Chapter Text
Katsuki wakes up and knows two very different and discordant things. One, he’s laying on a rough wooden floor and it’s on fucking fire. Two, that floor must belong to a carnival, because the mirror in front of him cannot possibly be a real one.
Pushing that aside, he picks up what’s left of his shattered consciousness with a groan and tries to glue his thoughts back together. Right. Run through the important stuff. Limbs all on, check. Glasses and hearing aids, check. School uniform, not what he remembers wearing and certainly not up to code anymore, but check. Stubbornly not panicking on the way to his feet, he falls flat on his face the same moment he realizes that his ankles are bound, tight, and the reason he can’t hear his familiar external curse monologue tastes like cotton. Some fucker with a death wish gagged him.
Later. Murder can wait, he reminds himself, ‘cause the building is still on fucking fire.
Yet, now that he’s looking, vision skewed by the frames hanging half off his face, the flames seem oddly stationary, burning green (that’s a warning sign if he’s ever seen one) and barely flickering. And, wow, in a perfect circle around the edge of what looks like a second-rate, shitty warehouse. Stacked with boxes and not much else, including, thankfully, the assholes that put him there, it’s not much to look at. Fire’s probably quirk-related, then. That’s just perfect.
For now, he’s much more concerned with his hands: they’ve bound him palms to chest, his entire upper body mummified. Not great, considering.
He tastes bile when his fingers refuse to move.
They accommodated for his quirk. He was a chosen target. Again.
Dust clogs his nose and it’s far too quiet.
He starts when his reflection groans. Snapping his gaze back, he pauses on the disorienting lack of restraints on the crumpled form that really is starting to not look like him. It mutters a polite, “Who the fuck are you?” and struggles to its bare feet.
Quickly, and with much less subtlety than he’ll ever admit to, he tests his real mouth. And it definitely did not move.
His not-reflection straightens and limps closer.
He’s in a whole bucket of shit now. The bucket is on fire that swirling back to life, it’s wearing his scowl, his eyes, and not his clothes. It’s reaching out just short of touching, almost hesitating.
He’s also a fucking idiot.
…
“Holy shit, they really did it. You’re- I can’t believe you’re…” his long-haired, too-thin, too-quiet, female not-reflection jerks her hand back and snarls, “We have to go. Now.”
While he couldn’t agree more, he hopes the look on his face properly communicates that curse monologue, because he’s a little tied up right now. Though he thanks the gag for stopping him from spitting that thought out into the universe.
Message received, judging by the eye-roll. A surge of green far too close frees him, but there’s no time to notice the scorched floor and alarming lack of bodies, because they’re moving. Ripping the gag away with a perfectly reasonable growl, Katsuki runs right at the flames. They whip apart at the frantic throw of the girl’s arm as she matches him step for step. Not risking an explosion- who knows who’s around to overhear- they clatter into a dank hallway to find a way out on foot. Katsuki doesn’t stop to wonder why there was no longer a door.
“Follow me,” she gasps, turning left-left-right and up a flight of stairs. He smells smoke and doesn’t have to ask why. She’s running up because the whole place is going up now. The fire is roaring. She’s quick, but slowing, obviously not used to even this much activity. Her right knee dips back too far with each impact, ankles red and swollen, scabbed.
Another door. This time he detonates. A small one, just to the knob, as he holds an arm in front of the girl to shield her. There’s no sunlight. It’s dark and moonless on the rooftop, but he sees green creeping into the edge of his vision. She could probably control the fire, but the building is old, damaged.
He grins. They have to jump.
“Hold on to me,” his tone doesn’t match his face. Her eyes meet his and he swears they flicker. But she climbs on his back and she holds on.
Crouching, he blasts them off the roof, away from whatever the hell happened to the people who captured him, and, most likely, this girl as well. Whatever the hell they did to her and her fucked up leg, and the bruises mottling her face, and the bones poking into his shoulders. He almost expects her to fall off, but they land far enough away not to feel the dust as the warehouse crumbles.
This wild looking little shit of a girl slides off Katsuki’s back, falls to her knees, and watches.
Now is probably not the time to admit that he has no fucking clue where the hell they are. It’s dark, with no street lamps or other buildings in sight. A good thing, considering the fire hazard. But unless he can get the girl to talk, they’re effectively lost and potentially screwed.
He looks down at the girl, ready to ask who the fuck she is and try to piece together a plan, when his mouth snaps shut.
He catches himself, but for a moment his scowl falters. He thinks about the ease of their escape, the way she’s painted green and jittering by her own flames in the distance, and how little he remembers. And now he wonders (scorch marks, empty room, no door).
Because she’s laughing. She’s laughing with all her teeth, and her red eyes screaming just like his. She’s quaking with it.
And you know what? Bakugo fucking Katsuki sees himself.
He swears the flames get bigger.