Chapter Text
Anger was something Katsuki Bakugou was familiar with.
Anger always comes with regret, sadness, and undeniable loneliness.
But most of all, fear. Fear of not having control, not being able to control the emotions boiling up and spilling out. Fear of saying things you don't mean, of pushing people away when all you want to do is pull them close. Fear in vulnerability, fear in feeling .
Fear when he opens the door to his home, fear when his mother greets him with a " hey brat." Fear when she raises a fist, when she strikes him down where he stands.
Anger. Anger because he can't do anything. Anger because when he looks at his mother, he just wants to see her smile. See her look at him with a happy smile instead of that terrifying plastic one. Anger, pure hot fucking rage , because he loves his mother, no matter how many times shes made him bleed. Anger, because he loves his father too. Loves him for soft hugs and ice packs, but he fucking despises him, too. Anger, hate, resentment, all of it. He loves him because he cares enough to help him up when he cries and whines pathetically, but hates him because he loves his mother more . Loves her enough to not put a stop to it, and loves his son too little to save him from pain and suffering.
His anger is uncontrollable, untamed. When he's angry, he's every other emotion all at once. Hes sad, lonely, scared, fucking terrified.
And all he wanted was to be Deku's best friend, and all he wanted was to help All Might, and all he wanted was to win fairly , but he gets absolutely none of it. Because of the dumb, disastrous anger that controls his actions more then he can fucking handle.
All control he's ever had has been relinquished the second he got his quirk, and maybe even before that. Maybe when he was born, with hair and eyes too similar to his mother's, and nothing like his dads. His control over himself is obsolete, ever since Deku's smile started looking too much like his moms, ever since all might fell, ever since he was muzzled and handcuffed by the very adults he looked up too. Ever since the sludge villain that nearly killed him, ever since Deku had to save him.
Maybe Bakugou was born to be angry. To be a carbon copy of his mother. And maybe there's no hope, and maybe he's run out of people he hasn't hurt. Ran out of people who don't want to hurt him.
But here he is. He's got blood smeared across his face- dripping from his busted lip and the slash across his face from his mothers wedding ring- and its running into the rain water beneath his feet as he hunched over, out of breath. His feet are scraped and bleeding all to hell, and his hair is sticking to his forehead from the sweat and rain.
There's anger, and there's panic .
His clothes are scattered across his lawn. A red suitcase is collecting rainwater, empty from being tossed from the front door- sending his clothes flying. All of his belongings are disarrayed - his backpack that's got his papers and school supplies spilling out, his sheets and blankets, plain and splattered in mud, his fucking baby pictures that were hanging on the walls before they were torn down and thrown at him. Cuts and bruises scatter across his pale skin, and the cold rain water feels like it's burning .
He stumbles forward and his knees crack against cold concrete. Pain flairs across his legs. His palms catch him before he smashes his face against the concrete. He crawls, pathetic and crying, collecting all of his things. He cuts his hands on broken glass, and carefully takes out the baby photos from their frames before placing them in the only dry compartment of the suitcase. His entire body burns as he collects his clothes, palms stinging as glass buries into his rough and calloused palms.
When he drapes the blanket over his stuffed suitcase, he stands. He slips on soaked shoes. The phone in his back pocket is shattered, and the battery is nearly dead. He can call someone, but first he starts walking. He walks, and walks until he can sit next to a random man on the bench, and he pulls out his phone.
"For emergencies." His homeroom teacher's voice echoes through his head. The contact he saved on his phone labeled as Stupid fucking Caterpillar glares menacingly at him. the cracked screen collects more water, and the 10% in the top left corner scares him enough into pressing the message option on the contact page.
He stares at his phone. It stares back.
He types, fingers shaking and blood pooling in the cracks of the shattered screen.
Bakugou: aizawa
Stupid fucking Caterpillar: who is this?
Bakugou: its Bakugou
Stupid fucking Caterpillar: okay. What do you need?
Bakugou: I dont know
Stupid fucking Caterpillar: I cant help if you dont tell me.
Bakugou: can you just come pick me up
[Location sent]
Stupid fucking Caterpillar: I'll be there soon.
Bakugou let's out a sigh. He takes a moment to rest his throbbing head, leaning forward far enough that he can rest it on the propped up suitcase. He can hear the blood dripping onto the concrete, and the man he'd forgotten about shuffles before getting up and walking away. His eyes feel like they're getting heavier with each passing second, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a:
"Kid?" The steady voice of his homeroom teacher is much more soothing then the screaming of his parents, and feels his body uncoil as he looks up. His head wavers as dizziness washes over him, and Aizawa is blurry in his vision. He sees a hand reaching towards him, and that's enough to make fear envelope his body. He tenses. The hand retreats.
"What happened? Was it a villain? Why do you have a suitcase?" The questions mix in his mind, and when he tries to stand he topples over. Lean arms catch him before he hits the pavement, and they're warm. He leans into them as black spots float in his eyes.
"No villains, parents kicked me out. Got sick of me." The words are barely comprehensible, but the teacher understands anyways. He pulls the blonde up, one arm bracing his back and the other his knees. Everything goes muffled in Bakugou's ears- he hears another voice that sounds oddly familiar and the heartbeat of his teacher is thumping against his left ear.
He feels himself being placed in a car.
He passes out.