Chapter Text
He's not lying when he says he's crying.
Most people wouldn't believe this atrocity, and he hopes it will always be that way. Because he knows his cheeks are wet, he feels them all over his face from his futile attempt to stop crying by running his hand over his face.
It was just a nightmare, a dream, a memory of what he needs to bury. What he needs to destroy from his memory.
He hates dreams, he hates sleeping.
These are moments when he can't control anything about himself. You can control what time you go to sleep, you can control what time you need to wake up with your alarm always at 6:30am. But you can never control what you dream about, and he knows for sure that he will revive Kacchan, revive memories of someone dead.
He know he will see him again, he will feel it all again.
Because he knows that the moment he woke up, it wasn't because of his alarm, it wasn't because he wanted to. It was because he wasn't in control.
He knows those calloused hands were running over him, over and over again, every night. And all because he wasn't in control, he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't capable enough.
He had already manifested his quirk, he already had the weapons to blow up that depraved imbecile's face.
And yet...he couldn't. Well, Kacchan couldn't.
Kacchan, that child of only 5 years old, could do nothing but scream, kick, cry, whimper. He became a useless child who, to this day, still has territory in his memories.
And Katsuki hates having to live under the past. But there he is, at 2:19am, crying for a nameless man, for memories that are not his. Remembering how hands not his, destroy again and again the Kacchan's body.
As much as he despises feeling vulnerable, he knows he needs to let it out. Because it's the only way to not lose himself.
And getting lost will lead to a fall into that war that he despises, that war for control. That war of who paints the most flowers.
Katsuki thinks that the color red is an indication of going crazy, but white doesn't suit a rotten body at all.
Katsuki thinks it's blue.
And try to have the flower garden full of blue flowers. Not white, not red. But to be honest, if that field was a sky of blue petals, he wouldn't be crying right now.
What stupidity, what a mess.
So Kacchan.
Blinking so many times isn't helping to stop the horrible salt water that your eyes try to get out every second. Neither is squeezing the wrinkled navy blue sheets.
So close, he is so close.
That damn smiling cat is so close. Too close to the one that turns your stomach upside down.
He hates that smiling cat that lives looking at him, looking with that disgusting smile of the atrocities he committed.
How his tail became tangled around his ruised small body. How the sharp teeth, in an oval, marked the mark of the Alice.
The mark that exudes inner misery, that encapsulates pain and the desire for death. Alice is blue. Kacchan is white. Katsuki is blue, red, white... black.
He is all the colors, because he has been through all the colors, he has been through everything in a different color palette, but blue is his color. He likes orange, but blue represents him, and he is scared about the color blue.
Blue is everywhere. In his dreams, in his soul, in the eyes of that smiling cat.
His fingers peel away from the duvet, traveling with hunger for pain to the roots of his hair. Pulling them out in an overwhelming anger at the heartbreak and lack of control.
His eyes can no longer reproduce pain, that means he will fall into the world of wonders. He doesn't want to be Alice again.
But everything around him becomes shaky, dark on either side. Voices and echoes in his head recreate the new scene of the upside-down world.
Katsuki returned to the wonderland in his mind...
... again.
——
Alice has always been a spoiled child, needing attention and wanting people to read that book without pictures because she thinks it's boring. She doesn't want to waste her time on such stupid things.
Katsuki sees from his own eyes, which is from Alice's perspective. Where he witnesses the decline of that immature childhood, where it mix Kacchan with Alice and they become one to destroy Katsuki.
And he hates it, he doesn't want to see it again. He doesn't want to repeat the same scene that isn't even complete. Which in some way starts the madness where he is.
He doesn't remember everything, but the world of wonders doesn't want you to be empty with only pieces of bread at the great dinner of pain. Therefore, it completes the dinner with a banquet where it will give you stomach pains.
Where through those parts completed by madness, you cannot differentiate what is real and what is not.
A laugh quietly appears in that dirty and dark place. Where he knows it will happen, some things always change, but the result is the same. That cat destroyed Alice. He destroyed Kacchan.
And he mentally destroyed Katsuki. He hopes Dynamight doesn't lose to Chessur.
Because he doesn't know how much longer Katsuki Bakugou will endure.
Chessur doesn't like being challenged, Dynamight can control that. Katsuki knows he can do it. He must do it. He needs it, him and Katsuki. Body and mind need Dynamight to be willing.
Because now Katsuki is in the house of the white rabbit he wanted to chase. He returned to the world of wonders, and Kacchan's memories spread once again.
He sees those blue eyes, so bright and majestic for a cat still sickly.
He watches as the cat approaches, already displaying an unnatural transformation, a cat with a human body. A human man.
He caresses his spiky hair, his back sends an electric current, he knows how this will continue.
The man seems to say some words that he doesn't understand, he doesn't remember what he said. But he does remember the touch, because it goes from his hair to his cheeks, from his cheeks to his neck. He doesn't want to feel it anymore, because it's so cold. His hands are so cold.
He needs me to take them off. He wants me to get them off.
Watch as Kacchan's memory shows him putting a hand on his hands, trying to get them off him. The man is big, his hands are small.
He is not in control.
The hands grip him tightly by his sides. It hurts. They throw him down onto the ground, he can feel the adrenaline rushing through his little body. He kicks and punches whatever he can, needing to get it off of him.
The man speaks again in a calm voice, still not remembering what he said. He can feel a hard blow to his ribs, a hand on his neck, hollowing out the oxygen.
He feels tears streaming down his cheeks as he writhes in pain. Another blow lands in his stomach.
He coughs for oxygen, remembers scratching his arm, his hand. He remembers his need to get out.
The man looks at him with a peace that Katsuki doesn't understand, but it disgusts him. He's even more disgusted by his actions, by how he comes closer to kiss his wet cheeks.
He feels caged, he doesn't like this.
Fear runs through every part of his body as he feels a great weight on him, a hand trying to take off his shorts.
No. No. No. No. No. No.
His kisses are filled with a hot lava, filling him with burns that he will never forgive. Kisses that run through every part of his face until they reach his lips. His small lips close, not wanting to let him touch it.
He remembers that at that moment he heard his mother's voice
"The kiss is special, you decide who you will kiss when you are older, okay"
He doesn't want to kiss him, he doesn't want to, he doesn't want him. He is supposed to decide, where is his option? Where is it?
A hand runs under her shorts, caressing and scratching her thighs, heading for...no. He needs to get him off. Now.
If anyone were to see this scene, it would be like a bird trying to devour a worm, the worm writhes in search of a way out. But we all know that birds are much more higher then a worm.
That man is bigger than Kacchan. Than Katsuki.
He tries to scream, but his throat is so tight that only heart-wrenching whimpers come out, giving the man room to access his mouth.
The saliva wrapping themselves around him give an instinct to expel it, to vomit it out, but the tongue rough prevents him from doing so.
The kiss is with teeth, giving a metallic taste through the child's cracked lips. Making him only taste his own blood than the nameless man.
His legs are cold without their clothes, and the man places himself between them to give off a warmth that would only benefit a monster.
He knows it will happen, it will hurt, it will be rotten, it will hurt, it will be full of evil in itself. It's gonna hurt.
And...And a repetitive, loud noise starts again.
——
Like a camera zooming in, everything around him becomes even bigger. The sound of the table next to his bed catches him off guard.
It's his alarm, it's filling the room with its distinctive number 6:30am in fluorescent green color. And then he realizes he's been spending all his time in Wonderland instead of sleeping. In his mind.
Wonderland left him staring at the wet sheets in his lap, left him with his body shaking, left him with empty eyes filled with water, left him dry. Left him mad and rotten again.
He place his hands on his face, trying to hide from the ghosts in that room, the ghosts of Kacchan who look at him with rotten eyes. Not wanting to see them and not wanting them to see him in that state.
Let them see him so weak, so broken.
Let them see him defeated in the garden of control, where he lost like so many times.