Chapter Text
He couldn't think about All Might or One for All. He had too much to do, and so little time. He had to talk to Sato about the food and Jirou about the music and Deku's friends about speeches and Nezu and Aizawa about venue options.
It should be at UA. Right? This is the first place he'd felt at home in his own skin. Since they were kids, at least. His entire elementary and middle school careers had been plagued by violent dreams in a frail body with quirkism and bullying around every corner. UA is where that changed. This is where he would want to be remembered, right? He would want to be remembered as what he'd become.
Bright eyes shining up at him, overwhelming him.
Vacant eyes staring at nothing, hurting him.
His parents had asked for help with the guest list. He knew Deku better than they did. He wanted to say no. He didn't want to talk to anyone else who loved him and lost him because he'd failed.
But Deku deserved a proper send-off, surrounded by people who knew how much he meant to the world.
People who saw him for what he truly was.
So he'd sacked up and taken Deku's phone from Inko when she came by the next morning. She had a new phone for him too. He tried not to be pissed that his parents had deigned to make her deliver it. She already had too much on her plate, she shouldn't have to worry about him.
She had to start packing up Deku's things.
His chest was in a vice grip as he led her to the second floor. "I can do this for you, Auntie," he offered quietly. "If this is too hard—"
"Thank you, Katsuki," she replied quietly, voice shaking. "But I don't want you to take on too much, sweetheart."
Too kind. Too soft. "Wouldn't be," he lied. "It's the least I can do."
"You're already planning the wake," she said, gripping his hand. "You're already taking on so much. I should be doing that but I couldn't—"
"You don't have to explain," he said, voice rough and uncharacteristically gentle . "I can't fuckin' imagine what this is like for you. You don't have to do shit if you don't want to. I promise I'll do whatever you can't."
She squeezed his hand harder. "As long as you promise you won't do it alone either."
He swallowed, nodding. He still couldn't look her in the eye. She was asking him not to do it alone, even though he'd left her son to die alone. He'd been alone. Why did he get to lean on people when Deku hadn't and died because of it.
Strong hands fighting, taking on the world.
Limp hands at rest, taking on nothing.
They were in front of Deku's door now and there was nowhere on earth that scared him as much. It hit him all at once—the awful reality really taking root as he looked at that stupid All Might nameplate on Deku's door. He was dead. He was gone. And soon, every trace of him would be scrubbed clean out of UA, including this stupid nameplate and whatever lay behind it. His eyes burned. "I'm so sorry," he blurted. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there," he sobbed, tears gathering all at once. "I should have been there, I should have—"
Inko threw Deku's door open and dragged him inside despite how he dug his heels in. "Sit down, Katuski," she instructed, somehow stern and soft at the same time. He sat. Her hand smoothed over one of his shoulders as she used the other to tilt his chin up so that he would look her in the eye.
He didn't want to. He couldn't. But she wanted him to. He owed her, so he looked.
Her gaze assaulted him and he sobbed again, gritting his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut. Warm eyes so loving and pained and familiar, but not familiar enough. His shoulders shook under her palm, breath scraping through crumpled lungs as he curled in on himself. She pulled him in to wrap her arms around him as he cried, rubbing his back gently as she shushed him quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" he gasped into her shoulder.
"This isn't your fault," she replied quietly, resting her chin on his head. "And I don't blame you at all, sweetheart, so please don't blame yourself."
"I should have been there—"
"He should have taken the week off. He should have asked for a replacement patrol partner. He should have called for backup. He should have stayed out of the way. He should have—"
"He did his best, it's my fault—"
"He did do his best, but he wasn't perfect. He technically did everything right, but he knew what he was getting into when he chose to patrol alone," she said, murmuring the words into his hair. He didn't deserve this. "There's no point in blaming ourselves. The only person we should be blaming is the villain who decided that a few diamonds were worth murder. You knew him. What would he say to you if he heard you blaming yourself?"
He'd tell him that it wasn't his fault. But that didn't mean much. He'd always said that. He'd had a twelve-year track record of letting Katsuki off the hook too easily.
He wondered if anyone would tolerate him now that Deku wasn't around to absolve him of every shitty thing he did. Who would ever love him like that, ever again?
Wide smile comforting, giving him hope.
Blank face torturing him, filling him with guilt.
Inko promised to come find him if it was too much. She'd made him promise to find someone if he was overwhelmed.
He wouldn't. He was already overwhelmed and he'd barely done anything. But he couldn't pawn it off on a classmate or make Inko take it on. He could pull it back together long enough to get through the funeral.
He could. He would.
He went to Hagakure next. He didn't have her number saved—he didn't have most of his classmates' numbers saved. He was an asshole. He didn't understand why they were letting him take the lead here. Not when so many of them could do this so much better.
"Bakugou?" Hagakure caught his attention. When had she even opened the door? "Are you okay?"
No. "I'm fine," he muttered. "I uh—" he swallowed. "I need help finding pictures of Deku. With friends and shit. Can you—"
"Yeah, of course," she agreed. "I'll send you everything I can find. But I only have stuff from high school—"
"He has some photos on social media. Anything he liked enough to post is something I can try to use," he interrupted.
"I'll get some other people to pitch in and help," she said. "I'll get them over to you as soon as I can." He nodded and turned to leave, but she caught his arm. "I'm really sorry, Bakugou," she whispered. "I know how much he meant to you."
"He meant a lot to everyone," he replied curtly. "I just knew him longest."
"Ochako got to you last night, huh?" she murmured. He frowned, and there was a long silence. He felt very examined, and that was fucking unfair when he couldn't examine her back. "No, she didn't. You actually believe that, don't you?"
"I don't say shit I don't mean," he said, dull where he'd usually be ablaze.
She hesitated. He knew because he felt her grip falter. "Listen, the thing about being invisible is that when no one can see you, you can suddenly see everything. I know how you felt about each other, even if you didn't. If I were you, I'd take some time to think about it."
He couldn't. If he thought about the what-ifs, he'd live there forever and drown in the possibilities that were now firmly out of his reach. It was bad enough that he had to think about what they could have been like as Hero Partners now that he was faced with the expectations of One For All.
He shook her loose. "The photos."
She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, sure."
He couldn't stop to dwell, or else he'd never come back.
Soft muttering filling empty spaces.
Silence hollowing out his soul.
Deku didn't smile enough. At least not for photos. He'd always been so fucking awkward as soon as there was a camera nearby.
But still, between Mina and Hagakure and Deku's entire buffet of friends, he was suddenly faced with hundreds of photos of Deku—smiling and laughing and, well, crying. He was such a crybaby.
Slowly, he moved through them—picking through them and setting aside the ones where he looked the happiest. Middle School graduation with his mom. Trips to the mall. Training camp before the kidnapping. Selfies with his friends. That shitty picnic they'd taken. Birthday celebrations. Movie nights. Summer time by the UA pool.
He had a photo with every member of the class. Even Mineta.
But there was something missing. There were no photos of them. At least not ones where Deku was smiling, and definitely not just the two of them.
That couldn't be right. Deku was always fucking smiling at him. Even when he didn't deserve it. And since Katsuki had learned about One For All, they were always together. Weren't they?
He was up and out of his seat before he could really register it. Deku had smiled at him during his birthday party. He remembered that. And he'd seen the floating camera, so he knew there was a picture of them where Deku was smiling, even if he didn't deserve it.
Deku had been all smiles the entire time. Why hadn't Hagakure given him any of those?
"I need the photos from my birthday party," he said in lieu of a greeting. Hagakure frowned.
"Uh, sure. Sorry I haven't gotten them to you yet," she said, letting him into the room.
"I don't give a shit about that, I just needed more photos of Deku actually smiling instead of that weird 'I'm sitting on a thumbtack' smile he always does," he grumbled.
She froze. "Oh," she uttered. "I gave you lots of photos of him smiling for real." There was something in her voice that put him on edge. He sighed.
"I mean with me. I have enough of the rest of the class, but...I don't know. It's selfish or whatever, but I just...wanna remember what it looked like when he smiled at me."
Hagakure was silent for too long. Then: "There...there aren't any."
He paused, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"
He heard her swallow. "There aren't any photos of him at your party," she uttered.
"Why the fuck not?" he demanded. He felt cold all over. These fucks took photos of everything, why—
"He wanted to take the photos," she explained. She was crying. Why? "He—I'm so sorry, Bakugou, I shouldn't have listened to him—"
"I don't—"
"He said you wouldn't want the photos if he was in them," she sobbed. He froze, body turning to stone and lungs dying in his chest. "He said you wouldn't want him to be there let alone keep photos of him, so he offered to take the photos. He must have deleted the ones that I'd taken before that, too, because there weren't any—"
"What about last year's party?" he asked quietly, dread seeping into his veins and settling in his bones. Please.
"He didn't go to your party last year," she hiccuped. That's right, he hadn't. He'd left campus last year—only leaving a small collection of rare collector's cards under his door before he'd gone. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have listened to him—"
He couldn't breathe.
He was out of Hagakure's room before he'd even realized that he was moving—storming toward the common room at breakneck speed.
Mina was on the couch, reading over Yaomomo's speech with Eijirou. "Pinky!" he yelled as soon as he saw her. Her head snapped around to stare at him in shock. Then her eyes went all wide with concern.
"Blasty, you're crying—"
"Give me your phone," he demanded, holding his hand out as he made his approach.
He couldn't breathe.
"Why? What do you need?"
"I need to see your fucking photos, Pinky, please—" he wheezed before choking on a sob. His vision was blurring—hot tears burning his eyes and his face. "I can't find—" he was shaking so hard that he could barely stand.
You wouldn't want the photos if he was in them.
Mina vaulted over the back of the couch to grab at his shoulders. "Kat, you need to breathe," she cried, stooping to try to catch his eye as he caved in on himself. "Hey, babe come on, breathe."
"I need to—he didn't," he choked falling forward to clutch at Mina. She went rigid for a split second—unaccustomed to him seeking out comfort—but wrapped her arms around him as soon as she caught up. "He thought I didn't want him," he gasped, convulsing against her as his breath caught and he cried on her shoulder. He wanted him more than anything. He'd just taken too long to realize. "I don't—he didn't know, I never told him—" he couldn't speak—mouth no longer forming words as he split apart in the middle of the common room, pain laid bare.
He couldn't even stand. He was crumpling to the ground, only slowed by Mina's arms as she remained curled around him—trying in vain to hold him together.
Warm, open heart—reaching out in every way he could.
Heart inert and cold, scarred over with rejection and loss, emptied out with nothing left to give.