yoonkles - Tumblr blog

yoonkles · 4 months

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you stopped by my house the night you escaped ♡ krbk

author: cheonsapp (ao3) / yoonkles (tumblr)

description: Bakugou gets hurt and his legs instinctively take him to the one place he's ever felt safe- Kirishima. If only he could stay longer.

warnings: abuse, blood, injury, dissociation, etc.

author’s notes: originally posted on ao3, here.

Red. Red and- and subtle pink and darkness, and dizziness and spots and-

Pain. So much pain. It ached and pulsed and shivered in his body and his limbs and his teeth. Everything was sore and his muscles were tense and his eyes couldn't focus. And- there was yelling. Screaming. A piercing voice that had so much venom laced in it that even exhausted beyond relief, he flinched. It was muffled and none of what was spoke quite made sense. It was all gibberish that went in one ear and gotten mixed in translation before being knocked out of the other ear.

Bakugou didn't know what was going on or where he was or who was screaming, but he knew he wasn't safe. At the very core of his muddled senses, he knew that. The warning alarms blared in his mind too loud to ignore. It was as if a tsunami was impending and the emergency alert had been going off for far too long, and now the wave was in sight and the only thing left to do was drop to your knees and pray to whatever deity you hoped was listening. And he was the one standing on that familiar, too-dry shore.

Drowning. He was going to drown. If he didn't get it together, pull himself back from whatever had happened like what was expected of a hero, and fight back or escape or do whatever he needed to do to get rid of this feeling of anxiety hanging over him- he was going to get swept up by the wave and drown.

The screeching was getting louder- or closer? Some words began to break through the thick fog of pain. Bits and pieces and sometimes just syllables, but the instinctive part of Bakugou that had been in one too many run-ins with villains filed away and analyzed every word he could gather. Anything to gain leverage on the situation- there was nothing more menacing than being in danger and in the dark about it.

"He- blood-" and "Stup- damn child!- can-" and "Hit him..- hard" and "Kat- Excuses...!". Wow. There was too much going on. So much being said and too much being unsaid. What was he doing again? Who was speaking? Warmth ran down Bakugou's forehead. It tickled. It felt wet. He scrunched his eyebrows from the sensation and another wave of pulsing pain ran through him, seizing up his muscles once again. Oh.

Head injury. He must have a head injury. That would explain the confusion. The wet warmth must have be blood. He was bleeding. And- he gathered up all of this information, the blood, the pain, the confusion- that meant he probably had a concussion. He should assess the damage- that's what he was taught, right? Assess the injuries of the civilian before proceeding with how to handle them. If their neck or spine seemed to be a part of the injury, they needed to be stabilized before anything else. If there was excessive bleeding, the cause should be pinpointed and treated. Move the civilian to a safe area and wait for medical personal to arrive to treat further. That- it made sense. He should assess the damage. Treat his injuries.

Bakugou tried moving his hand. He felt drunk and numb and couldn't exactly pinpoint where he was going, but after seconds of effort that made his chest burn, he felt his fingertips touch at his forehead. The first thing he noticed was the stickiness and the thickness of his own blood, and- and how didn't he notice the strong smell of rusted metal before? It was pungent and fresh and burned his nose. He travelled upward toward his hair line, feeling his caked up hair and tender scalp. It seemed to radiate all to one point toward the back of his head. Surprise attack, then? A villain who couldn't face him and cowardly waited until he had turned his back? Why couldn't he remember? Bakugou groaned, the frustration on becoming more and more cognizant but the being truth just out of reach piling on top of the persistent pain.

"Mitsuki, please stop! He's already soaking our carpet, this can wait until the morning."

Abruptly, a cold hand grips the neck of Bakugou's shirt and rips his subconscious from the tidal wave that was threatening to drown him. Oh. That was his father speaking.

The memories came rushing over him as soon as he heard his mother's name. It almost hurt, the way he jerks to recognition, eyes snapping open wide and adrenaline shooting through his veins.

Bakugou was home. He was at the bottom of his stairs. He had gotten back from late night practice. Too late, if he went by his mother's words as soon as he walked through the door. She was pissed, he was able to feel that as soon as he saw her tense form. Just looking for someone to take it out on. And that made Bakugou a prime target. He doesn't exactly remember the argument. But he remembers the hits and the hair pulling and the pushing, until he finally broke away and tried making a run for his room. He had almost made it, too. Until his mother was somehow there and screaming something and then he felt glass shattering over the back of his head. He must have fallen down the stairs after that and lost consciousness.

"No, Masaru! I'm too damn tired of this boy's disrespect! We give him everything and he can't even be bothered to fucking show up to dinner? If he needs respect beaten into him, I am well within my right to do that!" Mitsuki screeches once again and the words force Bakugou to come to a quick realization- he might be battered and bleeding, but that doesn't mean his +mother is done with him. She's never known restraint. Never been able to see when she's about to cross a line or go too far.

And Bakugou was a lot of things, but not an idiot- he knows his body can't take much more of this without lasting damage. He could barely think straight, let alone defend himself. How many more kicks to the ribs before his lungs were punctured? How many more hits to the head before he began to seize?

Would his mother even think to take him to the hospital, or would he be forced to lay there, coughing on his own blood and hoping he won't need to drop out of the hero course due to his injuries?

"Katsuki! Do you hear me? Do you still need the respect beaten into you, hm, brat?!"

There's something inside Bakugou in that moment that changes. A flip of a switch, two pieces clicking together, a quiet sense of calm- or maybe acceptance. His mother was coming toward him again. He could feel that. Feel the vibrations of her stomps down the stairs through the carpeted floorboards. His mother was coming toward him again- and it wasn't to calmly discuss the situation. She was coming to kick, bite, and scratch. There was a chill that seemed to reverberate through Bakugou's bones.

Time began to slow.

He could almost visualize his mother in that moment. The scowl on her perfectly pink lips, the disgusted scrunch of her nose. Her red eyes, so similar to her bastard son's, squinted and full of utter resentment. Her styled sweater and how it's arm sleeves were rolled up so Bakugou had less of a chance to pull her off balance by grabbing at her clothes. It was so... predictable. So terrifyingly familiar.

So he knew exactly what was coming next.

There was a thought that passed through his mind, then. I could run. It was just a moment. Just a small, desperate little plead to himself, a familiar lie that he's told himself every time his mother crossed another line. A lie he's never spent too much time dwelling on. But it caught on something- some nook or edge or crick in his head. I could run. I could leave. I could go somewhere safe. The chain began to loop, over and over and over until there was some foreign feeling building up in his chest. But where have I ever been safe? Where can I go where she won't follow me? Where can I go where she won't hurt somebody else?

Bakugou's head desperately races through the possibilities, anything, anywhere he can hide away at. UA? No, no, like hell they'll believe the boy that carries the title of 'Beast of Class 1-A' before his poor, victimized, crying mommy. Even with these damn wounds- all teachers were the same. Deku's? Fuck, why would he even consider that? Inko would kick him out on his ass for everything he's done to her son, hell might even call Mitsuki to collect him off her doorstep. She was always too polite to punish Bakugou herself.

Fuck, fuck. Where can I go? Where am I safe?

Nowhere. He was never safe- he has never been safe. He was born into a family of venom and that venom now runs through his veins. He is connected perpetually to this house, this life, chained down and no matter how much he struggles he is not safe. Bakugou's mind sifts through his memories. It all flashes before him. Trying to find some safe haven, some light to break through the storm clouds, some bolt cutters to snap the locks keeping him stuck.

But when he was four all he can remember is being screamed at for dropping a cup and spilling his milk.

Nine- losing a loose tooth from being slapped across the cheek.

Twelve- being slammed against a wall and choked until he saw stars.

And then he was fifteen and being strapped against a concrete slab, forced to accept a medal he didn't want. Not even months later, he was kidnapped.

There is no safety for him anymore, is there? No reprieve, nothing out there. He's ruined it all. His mother has ruined it, too. No place out there is good enough, not anymore. The panic inside of him feels all consuming, it overpowers the pain in his body completely. The realization this was going to be his life for years. Even when he moved out, she would always follow him, wouldn't she? Cursing him and bringing him down until he's nothing but her words, her reflection. It was too late for him, he knew that. Nowhere. He belonged nowhere. He was tainted. There wasn't anyone to, no one would,-... No one. A breath gets caught in Bakugou's throat.

No one. Person.

Oh. Kirishima.

The thought of the name twists Bakugou's insides. It almost discombobulates him, the stark difference between the terror and pain and loneliness he was just suffocating in, to the warmth of thinking about the redhaired boy. It wraps him in some weird blanket of... Secureness? Comfort? Trust? It was unfamiliar, new. But he knew why.

Kirishima was... different. He was this stupidly persistent ball of light and smiles and hair dye, and he somehow was able to worm his way past all of the walls Bakugou had built brick by brick. He listened to all the silent cues and never pushed boundaries and was so, so trusting. He had barely known Bakugou before he jumped into battle with him, fighting off villains back to back. All while taking stray explosions like a champ and keeping that dumb shark tooth smile on his face. Crying like a newborn baby as soon as Katsuki called him post-kidnapping. Cooking him his mother's soup recipe when Bakugou trained himself into quirk sickness.

He was... Kirishima was safe. Made Bakugou feel safe. And, wow, that was something, wasn't it? In his whole life, throughout all of his years, all of his experiences, this one stupid boy was the only person who has ever made him feel truly secure.

Bakugou could- he could make a life with that. Make sense of it, build with it. Run to it. (He wondered. Kirishima fretted over just a cold. What would it be like to be cared for so deeply, to have his wounds treated by soft hands, his blood wiped away with gentle touch?)

And blind hope, desire, it doesn't get anybody anywhere. Especially in hero work. Katsuki knew that.

However, neither does being beaten half an inch away from death in your own house.

Yet, before Bakugou could listen to the alarming pit in his stomach, there was a sudden rough kick to his chest. Freshly manicured toenails jab right into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs and leaving crescent shaped wounds. He lurches forward, almost curling in on himself, as a round of coughs and choked inhales burn in his throat. Spit dribbles past his lips, right onto the already blood stained eggshell white carpet. His mind buzzes.

"What? Did I beat the damn ears of your big head or something? You answer me when I'm speaking to you, I am your mother!" Mitsuki's voice was shrill and had the migraine in his head radiating down to his jaw. Her hand comes down and wraps around the hair near his scalp and she tugs.

Bakugou is forced upward from the ground, to his knees, then to his feet and- god, he doesn't even know how he's able to stand in that moment. The world is tilting on it's axis and won't stop spinning and he can no longer tell his left from his right. The corners of his vision blur together- brown and beige and grey and white all blending and mushing together. It's nauseating. The only reprieve from it all is the spots dancing in front of him, which distort the image of his fuming mother.

"Bakugou Katsuki, you better answer me this second or I swear to fucking god I will beat you unrecognizable." The grit in her tone is what wakes Bakugou up enough. Adrenaline, the fight-or-flight instinct hardwired into his brain, squeezes at his muscles and constricts his pupils. He needed to run.

He can't exactly describe the feeling that beats through his chest, or where it came from. Whether it was courage or blindness or concussion induced mania. But in that moment he didn't see his mother in front of him. He didn't see the blonde spiky hair or the ruby eyes or the pale skin that he inherited. He saw an enemy- a villain. A villain who needed to be defeated, even if that defeat came in the form of high tailing it out of there.

"Fuck you!" Bakugou spits, literally, in the face of his scowling mother. The blood tints the liquid pink and it lands right under her eye, sliding down her blushed cheek like some morbid watercolor painting.

There's a moment there where it feels the entire world goes quiet. Everything pauses. The static in his ears clears and his father's ignored comments in the background stop and his mother's harsh breathing quiets.

He can see the realization on her face, the shock, the way her eyebrows raise and her lips part and the anger temporarily fades. But Bakugou knows this is short lived- he knows in not even two seconds, everything will snap back into place and his mother's anger will come back threefold and then nothing will be able to stop her from raining fists down on him. He knows.

So he takes his chance.

Bakugou rips himself from his mother's grip, his own fingers curling around Mitsuki's wrist, squeezing it as hard as he can and yanking it away as soon as her grip softens. And just like that, he's free. She's not touching him and he's not touching her and there's nothing keeping him here anymore. Nothing keeping him in this stupid fucking house with too much blood on the floor and not enough pictures hung on the wall.

He runs. Turns his back to his mother and trips over his feet once, twice, before darting to the door and tugging on the polished doorknob. The gut twisting screech Mitsuki lets out behind him it enough to make his blood freeze. A flash of red hair and pretty eyes appear in his mind. And, running purely on blood loss induced lightheadedness and his flight instinct, Bakugou whips the door open so hard he can hear it's hinges squeal. A gust of skin-biting wind rushes at him and, right, that's why he's home- it was winter break. The cold has tears pricking at his eyes but he doesn't give himself the time to think twice about it.

His mother was barely three large steps away from forcing him back in her grasp and he couldn't even think about what she would do if she caught him right now. And he sure as hell didn't want to find out, either.

Bakugou runs.

Kirishima hums to himself, a song that's been stuck in his head all day, as he throws piles of dirty clothes into the washing machine. School was starting up again in a few days and his ma had been on his ass about cleaning the uniforms since the start of break, and his procrastination was finally biting him in the ass. For all the clothes he was bringing back to the dorms, he probably had at least two more loads to do as well. Even if he did it all one right after the other, plus packing right after that, it was still going to take a good chunk of time he rather spend gaming or relaxing. He could almost hear his ma laughing at him from the kitchen- "I told you so, Ei! You never listen to your Ma, do ya?"

"Why is she always right?" Kirishima grumbles under his breath, throwing the last of the clothes in before shutting the lid and starting the wash cycle. He then fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time- 9:38PM. He had at the very least another three hours to zone in on some video games before he was forced asleep by the anxiety of messing up his sleep schedule. He clicked open the groupchat of the self proclaimed 'Bakusquad' and sent a quick text. Hey, anyone wanna facetime and find a game to play? I'm NOT about to waste the last few days of break.

No one was online, yet. Kirishima groans and pockets his phone, letting his boredom get the best of him and walking out into the kitchen. There has to be something there he can snack on until one of his friends respond. At the dining table, his mom sits with her legs crossed and her tablet in hand, scrolling through whatever new fantasy book she's gotten hooked on this week. Across from her, is his ma, who is still knitting a sweater she started on weeks ago. It was meant for Kirishima to take back home after break, so these past few days she's been diligently working to make that happen. They both perk up as soon as they catch his bright red hair in the peripheral of their vision.

"Oh, sweetie, did you finally start your laundry?" His ma says, looking up at him from piles of yarn. Her tone is polite, but Kirishima can sense the 'I told you so' behind her words. He sighs and nods.

"Yeah. yeah, I did. Just started it and I'm gonna switch it to the dryer before I head to bed." There's a pleased hum from his ma and she smiles teasingly over at him.

"There's some leftover tea cookies over by the oven, if you want some. I was just about to put them away." His mom says and Kirishima's eyes light up. He had one or two earlier before he had to drag himself away to training, And he wasn't about to say no to a second helping of them.

"Awesome, thanks mom! I'll take some up to my room. I'm trying to get some game time in before break." He grabs the leftover plate, only a handful of the treats left, and gives a small wave to his parents before exiting the kitchen.

The living room was quiet, a show playing on the television simply for background purposes and something for his moms to discuss when the drama got loud enough for them to hear. In the corner next to the T.V. was the Christmas tree, still decorated and a few piles of gifts underneath that haven't been put away, yet. Kirishima supposed he also needed to do that before he left back to UA. But, as his bed and game console called to him, he decided that could be left for another day. He hummed, once again the same tune from earlier, and made his way to the stairs.

Just as he was nearing the door, a knock sounded out. Once, twice, then a third time. Kirishima scrunched his eyebrows in confusion- had his parents invited somebody over? Was the mailman only just getting to the house? There's another knock, this one a bit weaker, almost as if a palm had slapped against the wood. The boy sighs and sets down the tray of cookies, called out behind him before his mom or ma got up, "I'll get it!"

He wipes his hands on his shirt before twisting the doorknob and opening the door, ready to either have the most awkward interaction with the mailman or be plastered in kisses by his parent's friends.

Instead, his heart stops, and he quickly forgets about how cold it is outside, as he catches the sight of his best friend covered in red and swaying on unstable feet.

It takes a second for his body to catch up to what his eyes are seeing. There's a moment where Kirishima and Bakugou simply stare at each other. It almost feels as if his soul had been ripped from his body and he's become some third spectator, seeing everything from a distance. Like this wasn't actually his life and he was watching some stupid horror movie. But all he can focus on is dark red and maroon and pink and he thinks- there's too much of it, too much blood. He swears he sees more of it than he sees pale skin.

Bakugou can see in real time how his friend's red eyes go from widening in shock to hardening in terror.

All it takes is a ragged gasp from the boy to shock Kirishima back into his body. "Kirishima- I.. I d-didn't know where el-else to go." His words break between shivers.

The redhead can almost feel the powerful steel of instinct blind him. He leaves the warmth, the safety of his home, stepping out past the doorframe and into the cold with Bakugou. Kirishima grasps at his friend, his shoulders, pulling the blonde in until his tinted pink face is pressed into Eijirou's chest. There's a surge of defensive that swells inside of him as he feels just how uncontrollably Bakugou is shaking, how freezing he is. The boy wraps his arms around his friend. One arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, a hand sprawled on the back of his neck, cradling him closer and closer until every inch of them are touching.

"Oh my god, what happened to you!? Who did this? Fuck, you're so cold. Did you walk here or something? How long have you been out here?" Kirishima's questions are spilling from his lips one after the other- he can't help it. Just the sight of Bakugou- the horror the anxiety, the fear it causes, it all coils tightly in his chest until he can barely breathe. There's something thrumming under his skin, some urge or impulse sending spikes of adrenaline through his heart. Above all, is the utter feeling of guilt that consumes everything else in it's path. Bakugou hadn't texted him all day- how wasn't he concerned? How didn't Kirishima know something was wrong? Why didn't he realize something could have happened? Bakugou might hate texting with every fiber of his being, but he always texted Kirishima back at least once.

God, and to think he swore he wouldn't let something like this happen again after Kamino- How did he let himself break that?

Bakugou groans something unintelligible against Kirishima's chest. The boy snaps away,- oh god, did he hurt him? Fuck, why didn't he assess his injuries first, what if he made something worse?- and pulls himself from the hug. The blonde is barely standing on his own two feet, swaying left to right. And his eyes, oh god, they barely seem cognizant. Slow blinking and shifting pupils, as if there wasn't a spot they can decide to focus on. But they're still somehow on Kirishima, seeming to drift from his hair to his cheeks to his eyes, almost analyzing.

"I-I'm okay, I just-" Bakugou's tongue darts out from his lips and swipes at some dried blood, "I.. I don't know why I'm h-here. What the fuck am I doing?"

The last part was lowered, as if the blonde was speaking to himself, trying to convince himself of something. Tears prick at Kirishima's eyes. His friend, his closest friend, was on his doorstep, bloody and barely there and fuck. He's finally able to gain enough sense to try and categorize the injuries. There was a lot of blood and he couldn't tell if all of it came from the same source or if there was just that many wounds. There were many bruises, though, and some red splotches. But the most concerning was his head. Usually ash blonde hair was now caked up with blood that spread across his hairline and down his forehead, some of it even staining his lips and chin. The injury actually made Kirishima feel dizzy. He knew that if they were in the right lighting, he would see uneven pupils in Bakugou's eyes. There's no way something so severe didn't cause a concussion, or worse, a cracked skull.

Another gust of winter wind blows through and both boys tense with how hard they shiver. It has Kirishima stepping closer to Bakugou once more, and his cold hands come up to cusp at the boy's cheeks. He let's out a small, pitiful sob. His thumbs gently caress bloody skin, desperate to warm up the boy who always despised the cold. "Please, Katsuki- I'm here, I swear, you can tell me what happened. Why don't you come inside? Let me patch you up, god, just let me-" He cuts his own words off with another cry.

Bakugou stares for a few seconds. Lips parted with sharp inhales, a softness in his eyes that Kirishima can't truly describe. The blonde boy swallows and leans into the comforting touch. He lets himself bask in it- the gentle hand he had wondered about hours earlier. It felt even better, the warmth of the skin against numbingly cold cheeks. The redhead feels the tears cascade down his face the longer the seconds tick on. Bakugou's eyes slowly slide close, and his own hands come up to cradle Kirishima's.

For a moment, Kirishima can feel his world stop. He watches with wet eyes as his friend seeks comfort in him like he never had before. It's... frightening. How hurt must he have gotten to so willingly let his walls crumble down? How long had it been since he last had a soothing touch? It rips the boy's heart in two.

"C-Come on, man, it's too cold out here. Y-You can stay the night, really it's no issue, I just- I'll make you some hot cocoa and my moms made some cookies and- and you can play on my switch while I warm up some blankets for you," Kirishima tries once more, tapping on Bakugou's cheek until red eyes open.

But, when they do this time, there's a sadness in them. A deep, inexplicable look of despair that no teenage boy should ever be forced to carry.

"I... I have t-to go. I don't know why I even- I ne-never should've come here. Fuck, what was I even th-thinking?" And those words have Kirishima's stomach dropping into the depths of panic.

"Wh-what, no, Baku-" He's cut off by the boy taking a shaky step backward, removing their hands from his cheeks. It has a feeling of desperation clawing it's way up the redhead's throat.

"Sh-She, fuck, she could h-hurt you, I can't- I don;t- I never sh-should have came here, I.. I'm leaving. She can't find y-you- find me here with you."

And Kirishima doesn't understand a single thing coming out of Bakugou's mouth right now, he doesn't understand the sudden urgency in the boy that looked like he was about to drop dead just seconds ago. But he won't let the injured blonde slip away so easily, so quickly, not while he's this hurt. Not in this cold. Eijirou grabs at his friend's shoulders as a whole new round of tears swim in his eyes.

"No! No, Bakugou. I'm not letting you leave, you- you're in no state! I would never forgive myself if I let something happen to you, please, fuck man- just come inside and we can talk this out!" Kirishima cries pathetically, his heart aching, "Just- just stay for a little while. At least let me patch you up- or, or get you warm, you could get hypothermia, and you're quirk- it makes it so much easier, so please, please, just- Come inside!"

Bakugou's ruby eyes stare into Kirishima's, wide and surprised and.. there's something swimming in them. Realization, acceptance, something that had a small switch in his brain flicking on and off over and over again until something fried. The blonde steps closer and it's honestly so relieving that Kirishima might just drop to his knees. He- he was going to come inside, and everything was going to be alright. He was going to patch him up and get him in a nice warm shower and call Aizawa for help because god, he may be a hero in training but he doesn't really know what to do right now.

Bakugou hums something under his breath that Kirishima doesn't catch. He's so close, now chest to chest with the boy who won't stop looking at him like there's something there to figure out. "B-Bakugou.." The redhead sighs, and his heart rate picks up even quicker, "Come on, man, let me go make you that hot co-"

Kirishima is quieted suddenly with a pair of lips pressing against his. Oh.

Oh.

His heart thumps straight up into his throat as soon as reality catches up to him. Red eyes grow impossibly wide. staring into the face centimeters away from him. The face of his best friend, the bloodied boy on his doorstep- Bakugou Katsuki. The blonde's eyes were closed and his face was entirely relaxed, no scowl or scrunch of pain. Just lips, soft lips that taste a bit too metallic-y, pressed on to Kirishima's. Bakugou was kissing him. Kissing him.

He's frozen. He doesn't know what to do besides close his own eyes and lean into the kiss, pouring as much emotions as he can into it until the saltiness of his tears mix in with the sourness of the dried blood. Oh god, this was not how I wanted our first kiss to go.

Bakugou pulls away and Kirishima is barely there. He's swimming inside his own head, the entire situation becoming so much and too overwhelming and fuck, his crush just kissed him on his doorstep after being beaten bloody. Fuck. His crush was beaten bloody. Still, with untreated wounds. His feet felt like they were glued to the ground.

The blonde steps back again and it feels like the world is crumbling around both of them. Bakugou is frowning but it wobbles so much it almost looks like a smile. His eyes are full of tears, so full of tears, but nothing spills out. Kirishima cries as he takes another step back.

"I-I'm so sorry. I fucked up. I have to go, Eijirou. I-... I'll see you."

And Kirishima is reaching out to catch him, catch anything- an arm, a hand, his shirt, something- but Bakugou is already turning and he's already running and the redhead can only watch as his best friend leaves a bloody trail down the street.

Kirishima sobs.

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