped out from amongst the fiery rubble, revealing himself for the first time. 

That small, yet incredibly important fact sent a deathly chill down Shinsou’s spine. 

“You are just like them,” the man said softly. “Suppressing your thoughts and then triggering them with a neural stimulus was a really smart move. Truly. Once I caught on to your little cat and mouse game, I decided to have one of my own.”

“You…” Shinsou choked on his words. The diabolical horror that coursed through him rendered any ability to speak. 

“You see, Hitoshi, I may not possess the prowess of your mother or father, but neural stimuli can be used in many ways. It only took a few repetitive glances at your rather harmless dreams for me to make the connection.”

“The hoodie. Rain.” Shinsou hiccupped out between sobs. How could he not have predicted this? How could he have been so careless? 

“Exactly,” the villain mused. 

He lifted his arms, sweeping them out before him. A sarcastic tone seeped it’s way into his voice. 

“This isn’t just a night terror, Hitoshi. Consider it a premonition.” 

Chapter Text

Life is defined by a series of choices. Each decision in life carves the path you will blindly follow. 

If you noticed an itch in your throat, an occasional sneeze or cough, you might credit it to the changing seasons. But, two weeks later when you lay in a hospital bed with pneumonia, the series of events that led you to that moment could be traced back to choosing not to wear a jacket on a rainy day two weeks ago.

The decisions a person made not only influenced their own life, but they also had an indirect impact on others. Each decision had an equal, opposite reaction. If you overslept due to a raging hangover and ran late for work, then you could credit the enraging stand still traffic to the fact that you woke up late, thereby forcing you to join the rest of the procrastinators on your morning commute. But, the person who left on time that same morning, sitting upside down in the car six blocks away because of the truck that plowed through the red light, was the unfortunate recipient of your choice to get drunk on a work night. 

The level 5 hero alert, calling all heroes to report to a raging structure fire in the middle of a metropolitan area, wasn't a coincidence. Sure, these things happened, but it was never by chance.

Midoriya might still be viewed as the epitome of sunshine and optimism, but too much had happened in his life for him to have blind faith. 

Stepping outside of the agency’s emergency defense system barrier, he could see the large plume of smoke in the distance. 

He reached out, grasping Kirishima’s arm. “Kiri, this is probably a trap.” 

Kirishima stared at the sky, watching the early morning dawn disappear behind a canvas of blazing red and orange hues. “Yeah, probably.” 

“But you came anyway.” 

Kirishima huffed out a shaky breath. “Yep." 

Midoriya settled both hands on his hips. “To protect Kacchan.” 

Kirishima glanced knowingly at his friend. “Just like you.” 

Midoriya continued to stare at the raging inferno. “Yep.” 

A soft, thankful expression painted Kirishima's face. He extended a fist towards Midoriya. “Thanks, Izuku.” 

Midoriya fist bumped Kirishima. “He's my family, too.” 

Without another word, they sprinted towards the scene. 

“Can you do it or not?” 

Bakugo leveled a deathly glare at the medic who, to their credit, matched his gaze with a defiant look of their own. They both stubbornly stood just inside the entrance to the apartment, resolutely standing their ground.

“I can do it, but I won't.” 

“The fuck?!” Bakugo hissed.

He cast a worried glance over his shoulder, vaguely hearing Shinsou’s terrified shouts. 

“It's my choice! I said fucking fix it!” 

The medic crossed his arms, seemingly unperturbed by the outrage. Bakugo’s inability to stop listing from side to side considerably weakened his credibility. 

“I told you, only a few hours ago, why I won't do it.” 

Bakugo’s brow furrowed. The fact he couldn't recall that conversation was something to ponder over later. Right now, he needed to go protect his friends. Shinsou would be safe at the agency. Trapped in purgatory, sure, but safe nonetheless. 

That was exactly why he had to do this. If it was something so powerful that Shinsou couldn't escape it, then the only way he would make it out of this was if the quirk user broke the connection. A dozen, incredibly unheroic ways to make that happen flickered in his mind, and at this point, they all were his preferred choices.

He may have chosen a life of heroism, but he was still human. 

“Look,” he rested his hands on his hips and exhaled sharply through his nose. 

“My family is in danger. Just, please.” He pleaded. “I understand the risks.” 

“Dynamight, sir. It's not like healing Red Riot's knee. Which, may I remind you, will never be quite as strong again because of that very fact.” 

“I know,” Bakugo whispered. He's not sure when his rage turned into desperation, but it wasn't doing his heart any favors. 

“Forcing a muscle to heal causes irreparable damage. This isn’t just some muscle, sir. It's your heart.” 

Bakugo cast his eyes towards the floor. 

The uncanny similarity to past conversations was unnerving. Toshi told him that his mother had used the same excuse when she explained her reasoning for slowly healing his neural pathways over time instead of all in one go. Aizawa said the same thing when he admitted that he not only knew about his parents, but had kept contact with them over the years. If his mind had been forced to heal before it was ready, he would have gone insane or completely brain dead. This was the same principle with a different but arguably equally important organ. 

A tense beat of silence passed. 

“I'll do it.” 

“Thank…” 

The medic held up their hand. “I'm not finished.” 

Bakugo simply nodded, desperately clinging to the thread of hope. 

“I'll do it, but only to give you enough stamina to release small explosions.” 

“But!” 

“Anything more than that will be fatal.” 

“I know my limits,” Bakugo protested. 

“No, you clearly do not!” 

Bakugo’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, completely taken aback by the usually docile man's outburst. 

The medic stoically walked over to him and placed his hand directly over his heart. 

“You do realize that you can never fully recover after this?” 

“I know.” 

“Small explosions only. And I don't know how quickly it will wear off. The same concept applies, the more you use your quirk, the quicker it destroys your heart. That is especially true in this case since you haven't been able to burn off all the stored up nitroglycerin in your body.” 

“Yeah.” Bakugo swallowed a painful lump in his throat. 

“Frankly, it's amazing you're still conscious. Like we discussed, there is a long term treatment plan. Medication and triage could have turned this around. But now…” 

“Now?” Bakugo whispered softly. 

A faint green glow emanated from the medic's hand. “For now, just make sure you come back, Dynamight.” 

The shrill sound of Shinsou screaming for Denki pierced through the room. 

“Goddamn it.”

“Finished.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” Bakugo murmured. 

“Don't mention it. Ever.” 

“I've left instructions with Momo, in case things…” Bakugo trailed off, unable to give life to the thought. 

The medic nodded his head. “We'll start your triage tomorrow.” 

Bakugo fought the misty wetness shrouding his vision. “I'll be there.” 

“Denki!” 

Bakugo swiftly closed the door and bolted to Shinsou’s side.

“Toshi, sshh…” Bakugo murmured, “Denki's gonna be alright. I'll protect him.” 

“Kats?” 

Bakugo jumped at the response. “Toshi, can you hear me?” 

Shinsou’s face crumpled with a pitiful, heartbroken expression. Silent tears streamed from his eyes. He could hear Bakugo, but he was paralyzed, trapped in between sleep and consciousness.

Images of his time with Bakugo and Denki blended together with all of the intrusive thoughts and buried emotions that he had locked away. 

“You couldn't protect him.” 

“You weren't good enough.” 

“He's going to die because of you.” 

“It's your fault.” 

Vicious thoughts slithered around in his head. He was unsure whether it was the villain saying them or if it was his own subconscious. 

Image after image flashed by him. He pulled himself into a fetal position and held on because his life truly depended on it. The sights and smells of his most cherished moments melded together. The once realistic images of what could have been mixed with the memories of the reality he now lived in. Amidst the cacophony of stimulation surging past him, one chilling realization sunk its teeth into his battered mind; he no longer knew which memories were real. 

“Red Riot. Deku. Come in.”

Both heroes activated the nano communication device in their left ears as they continued to race towards the scene.

“Riot en route.”

“Deku's with Riot.”

Momo’s relieved exhale sent a soft hum of static noise through their ears. 

“Alert update: Fire is localized to a café approximately three blocks south.”

“Eraserhead and Chargebolt are en route.”

“Wait, why?” Kirishima came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Midoriya crouched down next to him, taking a moment to assess the situation from their new position. The frantic gaggle of people stampeding away from the area gave them a wide berth. 

“Everyone has been told to fall back.”

Kirishima and Midoriya shared a look. 

“What's Dynamight’s status?” Kirishima asked cautiously. 

“He's with NightHide.” 

The relief that surged through Kirishima was disorienting. He crouched down next to Midoriya, steepling his fingers, exhaling a deep breath. 

“Keep us updated.” 

“Will do.”

“Denki must have said something really convincing to make Kacchan stay at the agency.” 

Kirishima pushed the intrusive thoughts running rampant in his head to the back of his mind. “Yep.” 

Midoriya patted Kirishima’s arm reassuringly, as if he somehow understood his internal plight. “Let's go.” 

“Midoriya. Kirishima.” Aizawa's voice cracked through their ear pieces. “Something's not adding up. Be careful.” 

“Right.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to wrangle his adrenaline into a manageable level. 

Repeat: Structure fire three blocks south. Red Riot and Deku en route. 

He exhaled an irritated breath. “Fucking annoying goddamn intercom system.” 

Grasping Shinsou’s shoulders, he promised, “I'll keep him safe, Toshi. I'll bring Denki back.” 

Nightshade had ripped his and Hitoshi's lives apart, leaving them to piece together the remnants of the patchwork path of what remained. He would be damned if they did the same thing again. 

Midoriya wasn’t the last holder of One for All by sheer luck. Tracing the cause and effects of his inheritance of One for All and then his decision to relinquish the herald quirk took a considerable chunk of his sanity. So, when Shinsou and Aizawa stepped into his classroom on a rainy Friday afternoon and explained what had happened with Nightshade, he knew that the choices of the people in his life were all converging on a singular point. 

This was all too apparent when he and Kirishima slowed to a cautious pace outside the fiery shop.  

Instantly, he deduced two theories.

One, this wasn't a fire. At least, not in the most literal sense. It was quirk based, a mirage, a visual deception.

Two, the choice to erase Shinsou’s memory had a ripple effect that not even his parents could have predicted. 

He might not still possess the physical abilities granted to him by One for All, but he had something far more precious. His ability to analyze situations, uncover minute details, and trace patterns were all skills he possessed before he had an ability that society deemed worthy of praise. Those abilities only sharpened over time.

Shinsou and Aizawa were without a doubt two of the best underground heroes the HPSC had at their disposal. Their abilities were next level and truly terrifying. But Izuku Midoriya, Hero Deku, U.A. teacher, and saviour of the world, was not disposable. The HPSC learned that particular truth the hard way when Midoriya single handedly gutted the entire organization from behind his teacher’s desk. 

“Deku.” 

“Here.”

“For your ears only, at Dynamight’s request.” 

Midoriya clenched his jaw, bracing himself for the next statement. 

“He's heading that way. He…” It was apparent Momo was struggling to keep her composure. With an exasperated, bitter huff she said, “The medic strengthened his heart with their quirk.” 

“Goddamn it Momo! You weren't supposed to… You know what, fuck it, we don't have time. Izuku, Toshi's compromised. He's trapped. They meant for this to happen. All of it. They've been tracking us since U.A.” 

Midoriya hated being right. 

Chapter Text

“Kiri, do you trust me?” 

“With my life.” 

The immediate, unwavering answer should have been comforting, but it wasn't. 

He promised Kacchan that he would keep Kirishima safe. 

Now, not only were they in danger, but Kacchan was also heading this way. That fact alone evoked a profound sense of instinctual protectiveness in him. He lost Kacchan once; he wouldn’t lose him again. 

Standing just outside the invisible barrier of safety, he knew that in order to keep not just Kirishima but everyone else safe, he had to reach into the deepest depths of his subconscious and call forth the ghosts that he laid to rest years ago. 

He was no fool. Nightshade predicted all of this. They subliminally influenced all of the choices that his friends had made for years. The complicated network of probabilities and outcomes was masterfully calculated. Being a part of the investigation was meant to be an off the books type of deal. The nightmare that stood before him clearly proved otherwise.

Turning to Kirishima, he grasped both of his forearms in a firm grip. “This won't make any sense, but I need you to promise me that you will trust me no matter what happens.” 

Kirishima blinked owlishly at Midoriya’s pensive expression. Underneath the steely resolve in his eyes hid the faintest hints of fear. There was no trace of a smile on his face. Whatever they were about to fight had Deku grimacing with barely shrouded worry. 

A spike of panic induced adrenaline surged through his chest. No matter what they were up against, he would overcome it. He was the unbreakable hero; it was time to live up to his name. 

 “I swear.” 

“Can you open the door? It won't hurt.” 

Kirishima’s eyes widened. Sure, his quirk was especially useful in times like these, but why would they want to walk straight into a burning building that looked like it was seconds away from collapsing? 

“Riot?” The professional tone shook him out of his train of thought. 

For better or worse, he made a promise. 

Extending a shaky, hardened hand, Kirishima grasped the doorknob of the engulfed door and slowly pushed it open.

Even with his hardening, the hot poker of a doorknob should have blistered his palms. His eyes should be stinging from the smoke and ash swirling around in the air. Searing, heavy smoke should be filling his lungs, starting a silent timer that would trigger his slip into unconsciousness from oxygen deprivation. The acrid, toxic scent of burnt acrylic and linoleum should be permeating his senses. 

The door creaked open ominously with no hint of resistance. A flicker of surprise mixed with genuine confusion addled his mind for the briefest of moments before the realization clicked in his brain.

This was yet another mental deception. 

“Holy shit,” he cursed under his breath. 

The logical part of his brain understood that he was not actually standing in the midst of a raging fire. But, the instinctual part of his brain, the one screaming fire, danger, potential death, was doing its damndest to get him the hell out of there. 

“Fuck,” Midoriya whispered harshly. 

This task was already S ranked level difficult, reserved for the elite among the elite. They hadn't even crossed the threshold and he knew with undeniable certainty that this would be the hardest fight of his adult life. 

Neural stimulation was a powerful tool. It could be used to heal or to destroy. Undoubtedly, the villains intended to rip apart any semblance of sanity they possessed until they couldn't trust their own realities. 

What better way to coerce their intuition into submission than by forcing them to voluntarily not trust their instincts in order to survive?

Midoriya was fairly certain his skull was cracking in half as he forced his mind to ignore the wall of fire he was voluntarily stepping towards. 

Once they crossed the hellish threshold, the room distorted, as if the matter fabricating the room together expanded and molded in on itself until reality slotted itself back into place. Gone was the fire lapping against the oak frame of the crumbling building. The smoke, fire, and debris simply disappeared, replaced by the quaint coziness of the coffee shop they had all come to associate with their fondest memories and worst dreams. 

“Your reputation was not an exaggeration.” 

Lazing contentedly in a plush midnight blue velvet chair sat a sharply dressed, middle aged man. His voice, the source of the toxin laced compliment, was like whiskey, smooth with a burning finish. He peered over the newspaper in his hands, finally acknowledging their presence, before tossing the paper on the table in front of him. 

“Most people can't overcome my quirk with sheer willpower and determination. They either run or succumb to their fear.” 

Kirishima and Midoriya kept their eyes fixed on the man, but neither made any attempt at conversation. After a decade-long friendship with Shinsou, they knew better. 

“Ah, I see. Not willing to speak? I can assure you, that's not how my quirk works.”  

He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Have a seat heroes. Besides, it's been a slow day for business.” 

Midoriya and Kirishima exchanged a wary glance. 

Was this guy actually serious? 

He was either incredibly idiotic or ridiculously powerful. Considering the events of the last few days, it was probably the latter, which did nothing to quell the bubbling cauldron of panic mixed with fear in the pit of their stomachs. 

“Come, come.” The man waved at them impatiently. “Sit down. The cavernous hole behind you is widening. I'd imagine being ripped to shreds by the jagged spikes of rock jutting out from the sides of the earth wouldn't be a pleasant way to spend your last moments.” 

Kirishima could sense the shift of the ground and smell the putrid, noxious odor of decay before he even turned around. The boiling air of trapped heat slammed into his face, sucking the breath from his lungs. The undeniable certainty of death loomed behind him.

“Fuck! Deku, move!” 

“Riot! Wait! It's not…” Before he could finish, Kirishima crashed into his side, sending them both careening into the closest table and chairs. Thank goodness he had his hero suit on. Otherwise, Kirishima would have easily cracked a rib or three. Judging by the sharp pain in his back, it might have happened anyways. 

“Riot,” he spoke calmly, "we're safe. It's not real.” 

Kirishima’s body tensed in its protective crouch over Midoriya. He snapped his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Timidly, he slowly opened his eyes. 

“Shit!” He scrambled clumsily over the broken pieces of furniture, pulling himself and Midoriya up. 

“Impressive.” The villain still sat in his chair, seemingly unbothered and mildly amused. 

“I knew you were formidable, Hero Deku. But, I must say, the aura around your mind is quite interesting. Consider me intrigued.” 

Midoriya placed a reassuring palm on Kirishima’s slightly trembling shoulder.

 “Are you okay?” 

Kirishima’s throat felt impossibly dry. “What… What was that?” 

“Sensory imagery.” Midoriya glared at the villain expectantly. 

A terrifyingly gleeful smirk settled on the man's face. “As I said, I don't need a verbal response from you, unlike most of my relatives. You see, it only requires a verbal cue from me.”

Considering their opponent and how extremely difficult it was to gather any intel at all, this was more than likely the leader who they were told could cause hallucinations, which was a grossly simplistic explanation compared to his actual ability. 

“Sensory imagery?” Kirishima murmured. 

“It’s a technique that uses descriptive words to create an image.” Midoriya explained, never taking his eyes off the villain. “Depending on how descriptive the imagery is, it causes a person’s mind to see, hear and smell whatever image is in front of them, even though it’s not actually there.” 

A singular chorus of clapping filled the otherwise silent shop like a gun being fired off at close range. “Bravo! Of course a U.A. teacher would recognize the technique.” 

He was trying to keep up, but Kirishima felt so lost. “Deku?” 

“It’s a writing technique, but in his case, it’s his quirk. That’s why he doesn’t need a verbal response.” 

Sucking in a sharp breath Midoriya focused on keeping his voice devoid of any emotion. “It’s basic human nature. He doesn’t need a response from anyone because people are fundamentally wired to react a certain way with a visual image. If it’s powerful enough…” 

“They think the image is real,” Kirishima finished. His mind drifted back to mere moments ago when he genuinely thought the Earth had split open just to swallow them. 

Goosebumps radiated along every inch of his exposed skin. He had reacted so quickly to the imminent danger. His body simply moved. How could he fight a villain when he’s always relied on his instincts? His instincts have saved thousands of lives. The split second reactions in crisis situations have kept him alive. He couldn’t count the number of times it kept Katsuki safe. 

Kirishima could feel the panic in his chest start to bubble over. How can he defeat someone who is his perfect enemy? 

He felt a painful squeeze against his shoulder. 

“Red.” 

Ragged shallow breaths filled his ears. Had he been hyperventilating? 

“I’m fine,” he assured. 

Risking a glance around the room,  Midoriya saw no sign of anyone else. In fact, the shop appeared completely untouched. Half empty cups of coffee and stray pastries littered various tables. Chairs were pushed back from the tables or strewn on the ground, no doubt from the illusionary fire. 

“I assure you, I’m the only one in the room.” 

The pleasant smile on the man’s face didn’t match his eyes that looked like they were a door to the ether. Midorya didn’t miss the way he phrased only one in the room. 

“Deku,” Kirishima said in the steadiest voice he could muster. 

“Yeah, I know.”

They were outmatched. This was a battle completely out of their league. Both heroes, as formidable as they were, had never encountered a villain that they couldn’t take down with a few well timed punches or a relentless barrage of attacks. Sure, they could charge towards this man right now and hope they got the drop on him, but they would have to do it before he could speak. Only a few well chosen words could have either one or both of them trapped in their own minds. 

“Admittedly, my twin has the better quirk between the two of us.” 

Midoriya snapped his attention towards the man. The gears in his brain were grinding rapidly. Why was he freely telling them this? He’s a twin? Weren’t Shinsou’s mother and uncle twins, too? 

The man crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap, leaning back against the chair. “A simple touch and he can cause the most devilish night terrors.”

Well, fuck. 

This was bad. No, scratch that. This was ten seconds to midnight doomsday level horror. 

One villain could conjure up your worst nightmares within your dreams. The other could give life to those fears, making you doubt your own senses and instincts. Twin quirks were common, but apparently they were a staple in the Shinsou family blood line. To make matters worse, the paired quirks were wielded by psychomaniacs with a penchant for torture. If Midoriya believed in luck, he would thank the gods that the villains were currently split up. There was no possible way they could survive a fight if both villains were attacking them. Even if one of them needed you to be asleep, he had no doubt that the other could induce an image that would force your body into a fitful slumber. 

The human mind could only endure so much pain, whether it be physical, mental or emotional. Physical pain was an old friend to them all, but mental and emotional agony was in a league of its own. 

 Despite the useful, albeit suspiciously voluntary information, something wasn't adding up. 

With a quirk like that, he could have easily ensnared them by now. The villain obviously knew their weaknesses. 

The lightbulb flickered brightly in Midoriya’s head. 

He was giving them a choice. 

“Again, your reputation precedes you.” The man shifted in his chair, leaning slightly to the left, allowing some of his weight to be held up by the table. 

Kirishima’s determinant gaze clocked every move. The man wasn't taking a defensive position, yet he exuded power. He turned his head slightly, revealing a jagged, shiny pink scar running from his temple to the junction of his throat, a lingering gift from Kamanari. 

“Your fate rests solely in my cousin's hands.” 

“Our fate?” Kirishima tried and failed to keep the worried tone out of his voice. 

“If…” Midoriya crouched down, balancing his weight on the soles of his feet. He clasped his hands together, resting his thumbs under his chin and his index fingers against the bridge of his nose. 

His mind tracked the choices of his friends over the last few hours. Shinsou willingly dove headfirst into the deep end of a nightmare in order to end this all without involving his friends. Kirishima didn’t hesitate to rush to an all heroes emergency call. Aizawa and Kamanari, once they found out where the fire was, immediately sprinted to their aid, knowing it was a trap. He thought about Kacchan’s reckless decision to temporarily heal himself in order to rush to Kirishima’s side. 

They had all been given a choice, but Nightshade knew what they would choose. 

“If Shinsou wakes up from his night terror, then the other villain will wake up too.”

“But what…” 

“Kiri.” Midoriya sucked in a deep breath. There was no need to keep up the professional act. What they were about to experience, what they were more than likely going to need to do, was not heroic. 

“If Shinsou somehow manages to defeat the villain, that means he will wake up here.” 

“Shit. That means…” 

Midoriya peered over his fingers, locking eyes with the calm man sitting across the room. He could only hope that Shinsou deduced the same theory. Otherwise, they weren’t going to win.

“It means, Shinsou has to choose between saving himself or saving us.”