Chapter Text
The rhythmic, steady thud of the chef’s knife against the heavy wooden cutting board was the only sound echoing through the empty, cavernous kitchen of the Heights Alliance 3-A dorms. Katsuki adjusted his grip on the handle, his crimson eyes narrowed in hyper-focus. It was his turn to cook, a chore he usually approached with the same aggressive perfectionism he applied to combat training. Tonight, he was keeping it simple but meticulous—dicing onions, garlic, and hot peppers for a spicy katsudon recipe he had spent months perfecting.
He was in his third year now. The explosive, volatile kid who used to scream at the top of his lungs had evolved. The sharp edges were still there, carved deeply into his jawline and the intense glare of his eyes, but there was a new, settled weight to him. Responsibility, survival, and the lingering shadows of a war they had barely won hung over all of them.
Katsuki lifted the heavy blade to slide a pile of minced garlic into a bowl. His mind strayed for a fraction of a second—just a brief, fleeting thought about a training sequence he wanted to run with Deku later that evening—and that was all it took.
The knife slipped.
It didn't just nick his skin. Because of the sheer force Katsuki always used, the heavy, razor-sharp steel came down hard, biting deep into the flesh of his left index finger.
The initial sensation wasn’t pain; it was a cold, sickening thump that vibrated straight up his forearm. Katsuki froze, his breath catching in his throat. He slowly lifted the knife away.
The wound was wide, a jagged canyon splitting the side of his finger. For a terrifying, suspended second, there was no blood—just pale, parted flesh, and a sickening flash of solid, stark white deep within the cut. The blade had bitten all the way down. He had hit the bone.
Then, the floodgates opened. Dark, thick crimson surged out of the wound, spilling over his palm and splashing onto the light wood of the cutting board.
"F-fuck," Katsuki hissed, his voice dropping into a raspy whisper.
A sudden, sharp wave of heat bloomed in his chest, followed instantly by a freezing cold that turned his knees to water. His heart began to hammer against his ribs like a trapped animal. It was a completely disproportionate reaction to a finger injury, and he knew it, but his body didn't care. The sight of his own deep, unmitigated bleeding triggered something ancient and terrifying in the recesses of his brain.
The battlefield. The smell of ozone and burning flesh. The sky turning black. The feeling of his chest cavity collapsing, the absolute, undeniable realization that his life was slipping away.
"Deku," Katsuki called out. His voice was lower than he intended, swallowed by the hum of the kitchen refrigerator. He gripped his wrist, trying to squeeze the blood flow shut, but it leaked through his fingers, bright and unrelenting. "Deku!"
No answer. The common room was empty; the rest of their classmates were out at an afternoon seminar, leaving only Katsuki and Izuku in the building. Izuku was up in his room, likely buried under mountains of hero analysis notebooks or doing mindless repetitions of air-smashes.
"Deku! Get down here!" Katsuki yelled louder, but the sudden exertion made his head spin violently.
The kitchen tilted to the left. The bright fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum louder, expanding into blinding halos that blurred his vision. The edges of his sight were fraying into a dark, fuzzy static. The sheer panic of the blood loss—or rather, the psychological echo of having his heart stopped once before—was sending his nervous system into a tailspin. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.
"Izuku!" he screamed, dropping the honorifics entirely, his voice cracking with a vulnerability he hadn't shown since they were children.
Nothing. Just the silence of the dorms.
Stumbling backward, Katsuki dragged his bloody hand along the counter, leaving a gruesome smear across the marble. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. He needed to find his phone. Where the hell did he leave it?
His eyes scanned the blurred environment. There—on the small dining table across the room. He lurched toward it, his boots heavy and uncoordinated. He practically fell into the chair, his right hand shaking violently as he snatched the device. His left hand was a useless, dripping mess, curled tightly against his chest to avoid staining the floor further, though he was already failing at that.
He unlocked the phone with a trembling thumb, leaving a streak of red across the screen. He bypassed his contacts and hit the speed dial.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Every chime felt like a physical blow to Katsuki’s temples. Finally, the line clicked open.
"Kacchan? Hey!" Izuku’s voice came through, loud and breathless, accompanied by the distinct rustle of papers and the heavy thud of a textbook closing. "Listen, I'm right in the middle of writing up this breakdown on Shinya’s new support gear adjustments, and I really want to finish this chapter before dinner. Can it wait a few minutes? I'm super busy!"
"Deku—" Katsuki gasped out, but his throat felt like it was coated in sand. The word was barely a breath.
"Awesome, thanks! See you in a bit!" Izuku said rapidly, completely missing the strain in Katsuki's voice over his own excited muttering.
Click.
The line went dead.
Katsuki stared at the screen as it faded to black. A hot spark of anger flared through his fading consciousness, but it was quickly swamped by a wave of cold dread. His vision was narrowing further, a dark vignette closing in on him. He could feel his pulse throbbing directly in the wound, each beat pushing more blood past his futile grip. He was going to pass out on the kitchen floor like a pathetic amateur.
With the last remnants of his fading strength, Katsuki forced his thumb to tap the message icon. His vision was so blurry he could barely see the keyboard, relying entirely on muscle memory.
Cut finger deep. Hit bone. Dizzy. Bleeding out. Get down here.
He hit send. The phone slipped from his hand, clattering loudly against the tabletop before sliding off and hitting the floor. Katsuki slumped forward, his forehead resting against the cool wood of the table, his breath shuddering as he fought a losing battle against the encroaching darkness.
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Upstairs on the fifth floor, Izuku Midoriya tossed his phone onto his bed and rubbed his eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt for hanging up so quickly, but Kacchan usually only called him when he wanted to yell at him to hurry up for dinner or to demand he bring down a specific spice from the pantry.
He picked his pen back up, leaning over his notebook. 'If the kinetic absorption fibers are woven into the shoulder joints...'
BZZZ.
The phone vibrated violently against his mattress. Then, before he could even reach for it, it began to ring again. Izuku blinked, glancing at the screen. Kacchan.
"Did he seriously call back just to yell at me?" Izuku muttered with a soft sigh. He picked it up, sliding the screen to unlock it, but before he answered the call, his eyes caught the preview of the text message that had arrived a second prior.
Cut finger deep. Hit bone. Dizzy. Bleeding out.
Izuku’s heart stopped. The casual, relaxed atmosphere of his bedroom shattered in a millisecond. The words burned into his retinas. Hit bone. Dizzy.
Katsuki Bakugo did not complain. Katsuki Bakugo did not ask for help unless the world was ending. For him to text those words meant the situation was already catastrophic.
Izuku didn't even bother answering the ringing phone. He dropped it, kicked his chair back so hard it flipped over, and activated One For All. Full Cowling erupted around him in a violent burst of emerald sparks, the green lightning illuminating the walls of his room as he threw open his door.
He didn't take the stairs. He vaulted over the banister of the central stairwell, dropping down multiple flights at a time, his boots crashing against the concrete landing before he threw himself down the next flight. The wind roared in his ears, his mind screaming a single name over and over again.
Kacchan. Kacchan. Kacchan.
He hit the ground floor in seconds, the soles of his shoes squealing as he rounded the corner into the common area and tore into the kitchen.
The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop into a bottomless pit.
The kitchen looked like a crime scene. A heavy knife lay abandoned on the counter alongside a blood-spattered cutting board. Crimson trails smeared the marble counters, and a steady pool was widening on the floor around the dining table. Katsuki was slumped over the table, his head down, his face deathly pale, and his breathing shallow and uneven. His left hand was soaked in dark, thick blood.
"Kacchan!" Izuku cried out, deactivating his quirk as he dropped to his knees beside the chair. He grabbed Katsuki’s shoulders, his hands trembling violently. "Kacchan, look at me! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I hung up, I didn't know—"
Katsuki’s eyelids fluttered open, but his eyes were glassy, unfocused, and swimming with a terrifying vacancy. "Deku...?" he whispered, his voice incredibly faint. "Took your... damn time..."
"I'm here, I'm here," Izuku babbled, his hands flying to Katsuki’s injured hand. He carefully but firmly wrapped his own fingers around Katsuki’s wrist, applying a tight vice grip to compress the artery, while using a clean kitchen towel he grabbed off the table to press hard against the wound.
Katsuki groaned, a weak, pathetic sound that tore at Izuku’s chest. The explosive blonde didn't even try to pull away or curse at him. He was completely compliant, his body heavy and limp.
"Hold on, just hold on," Izuku pleaded. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone. His fingers were shaking so badly he almost dropped it twice. He didn't call the standard emergency services; UA had its own protocols, and they needed immediate hero-level medical intervention. He dialed the one person he knew would answer instantly.
The phone rang once.
"Midoriya," Shota Aizawa’s tired, gravelly voice came through the speaker. "This better be important."
"Sensei! It's Kacchan! He—there was an accident in the kitchen, he cut his finger open really bad, he says he hit the bone!" Izuku yelled into the phone, his voice pitching into a panicked squeak. "There's so much blood, Sensei, he's losing consciousness, he's going into shock! Please, we need help!"
Aizawa’s tone shifted instantly from annoyed to razor-sharp. "Are you holding pressure?"
"Yes! I have a towel on it, I'm pinching the wrist, but he's really pale, his eyes are rolling back—"
"Listen to me, Midoriya. Keep holding pressure. Do not let go," Aizawa commanded, the sound of a chair scraping and papers shuffling audible in the background. "I am contacting Recovery Girl right now. I will be at the dorms in less than two minutes. Do not move him unless you have to."
"Understood!" Izuku choked out.
He dropped the phone onto the table, focusing all his energy on the pressure he was applying to Katsuki's hand. "Kacchan, stay with me. Aizawa-sensei is coming. Recovery Girl is coming. You're going to be fine, okay? Just look at me."
Katsuki didn't look at him. His chin sank lower onto his chest. His breathing grew slower, agonizingly shallow.
"Kacchan?" Izuku’s voice cracked.
Suddenly, Katsuki’s entire body went rigid. His eyes snapped wide open, but they weren't seeing the kitchen anymore. The pupils were completely dilated, staring into a horrific void. A choked, terrified gasp escaped his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated primal fear.
"No... no, wait..." Katsuki muttered, his right hand clawing frantically at his own chest, right over his heart. "It's... it's stopping... Deku, it's cold... everything's..."
Izuku froze, a cold sweat breaking out across his neck. He recognized this. It wasn't just blood loss. It was a psychological flashback. The physical sensation of his blood pressure dropping rapidly, combined with the sight of his own deep wound, had short-circuited Katsuki’s brain, dragging him violently back to the worst moment of his life—the moment his heart had been pierced, the moment he had actually died on the battlefield.
"Kacchan, no! You're safe! You're in the dorms!" Izuku yelled, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. He leaned closer, trying to force himself into Katsuki's line of sight. "You're alive! I'm right here! You're not there anymore!"
But Katsuki was gone. His nervous system, overwhelmed by the phantom trauma of his past death and the very real physical shock of the current injury, chose a drastic defense mechanism. His eyes rolled back entirely, his muscles went completely slack, and he slumped sideways out of the chair.
Izuku caught him before he hit the ground, dragging Katsuki's limp, heavy body into his lap. "Kacchan! Kacchan, wake up!"
The front doors of the dorms burst open with a deafening bang.
"Midoriya!" Aizawa’s voice boomed through the common room. The underground hero sprinted into the kitchen, his capture weapon swirling slightly around his shoulders, his dark eyes instantly taking in the scene—the blood, the knife, and Izuku cradling an unconscious Bakugo on the floor.
"He fainted! He thought he was dying again, Sensei, he was talking about it being cold and his heart stopping!" Izuku cried, looking up at his teacher with absolute desperation.
"I'm still holding pressure, but he won't wake up!"
Aizawa dropped to his knees beside them, his expression grim but intensely calm. He reached out, placing two fingers firmly against Katsuki’s neck to check his pulse. After a tense, agonizing five seconds, Aizawa exhaled slowly through his nose.
"His pulse is fast but steady. He’s in shock, and the psychological trigger accelerated the syncopal episode," Aizawa explained calmly, though his hands moved with practiced, efficient speed. He took a clean roll of gauze from a small first-aid pouch he had brought with him, replacing Izuku's hands with his own to tie a tight, temporary pressure bandage around the mangled finger.
"Recovery Girl is setting up the infirmary. We need to move him now. Midoriya, lift him."
Izuku didn't hesitate. He activated One For All at a low, controlled percentage, carefully scooping Katsuki up into a bridal carry. The blonde's head fell back limply against Izuku’s shoulder, his usually fierce face completely slack and pale as paper.
"Follow me. Keep his hand elevated above his heart," Aizawa ordered, already turning on his heel and sprinting back toward the exit.
Izuku ran right behind him, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He kept his eyes locked on Katsuki's face, silently begging him to breathe, begging him to hold on. The short sprint across the UA campus toward the main building felt like an eternity, the chilly evening air biting at Izuku's face, but he barely felt it. All that mattered was the weight in his arms.
They burst into the school's medical wing. The lights were fully on, and the familiar, comforting scent of antiseptic filled the air.
"Over here! Lay him down on the primary cot!" Recovery Girl shouted, waving them forward. The elderly nurse was already wiping down her hands, a tray of sterile surgical instruments, bandages, and an IV drip standing ready beside the bed.
Izuku gently laid Katsuki onto the crisp white sheets. He immediately stepped back, his hands covered in Katsuki's blood, feeling suddenly small and helpless as the adults took over.
Aizawa stood by the door, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving his student. Recovery Girl moved with staggering efficiency for her age. She snipped away Aizawa's temporary bandage, exposing the wound. She winced slightly but didn't falter.
"He certainly did a number on himself," she muttered, quickly dousing the cut in sterile saline to clear the blood. She peered closely at the parted flesh. "The blade struck the distal phalanx—the bone is nicked, but thankfully not shattered or severed. The digital artery is compromised, which explains the profuse bleeding."
She looked up at Katsuki’s pale face, noting the rapid, shallow breathing. "Why did he pass out so quickly? A wound like this is painful and bloody, but a boy of his stamina shouldn't have gone under this fast from blood loss alone."
"It wasn't just the blood loss," Izuku said, his voice trembling as he stepped forward, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. "He... he had a flashback. Right before he went out, he thought his heart was stopping again. He thought he was back in the war."
Recovery Girl’s expression softened, a deep, sorrowful sigh escaping her lips. "The mind remembers what the body endured," she murmured gently. "Even when the conscious mind tries to forget, the nervous system keeps the score. An injury that mirrors the sensation of fatal trauma can trigger an immediate shutdown."
She turned back to Katsuki, leaning over him. Smooch.
The distinct sound of her quirk echoing through the quiet room was followed by a soft, glowing light that enveloped Katsuki's hand. The deep, terrifying gash began to knit together, the flesh pulling itself closed, the compromised artery sealing shut under the forced acceleration of his own cellular energy.
However, because Katsuki's body was already exhausted and in a state of shock, the strain of the healing quirk took its toll. His breathing deepened, but he remained deeply unconscious, his body sinking heavily into the mattress as his remaining stamina was drained to fuel the repair.
"The physical wound is closed, and the bone will heal cleanly," Recovery Girl announced, hooking up an IV line to his right arm. "I’m administering fluids to combat the blood loss and a mild sedative to keep him under. His brain needs rest, away from the panic."
She turned her sharp, maternal gaze onto Izuku. "Now, young man. Go wash that blood off your hands. You're shaking like a leaf."
Izuku blinked, looking down at his palms. They were stained a dark, drying crimson. He hadn't even noticed.
"Can I... can I stay with him?"
"Wash up first. Then you can sit," Recovery Girl said, her tone leaving no room for argument, though her eyes were kind.
Izuku nodded numbly. He walked over to the sink in the corner of the room, turning on the warm water. He scrubbed his hands vigorously, watching the red water swirl down the drain. It felt symbolic, a grim reminder of how fragile they all still were, despite being the strongest heroes-in-training in the country. They could fight villains, they could change the future, but they were still human.
They still bleed.
When he returned to the bedside, Aizawa had left to update the rest of the faculty and secure the kitchen. The room was quiet, save for the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor connected to Katsuki’s chest.
Izuku dragged a plastic chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. He looked at Katsuki's left hand. The finger was neatly wrapped in clean gauze, completely stable.
Hours passed in a slow, heavy silence. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across the infirmary floor before the automatic night lights flickered on, bathing the room in a soft, blue hue.
Izuku never moved. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands, his gaze fixed on Katsuki’s face.
Around midnight, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor shifted, spiking slightly.
Katsuki’s brow furrowed. A low, irritated groan rumbled in his throat. His head rolled to the side, his eyelids twitching before they slowly, heavily blinked open. The crimson eyes were no longer glassy; they were clear, though clouded with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, taking in the unfamiliar tiles, before his gaze drifted downward, landing squarely on Izuku.
"You look like shit, Deku," Katsuki rasped, his voice incredibly dry and gravelly.
Izuku let out a breathless, watery laugh, a massive weight lifting off his chest. "Yeah, well, you don't look much better, Kacchan."
Katsuki lifted his left hand, staring at the bandaged finger. He flexed it slightly, wincing at the dull ache, before letting it drop back onto the sheet. Memories of the kitchen, the blood, and the sudden, overwhelming panic came rushing back to him. A flash of intense embarrassment and frustration crossed his features, and he quickly turned his head away, staring at the wall.
"Stupid," Katsuki muttered, his jaw clenching. "A damn kitchen knife. I let a fucking kitchen knife take me out."
"It wasn't the knife, Kacchan," Izuku said softly, leaning forward. "Recovery Girl explained it. Your body... your nervous system remembered what happened during the war. The blood loss triggered a panic response because of what you went through. It wasn't weakness. It was trauma."
"I don't need you analyzing my brain, nerd," Katsuki snapped, though the bite was entirely missing from his voice. He sounded tired, smaller than usual. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "It’s pathetic. I'm supposed to be the top hero. I'm supposed to be invincible. And I faint because of a deep cut?"
"You are going to be a top hero," Izuku said firmly, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. Katsuki shifted his gaze back to him, surprised by the intensity in Izuku's eyes. "But you're not invincible, Kacchan. None of us are. You died. Your heart literally stopped. Do you really think you can just walk away from that and pretend it never happened?"
Katsuki stared at him, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wanted to argue, wanted to yell at Izuku to shut up, but the sheer exhaustion holding his limbs down stripped away his defenses.
"Every time my heart rate gets too high outside of combat... or when I feel a sudden drop," Katsuki confessed, his voice dropping so low Izuku had to strain to hear it.
"Sometimes, when I'm just sitting in class, my chest feels like it’s freezing over. Like it’s collapsing again. I thought I had it under control. But tonight... when I saw the bone... I thought, this is it. It's happening again."
Izuku felt a lump form in his throat. He reached out, his hand hovering over the bedsheet for a second before he gently placed it over Katsuki's uninjured right hand. Katsuki stiffened slightly, but he didn't pull away.
"You don't have to carry it all by yourself," Izuku whispered. "We survived it together. We're going to deal with the aftermath together, too. If you're feeling cold, or if you're scared... you can call me. And I promise, I will never hang up on you again. I am so sorry I did that tonight."
Katsuki looked down at Izuku’s hand resting over his own. He let out a long, slow breath, the tension finally draining completely from his shoulders.
"You better not," Katsuki muttered, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "If you hang up on me when I'm bleeding out again, I’ll hunt you down from the afterlife and blow up your notebooks."
Izuku smiled, tears pricking the corners of his eyes again, but this time they were born of relief.
"It's a deal."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, the hum of the infirmary keeping them company. For the first time in a long time, the shadows of the past felt a little less heavy, countered by the simple, undeniable reality that they were both here, both breathing, and both moving forward together.