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Katsuki was not the first to become a ward of the school, but he was one of the first to do so publicly. While the vultures were nosy on even the best days, they were a terror now. He had decided to take this public for one reason only- he wanted to disappoint and spite his parents even further- and he almost regretted it.
Almost.
Because no matter how much of an oblivious asshole people said he was, he was noticing a change in how he was viewed in the hallways. He was no longer the Hero Course villain, or the Kamino victim. He was a survivor, a potential success story. And while he hated the implications of that when he caught the eyes of a particularly awed kid, he knew they might finally start to accept help. It certainly didn’t hurt when, in quiet hours of the night, Deku and Shouto told him about how they were going to present evidence against Endeavor to Aizawa soon.
Katsuki was healing.
It had been difficult to get him to go to therapy, he would admit that now, but after he began, his therapist told him his sessions could address whatever issues he wanted. So he, desperate to spite the voice in his head that told him she was just going to manipulate him into picking the right choice, whatever the fuck he thought that was supposed to be, ranted about every single shitty thing that happened that week.
He made another appointment, much to the delight of his teachers.
(And Miruko, his mom. She said she was proud of him for prioritizing his health over his pride, even though going to therapy was nothing to be ashamed of.)
So, vultures or not- and he had to face it, it was never gonna be that ‘or not’- he went public with the case. Child abuse and neglect. They’d both lost custody of him permanently, but because he was a ‘strong, capable hero student,’ the hag had been sentenced for only two years, the old man for only one. Miruko had gotten so angry that she broke a robber’s ribs. Katsuki had to book the gym so he could safely let off a Howitzer. His palms were still burning when he sank to the ground and just let himself hurt.
(“Don’t you dare cry, you little brat!”)
(“Kats, don’t you want to make a good impression on our guests?” The old man’s tone bled false warmth, and only they could hear that the words were laced with warning.)
(“I’m not gonna judge you for who you used to be, kid.”)
Katsuki’s breaths calmed and his palms cooled. When he was spent, he let himself press his fingers against his cheeks to feel the tears. It wasn’t weakness, and while some may assume otherwise, it wasn’t sadness. It was anger at the bitch and bastard who ruined his childhood.
Katsuki dragged himself to bed that night, but the next morning, his shoulders felt lighter than they had in a long time.
The members of the self-proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’ had each taken the news differently.
Eijirou stuck close to him, apologizing for staying shocked and silent that night, to which Katsuki replied ‘that’s not what matters, dumbass.’ Eijirou cried.
Denki managed to draw attention to himself each and every time that Katsuki started to panic or get uncomfortable. Denki sent him a thousand watt smile when he threw a new charger at him.
Mina gave him distance. While Katsuki loved his friends (and ugh, emotions), he was more grateful for this than almost anything else, because Katsuki knew Mina wasn’t his mother, but when she used to get touchy, his heart threatened to cave in. He made sure that he spent at least some time talking with her every day.
And Hanta… Hanta was like a mentor to him, in the least old-person-ish way possible. Hanta showed him how to act in a court, how to work through a mild panic, how to properly box without his quirk going off so he wouldn’t just be trying to run away if he ever saw his parents again. (He didn’t want to risk his provisional license on a self-defense case, because you could still spin it as a hero student attacking civilians with his quirk.) Hanta showed him how being vindictive wasn’t necessarily being bad. How wanting the one who hurt you to hurt too was natural. How Katsuki wasn’t a bad kid.
It certainly didn’t hurt that the way his friends grinned wide and unfiltered reminded him of Miruko and oh, how he wanted to thank her.
(“Miruko! The Rabbit? Katsuki, you’re going to either look weak, stupid, or crazy!”)
(“Even without the papers that say so, you’re my family.”)
(Miruko ruffled his hair in a way that somehow didn’t feel patronizing in the slightest. He didn’t know how she did it. He usually hated when people touched his hair- but now wasn’t the time to think about it. Now was the time to gape because Miruko had somehow roped an American hero into coming to Japan and offering him a work study because she was too busy to give him the time she said he deserved. And not just any American hero; it was Grenade, the Number Three Hero with a chemical production quirk who fought using chemical explosions and fire. Of course he accepted.)
Currently, Katsuki was writing an essay on inspiring heroes; he was required to choose at least three, so he chose Miruko, Grenade, and Present Mic. He was glad this was for homeroom and not English, because that would just be goddamn embarrassing. He knew Deku would struggle to fit as many heroes in as he wanted, although he might just ramble about All Might for most of the essay. Aizawa capped the essay at ten pages, so Katsuki struggled when he realized in mortification that his analysis of Miruko had taken five. He was just about to finish up when he heard a knock on his door.
“Um, Bakugou? It’s Shinsou, and I just wanted to-”
“Come in, dumbass, don’t talk through the door!”
The door opened carefully- not because Shinsou was scared of him, no. Shinsou was a stupidly fearless bastard. But he was considerate too, and he had somehow found out how to open and close doors precisely enough to make the wood, hinges, and knob silent. Even Jirou had to strain to hear when he came into a room, despite the additional heartbeat, and he used this stealth so he wouldn’t disturb them. The door shut behind him, and Katsuki finally bothered to give Shinsou a look longer than glance, spinning in his desk chair.
Now, Shinsou may have not been the strongest or most reckless of Class 2-A, and granted, he wasn’t stupid. But Katsuki had never seen that boy scared.
(“There’s a centipede in my room,” Katsuki blurted, mortified at the fact that he had barged into Shinsou’s room without even knocking because of a goddamn bug, but before he could dwell on it, Shinsou became his favorite person ever by offering to kill it.)
(“Hold up, you got kidnapped as a child?” Katsuki could only agree with Denki’s shock. Shinsou chuckled and looked up from his cards. They were playing Uno, with a twist- people could choose to pick a truth or dare instead of pulling cards- and Shinsou had two cards left. He explained that the kidnappers were hilariously bad at their jobs and that he managed to punch their tail lights out when they put him in the trunk and wave at the police car behind them. He won the game and Katsuki almost blew up the deck.)
(Shinsou held the slab of concrete up with obvious difficulty, but he managed to smirk down at Katsuki, who was pinned by some other rubble. This was yet another exercise that had gone too far, but as Shinsou made a bad joke about having the high ground, Katsuki decided that he was now a part of his idiot squad, even though he’d refused the official invitation.)
But Shinsou was definitely at least nervous, his skin paler than usual, and that made Katsuki’s heartrate spike. He still waltzed in, sitting across from him on his bed as Katsuki closed his computer and set it to the side.
“Out with it, Eyebags.”
“...You never had cuts after the first Sports Festival, did you?” Katsuki tilted his head. What?
“Shinsou, what’s this about? And why would I?” Shinsou accepted the answer with a nod as he looked down, and Katsuki realized with a sinking feeling that Shinsou was wearing foundation and concealer. “What’s going on?” He asked more firmly.
“I- I was just confirming something-”
“Bullshit.” Shinsou stared at him for a long moment, and Katsuki felt his eyes widen in panic when tears started to well up in his purple eyes.
“I-” Shinsou’s voice cracked, and he stormed into Katsuki’s bathroom. He heard the water start running before he could get up and he realized that his friend was taking off his makeup. His mind debated his options, but before he could decide what to do, Shinsou was out, makeup unmistakably wiped all over his black t-shirt. But Katsuki didn’t scold him for it, namely because there were near symmetrical cuts on his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, and the underside of his jaw; they were a dark enough red that Katsuki wondered how he had covered them so thoroughly and then felt sick because that wasn’t important right now.
But why had he asked about-? Oh.
Oh shit.
“Who do I need to kill?” Shinsou laughed; it was breathless and bitter.
“My last fosters revealed they were moving about a month ago, but even though they were the best I’ve ever had… I’d’ve had to leave school, and I couldn’t do that. So I went back to my other fosters, and...” he gestured at his face.
“...We should go to Deku.”
“What-?”
“He knows more about murder than anyone else I know.” Shinsou relaxed at the half-joke, but goddamn, rage was bubbling in Katsuki’s blood. He would absolutely fight Shinsou’s fosters if given the opportunity, and he would fucking win. This was almost worse than when he found out about Shouto’s sperm donor, because now he could recognize and relate to the abuse.
(A muzzle, a goddamn muzzle, and chains like he was a feral dog. A strip of leather in his mouth forced him to drool, forced his mouth to stay open slightly, forced his jaw to press against the edge of the cage.)
(“He didn’t use his quirk on me today. It’s not that bad.” Deku looked horrified, but Deku was sensitive. The light bruise along Shouto’s cheekbone was nothing, even though Shouto was a good kid. “I still want to cover it up, though.” Deku was about to cry if he had to look at it any longer; they both could tell, and so Katsuki led Shouto into the bathroom and helped him apply concealer and foundation. Shouto didn’t ask why he was used to doing this; he probably knew. They didn’t realize then how bad it was.)
(“When I was ssseven,” Hanta slurred, “m’dad went to jail for hurting us.” Hanta was crying in his room, and when Katsuki asked if he was high, he just giggled wetly. Hanta was a good kid. He didn’t deserve the faded cigarette burns on the inside of his elbows.)
“I just- what’s being a ward of the school like?”
“Fucking amazing.” Shinsou’s eyes widened, and Katsuki resisted the urge to take that back. Sure, the school had its problems (-leather in his mouth, gas in the room-) but a lot of them had been fixed. (Nedzu had now bargained for a strict ‘no HPSC’ policy, and he allowed Katsuki the pleasure of telling the Commission agent who ordered him to be knocked out and locked up to ‘fuck right off and shove the Commission’s ego up your ass.’) And he would not prioritize his pride over his friend’s safety. “There’s so much more freedom. Any one of the teachers can sign your permission slips, but apparently it’s an honor for one of them to be asked? I asked Mic-sensei once and he looked like he was about to fucking cry. Also, you get to know in advance what Lunch Rush will and will not be serving, and all of your shit is paid for by the school.” More pros… eh, the Commission story sounded cool enough. “Nedzu let me tell a Commission agent to fuck off and shove their ego up their ass once.”
“Holy shit.” Shinsou looked like he was about to either cry or burst out laughing. Katsuki very selfishly hoped it was the latter. “Wait, does this make you the favorite student or something?”
“Hell no. But I get to know who the favorite students are? You’re Aizawa’s.” Shinsou froze, but not in a jolting, jumpy way, just a very unnatural sort of stop. Katsuki almost regretted saying that; a mortified blush rose on his friend’s cheeks a few seconds later and he started talking again to change the subject. “I’m actually pretty sure I’m Snipe’s favorite, and I’m one of Recovery Girl’s favorites- at least in the heroics course- because I very rarely overwork myself or do reckless shit in training-” this earned a snort from Shinsou- “anymore and I started helping her out at lunch sometimes. Denki and Jirou are the closest to being Present Mic’s favorites, but I think he legitimately thinks of us all the same. But I’m a little scared because Nedzu took a liking to Deku and I think they might plan world domination if ever put alone in the same room.” Shinsou did actually burst out laughing; Katsuki congratulated himself.
“...Do you think they’d accept me as a ward of the school too?”
“Duh. Aizawa-sensei’s already adopted you in his head even without knowing about the shitty fosters.” Shinsou flushed and looked away, nervously picking at the seams in Katsuki’s duvet. Katsuki bit his tongue in order to not comment on it.
“I just…” Katsuki, sensing that this conversation had made another serious turn, tried to meet the other’s eyes, but he was unsuccessful. “I’m not good like everyone else.”
(“I’m not that good,” Hanta denied, laughing softly. Katsuki noticed how he didn’t say ‘at cooking’ or ‘in a kitchen.’ Just. Not that good at all.)
(“If I was really that good, I should have realized that not using my left was not a good decision sooner. And on my own.” It was an offhand, frustrated comment about training. Even after getting provisional licenses, they’d needed to catch up, and it didn’t help that Shouto was training with the best at his father’s agency and therefore was thoroughly frustrated when seasoned pros managed to beat him down every day. Still, it struck a chord in Katsuki. Deku came back with the snacks before Katsuki could respond.)
(“But I’m a bad kid.”)
“You… You transferred after I-” Katsuki took a deep breath, realizing that Shinsou was still standing awkwardly in his bathroom’s doorway. “Look, sit down. Wherever, I don’t care, but I gotta tell you something.” The boy plopped down on Katsuki’s bed with a great attempt at a smirk considering the circumstances. Katsuki stared wordlessly. He couldn’t figure out where to even begin.
“What’s up, buttercup?” He cracked at his friend’s nervous, but snarky question, sending a glare that was only the slightest bit sincere (because really, buttercup?) and clearing his throat to speak.
“First of all, don’t ever call me that again, idiot. Second… near the beginning of this year, we had a class sleepover on a weekend. The hag called Aizawa about it because she wanted me home and I was shaking enough that I accidentally hit speaker and… it all came out. I wasn’t really paying attention to my surroundings and I threw my phone- that’s not important. Sparkplug drained my battery to end the call and after that, everyone knew. Do you want to know what I said to them when they first called it abuse?”
“That’s what this seems to be leading up to.” Despite the dry comment, there was a spark of genuine curiosity in those purple eyes.
“I told them it wasn’t.”
Shinsou jolted like he’d been struck. Eyebrows furrowed, and Katsuki decided he’d let him process this before he got to the point.
“But- But she was threatening you, wasn’t she? That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, the hag was. But I told them it wasn’t abuse. That it was different. I thought I deserved it because I was a bad kid. Because I wasn’t good.” Shinsou’s eyes widened in realization. “I’ve done a lot shittier stuff than you have, Eyebags. But they helped me, and they’ll help you.”
Shinsou spent the night in Katsuki’s dorm, anxiously drafting up what he was going to tell Aizawa in his Notes app. Katsuki fell asleep pretty early, but Shinsou barely slept at all until morning and when Katsuki woke up twenty minutes after the other, he grumbled half-heartedly about forcing a melatonin down his friend’s throat. Shinsou laughed slightly hysterically from sleep deprivation.
Katsuki’s friend did not join him on his morning run, and instead texted him a cat picture or a deepfried dead meme every five minutes. The notifications kept buzzing against his thigh and he eventually just ignored them, accepting that Shinsou just needed to let out his nerves. He wished he’d just left his phone plugged in. But by the time his morning run ended, the texts were slowing down, and when Katsuki got to his now empty dorm, he got one last notification, one that he finally had a minute to open.
im going to talk to sensei now, wish me luck or whatever
Shinsou didn’t need luck, and Katsuki was sure to tell him so.