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The guy driving the car is a fucking pushover. Katsuki recognizes the type. Sunken faced, awkward, scrambling to do what they're told. Just about describes every teacher he's had before the troll doll known as Gojo.
Said migraine in the making sits on the other end of the car, his stupidly long legs crossed and grin in place. What Katsuki wouldn't give to blast that look off his damn face. Deku went poof the second they stepped off school grounds. Not that he went anywhere, Katsuki can feel the fucker floating around nearby, just out of sight but not of mind.
Katsuki keeps his eyes on the window, watching familiar streets pass by through tinted panes. His family doesn’t own a car and nothing was far enough to warrant using the bus, this is the first time he’s seeing his neighborhood from a vehicle.
“Are you looking forward to seeing your folks?”
Katsuki doesn’t bother looking away from the window. “Does it fucking matter? I’m just getting my shit and leaving.” He doesn’t want to talk about how he hasn’t seen them since the morning of the USJ attack. A few days can last a long fucking time when you don’t know what’s going on. Take it from Katsuki - that’s what his entire year’s been like.
“Don’t be like that, Katsuki!” Oh yeah, this fucker uses his given name, too. Another reason to pick up cursed energy fast. Katsuki can’t kick his ass to timbuktu without it. “A manager told your parents all~ about curses and jujutsu. So you don’t have to worry about that.” He tilts his head, looking at something Katsuki can’t see. “What about you, Izuku? Are you excited to see the Bakugous? Katsuki’s a piece of work, but surely they treated you nicely? Being friends with their boy and all.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, Deku will stay the fuck out of my house.” Katsuki snarls, finally whipping around to glare at his teacher. Deku’s cursed energy eeks away from him, going to Gojo’s side of the car.
“Ohhh, scathing~” Gojo drawls, “Tell me, how do you plan to stop him? Putting up a barrier? Using your cursed energy on him?” He laughs and snaps his fingers, “Oh wait! You can’t do any of that yet.” He’s swapped out the blindfold for some Ozzy Osbourne looking glasses, but Katsuki still gets pinned by his stare. How the fuck is this guy Quirkless? “A piece of advice from your great and wise sensei: save the big talk for when you can back it up.”
“Tch.” He goes back to watching the street.
Katsuki’s house is just as he remembered it. The front garden looks well-maintained, the bushes trimmed of their scraggy branches and the debris picked up. The landscapers must have come by while he was gone. The curved roof still looks stupid, a few days away won’t change that. It’s odd. His house was one of those things that he didn’t think much about, if at all. What was there to say? It was his house. He eats there, sleeps there, does his homework. It’s just….his house.
Faced with the knowledge this might be the last time he sees it for a while, Katsuki pays attention to some things. Like the scorch mark he knows is on the side wall - hidden by the shrubs. He’d been eight, trying to experiment with his Quirk without his mom getting on his case about it. He’d been storing some of his sweat in a bucket and accidentally ignited it. He didn’t have eyebrows for a few weeks. The idea of storing his sweat to use later never really left his head - his gauntlets being the end result - and somehow mom didn’t notice the scorch mark. Or maybe she did and thought him losing his eyebrows was a good enough punishment, she certainly thought it was funny.
Deku manifests in that stupid jujutsu uniform, his hood pulled over his face. He stays near the troll doll, which is just fine with Katsuki. Deku’s always used an adult’s presence as a deterrent for the worst of the bullying. The teachers might not have cared much, but even they had limits. Even the coward from last year would have drawn the line if he heard what Katsuki said the day Deku…committed.
Gojo gives the house a quick once-over. “Nice place.” He comments, “Pretty low on curses, too.” He looks down at Deku, “You must have done pest-control often.”
Because of course he did. Ever since Deku died he’s been pulling Katsuki’s ass out of fires he set. Katsuki stands by what he said the first night at Jujutsu Tech, curses wouldn’t even be targeting him if Deku had just made peace with his shit lot in life and moved on. He stalks ahead of dumbass 1 and dumbass 2 before he can hear the reply. If he listens to Deku try and act humble he’s going to vomit.
Katsuki expects his mom to be fucking furious. He expects yelling and smacks to the back of the head and demands to know if he has a brain under all the dandelion fluff he calls hair. He doesn’t expect her to throw the door open before he can knock twice and hug him right then and there. He’s forced into the fabric of her blouse, breathing in the smell of her perfume. There’s visceral relief bleeding through both of them, the climax to days of worrying on his mom’s end and a brief sense of comfort on Katsuki’s.
Then she grabs him by the ear and drags him inside, hissing, “You fucking idiot .”
Well, at least this is familiar. “Leggo of me, you old hag!” He yells, flailing his arms to try and free himself. He only breaks free because she lets him and they both know it. “The fuck is your problem?”
“My problem?” Her face twists into even tighter fury, “Why the hell didn't you tell us you were seeing shit?”
“Oh yeah, like that woulda gone well.” Katsuki snorts, “You woulda put me in a mental ward!” Honestly, if he hadn't met Tokoyami when he did he might have gone there himself. Then again, a place like the mental ward would probably be chock full of curses. Then he really would have been fucked.
“Or we would have listened!” Mom explodes back. Katsuki might have gotten the ignition for his Quirk from his dad, but his temper? All hers. She gets in his face, “What, you think I like learning from a stranger in a three piece suit that my son’s being followed by curses? You think I didn’t put it together? You think I didn’t notice when you came home smelling like shit and looking worse? You’ve been fighting monsters for months and I! Didn’t! Know!”
Dad steps between them before anything physical can break out. “We were worried.” He tells Katsuki outright. He’s always liked that about his dad: the man never minces words. He was usually content to let Katsuki and mom scream their lungs out and then sweep in at the end with a calm suggestion. Not this time, it seems. The lines on his forehead are deeper than Katsuki remembers, and when he glances at his mom he can see bags under her eyes. Parents always seem so untouchable, it rattles him to see them so worn down.
When his dad pulls him in for a hug, a hell of a lot more gently than his mom did, Katsuki lifts his arms and hugs him back. He feels his mother join in moments later, her manicured nails burying themselves in his hair. Katsuki’s not huge on physical contact, but parents need this. He’d rather die than admit it, but being in their embrace lets him forget the shitshow his life has been, if just for a few seconds.
“Well,” oh god fucking dammit, not right now, “This is certainly an explosive family reunion.” The troll doll leans against the doorway Katsuki’s mom left open. He’s obnoxiously tall, almost tall enough for his hair to reach the top of the doorway. The ambient light from outside makes his hair light up in a halo around his face. The glasses hide his eyes, but not his amusement. “Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, a pleasure.” He strides in, “My name is Gojo Satoru, I’m Katsuki’s teacher.” Again with the given name. Katsuki’s this close to saying fuck it and trying to blast him anyways.
Mom eyes Gojo. She still looks a bit pissed, but curiosity’s outweighing her urge to be a bitchy hag. Shame, Katsuki would have loved to see it. “Take your shoes off.” She tells the troll doll, “Were you raised in a damn barn?”
Gojo’s entire demeanor lights up, like being insulted is hilarious. “To be fair, it was a very nice barn.” He takes his shoes off as directed, leaving them to the side, donning the guest slippers his mom has lying out for visitors. They look ridiculous with his dark purple uniform.
Katsuki grunts as mom smacks him on the back of the head - not hard, but enough to make a sound. “And you! I know you weren’t raised in a barn. Did you lose your manners at that new school?”
“You dragged me in, you bitch.” Katsuki complains, shuffling off his own shoes. “I didn’t have time.” He stiffens when he feels Deku’s cursed energy stalling at the door. It lacks the solidness it does when he’s physical, but Katsuki still wants to cuss the idiot out and demand what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Then Katsuki remembers what Gojo said in the car. What can he really do to stop Deku if he decides to come in anyways? Nothing. He’d just be announcing to his parents that Deku’s here, and that’s a whole other grenade he doesn't want to pull the pin to. Besides, Deku’s not even manifested, and it’s not like his parents could see him if he was. Just let the elephant be.
Deku stays near the door, even after Gojo closes it behind him. Mom tells them to sit down on the couch while dad goes and grabs water for everyone. Katsuki sits down next to his mom and resists the urge to growl at how Gojo sprawls his legs out, taking up as much space as he can - and it’s a lot of space. If Katsuki’s parents take offense to their rude-ass guest’s behavior, they don’t show it.
Mom takes a sip from her water, her face falling into a mask Katsuki recognizes from her modeling shoots. Cold, composed, ready to rip a motherfucker apart. If someone makes a mistake talking to her, she doesn’t show it until they’ve dug their grave deep enough for her to kick them in. Katsuki’s never had that kind of patience. If anyone could verbally rip Gojo a new one, it would be his mom. “So,” She starts, “you’re Katsuki’s teacher?”
“Yep.” Gojo pops the ‘p’ at the end. “I’m in charge of all the first years that attend Jujutsu Tech.” Yeah, and Katsuki’s still trying to figure out how Maki and the other second years survived their year with him. His personal favorite is divine intervention.
“And he’s already started classes?”
“He has.”
Mom hums, “How would you say he’s doing so far?”
Gojo, the fucker, grins. “Oh, he’s absolutely terrible .”
Katsuki snaps his head towards him, “Ex-fucking-cuse me?”
“Has no handle on his cursed energy. Got beat up by his senior. Consistently treats his classmates badly.” Katsuki at least appreciates the choice not to say Deku’s name, even if he does still want to beat this man into a ditch. “All in all, he has a lot of work ahead of him. I’m not saying he’s hopeless, I do see potential, but it’s up to him.”
Katsuki would love nothing more than to shut this guy up, but he has a point. Things used to come easy to him, it barely took any effort to get in the top rankings. If there's anything he’s learned so far in the past few days it’s that he’s not even a blip on some people’s radar. His Quirk doesn’t mean anything to these people, and an aggressive attitude will only do so much against people who fight shit like curses day in and day out. Katsuki hates it, so much it burns in his chest, but he can’t say anything because the troll doll is right. So he just sits there, curling his hands tight enough to hurt.
Mom glances at him for barely more than a second, refocusing on Gojo. Her expression hasn’t changed once. “And what makes you qualified to teach my son?”
“Easy.” Gojo says, “I'm the strongest.”
Oh, yeah, like that’ll go over well with mom. She hates stuck-up arrogant fucks. He gets ready to watch the show, but to Katsuki’s absolute shock, mom’s expression cracks and she smiles. “I don’t doubt it.” She puts a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, “Our Katsuki, he’s a rash kid. He grew up with people making a fuss over him, praising him for just existing. I’m glad you think he has room to grow. It shows you really understand him.”
Dad finally opens his mouth. “There’s something that’s bothering me. Why did you wait so long to bring him home and get his things? Will we be able to visit?”
Katsuki can’t be imagining how Gojo’s smile gets dimmer. “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to visit.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, intertwining his fingers. “And the reason is also why we waited to bring him back. We had to make sure it was safe - for your son and for you.”
Katsuki’s whole family goes still.
“There’s a bounty on Katsuki’s head. Dead or alive.”
Deku had been quiet up until that moment. Not anymore. Katsuki winces at the rush of cursed energy that bleeds into the room, oozing of anger and a wordless demand of who? Mom and dad pick up a taste of Deku’s energy, stiffening in their seats.
Red starts to tinge Katsuki’s vision, entirely independent of Deku’s influence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” This idiot’s been all smiles when someone out there wants Katsuki dead? Might use his parents to get to him? He’s lucky Katsuki doesn’t lunge at him.
“You were having such a fun time,” Gojo says, oblivious to the danger he’s in. Or maybe he knows and he just doesn’t care. Yeah, that tracks with this arrogant fuck. “Besides, what can you do? It’s like I said, you can’t even fight a grade 4 curse right now. Would knowing right away really have done any good?”
Alright, Katsuki lied. He shoots out of his seat, putting a bare foot on the coffee table and lunging at his so-called teacher. He lands a hit on the troll doll’s smug face with a crackling palm, the smoke from the explosion covers Gojo's face from view. Katsuki gets yanked back by the collar before he can do anything else.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His mom yells. Her voice has a rare tinge of genuine anger, which should really be an indicator of how out of line he is. He doesn’t care.
“He should have fucking told me!” Katsuki screams right back, struggling to get free and land another hit. “It’s about me, I had the right to know!”
“Haaah,” The smoke clears, showing Gojo with not a damn hair out of place. He doesn’t even look singed. It’s like Katsuki’s attack never happened. “Has anyone ever told you your explosions smell sweet? Like burning sugar.” He leans against the couch, resting both arms on the back in the midst of everyone’s stunned silence. “Do you understand now? If you couldn’t even make me cough, what are you going to do against a curse user who decides to try and collect that bounty? Your Quirk might work on them, but their cursed techniques will work on you, too. All it would take is one shikigami user and it’d be curtains. The elders might not care - hell, they might even send a few - but as long as you’re on campus, near me , they won’t try anything outright.”
Gojo looks over to the door, where Deku’s cursed energy is still seething. To Katsuki’s parents, it probably looks like he’s breaking eye contact with them. “I also wanted you to focus on making friends.” Gojo admits, “I wasn’t about to make you worry over something you can’t change. That’s a job for the adults.” Deku doesn’t calm down, but he reigns his cursed energy in, which is more than Katsuki expected.
Nobody says anything for a bit. Then dad breaks the quiet, “He’s here, isn’t he. Midoriya.”
Katsuki looks down at his feet, focusing on keeping his breaths even. He doesn’t want Deku anywhere near his parents. The nerd’s made it pretty damn clear he doesn’t want Katsuki dead, but he’s still a curse. He can’t trust that Deku’s goals of making him “a better person” wouldn’t include hurting his parents.
He doesn't want them to see the boy that he convinced to kill himself.
“He is.” Gojo says.
“Can we…can we see him?”
Please, gods, no.
“It’s up to him.” Gojo now looks at Katsuki. “How about you set up a veil? Consider it hands-on learning. We’re already in an enclosed space, too, so it should be pretty easy. Do you know the words?”
Christ, the fucker’s foisting the work onto him, too. Katsuki sighs, lifts two fingers, and says the words. The veil falls over the room, following the imprint of the walls. It feels different than the veil tat villain put up at the USJ. The air’s still heavy, but it lacks the oppressiveness it did back then. Maybe it’s because it’s his veil and not an enemy’s. Katsuki hears his mom take a deep gulp of air and knows she’s spotted Deku.
He’s still at the front door, hiding most of his face under that hoodie of his. It hides the worst of his injuries, but anyone with eyes could see the blood running from his lip or how the hair clumping on the left side of his head is a little too red. Deku doesn’t step closer and he doesn’t say anything, stuck there like a deer in the headlights. The fucker’s taken off his shoes, and for whatever reason it makes rage bubble up in Katsuki. No one gave Deku the right to stand there and take off his shoes like he was welcomed . He’s dead, why is he even bothering with shit like manners?
Katsuki doesn't hear his dad get up from the couch. “The man who talked to us after the USJ, he said there was a curse. That it had been haunting Katsuki and came out to protect everyone.” He stops a few steps away from Deku. “It was you. You saved Katsuki, and you saved everyone.”
Katsuki’s father is a quiet man. Quiet, but proud. He’s pickier about the battles he wants to fight, but when he does, he never loses. His father is a steady, confident presence in his life. It kills something in Katsuki to watch him get down on his knees and assume the traditional dogeza position, his forehead resting on the ground and his hands in front of him. “Thank you.” Dad’s voice is tight with emotion. Katsuki’s never seen his dad cry, but he sounds like he’s choking back tears. “Thank you for protecting our son. And I am deeply sorry for everything he did to you. No one should have to go through that.”
No one should have to go through that. A nice cover-all statement blanketing every word, kick, burn and punch Katsuki had ever dealt Deku.
Stop , Katsuki wants to scream, I did this. It’s my fault. Don’t apologize for something I did. Katsuki’s actions are his own, his parents aren’t to blame because they didn’t know . The teachers never told them. Katsuki’s come to question a lot of things, but he doesn’t doubt for a millisecond that if his parents knew they would have kicked his ass. Scolded him, grounded him, disciplined him. If they knew, they would have done their best to fix it. His parents are good, unlike him.
Deku bites his lip, wringing his hands. “Please don’t thank me.” He says. Katsuki remembers his I want you to live, Kacchan and thinks he understands. People do good things for selfish reasons – take a look at half of the Pro Heroes if you want proof of concept. Oh, sure, some of them will act all noble and good, but at the end of the day all they want is a paycheck or another sponsor. Deku’s one of the weird ones, he doesn’t like being thanked for something he’s doing for himself.
Dad doesn't lift his head. “You didn’t have to help him, not after what he did. But you saved him anyway. You protected our boy.” He finally sits up, “You’ll always have Mitsuki and I’s gratitude.”
Gojo breaks the moment with an ill timed comment. For once, Katsuki doesn’t want to hit him. “This is touching, but we should start grabbing Katsuki’s things. Any more emotional stuff and he’ll explode.” Katsuki takes it back. This fucker doesn’t know how to not get on his nerves.
Two suitcases and a backpack, that’s all Katsuki’s allowed to bring with him. His whole life, reduced to two suitcases and a backpack. He focuses on getting his clothes packed first. He has to wear the uniform on missions, but like hell he wants to have that be his only outfit. His dad designs clothes, dammit, he refuses to be reduced to shitty dark blue. Packing his other things takes longer. He picks one or two posters and some figurines, taking care to make sure they won’t get damaged in transit. Katsuki isn’t particularly sentimental, but if Gojo really isn’t yanking his chain and people do want him dead he doesn’t want to leave behind something he might miss.
Sorting through some old school binder, he pauses when he uncovers a familiar notebook. You got what you wanted stares up at him accusingly, as fresh as the day Deku carved it into the pages. Some things, Katsuki’s learning, you come to regret for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter if you were just a stupid kid, too self-centered to think about somebody else. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean for something to happen. This is real life, and actions have consequences. Katsuki’s mistakes just take the haunting him part more literally.
He packs the notebook, putting it in with his posters and treating it with care he never showed it before.
Gojo stays in the living room, hashing out details with his parents or whatever. Deku’s sitting next to him every time Katsuki walks by, rubbing his sleeve between his fingers. You’d have to be a moron not to notice how he’s leaning into Gojo’s presence, wrapping it around him, finding comfort in it. Like a neglected dog getting ear scratches. It’s pathetic. A few gestures of affection and Deku gets attached, was his life really that shitty?
Katsuki doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t want to. He’s not gonna start going down memory lane, today’s already bad enough.
He gets everything packed up and lets Gojo know he’s done. He gives his parents one last hug – for their sake, not his – and ignores the slight sting in his eyes. “I’ll call.” He says. Mom would raise hell if he didn’t. Dad wouldn’t be so loud about it, but he’d have this look of disappointment the next time they meet and Katsuki’s already dealing with enough guilt as it is.
He’s halfway out of the door, Gojo ahead of him and Deku lagging behind when his mom calls out, “Wait.” She stares at Deku, her face a conflicted mess of things Katsuki doesn’t want to untangle. “Your mother. Izuku, do you want her to know?”
Deku inhales, the breath stilling in his chest. Katsuki’s pretty sure curses don’t need to breathe. “...No.” Deku says, “No, I’ve hurt her enough. She wouldn’t want to see me like this.” His hand goes up to touch the underside of his left eye. Midoriya Inko probably viewed the body before Deku was cremated, if only to confirm it was him. She’d take one look at him and have no choice but to remember the worst few days of her life. Rip open a wound that will never heal but is starting to scab around the edges. Katsuki remembers how broken she’d been when he and his mom visited. Hollow. Like she would crumple under a stiff breeze. Seeing Deku again, the way he is now, might be what breaks her.
Mom’s eyes flicker over to Katsuki, a sad smile growing on her face. “Kids are supposed to hurt their parents.” She tells Deku, “That’s what children do, and we love them through it all.” She steps forward and brings Deku in for a hug. Unlike Katsuki, Deku loved hugs when he was younger. Now? He represses a flinch. Deku could hurt her, could rip away from her touch or just poof into the air but he doesn’t. He just stands there, stricken.
“I’ll respect your wishes,” Katsuki’s mom runs a hand over Deku’s hoodie, the ears on it flattening like she’s petting a rabbit, “but just remember she loves you, okay? That will never change.”
If Deku sniffles and leans into the hug, neither Katsuki or Gojo bring it up. Deku vanishes his physical form the moment the door shuts behind them all, his cursed energy pulsing in rhythm to sobs. They don’t comment on that, either.
Gojo talks about anything and everything, sometimes asking Deku about inane shit like his favorite snack and “if you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”.Katsuki knows Deku is capable of talking to you in your head, so the fact that he doesn’t hear anything while Gojo nods his head lets him know he's being left out of the conversation on purpose. He remembers what the answer to those questions would be if Izuku were still four: Sourpatch Watermelon and I-Island, the holy land for Quirk nerds like him. Katsuki wonders if those answers have changed any, and if they changed because of him.
When they get back to campus, Katsuki throws himself into unpacking his things. Little by little, the space starts to feel like it’s his. It settles something in his chest. This isn’t his house, but it’s his for the foreseeable future and now it’s starting to feel like it.
Deku and Gojo stand outside, but the walls are literally paper and Katsuki can hear everything they’re talking about. He definitely doesn’t eavesdrop on Gojo telling Deku about how he gets his own room, too. The troll doll lists the number - one that’s a few rooms down from Katsuki’s - and Katsuki makes a decision.
While their idiot teacher keeps Deku busy, Katsuki enters his room. It’s empty, a blank slate like Katsuki’s was for the last few days. But if Gojo means half of what he’s telling Deku, that’ll change fast. Katsuki readjusts his grip on his cargo and walks to the desk. It was never his in the first place, and Katsuki’s a piece of shit, but he isn’t a thief. He’s just giving it back to its rightful owner. With interest.
Katsuki puts Deku’s notebook on the desk and then a blank one he had left over from the school year. It’s not expensive, but it isn’t cheap, either. Katsuki can’t remember why he never used it, but it’’s see more use with Deku than it ever could ave with him. The nerd’s just as annoyingly enthusiastic about cursed techniques as he is about Quirks, and his mumbling doesn’t get as loud if he’s also writing his theories down. So really, Katsuki’s doing this more for himself. He puts a pen on top of the notebook for good measure and leaves before anyone has the chance to spot him.
Katsuki takes advantage of the last few hours of sunlight to go outside and practice the katas Maki taught him. He’s not sure what beef she’s got with her family, but she wacks him harder than normal during spars if he calls her Zenin, so, message received.
He doesn’t see Deku at all during this time. He doesn’t see Gojo, either. Frankly, Katsuki feels like he’s seen enough of them to last him a month, so he’s not complaining. Fushiguro Walks by and sees him practicing. The guy doesn't say a word, doesn’t even nod his head. Katsuki can’t get a read on that motherfucker, but he knows the guy doesn’t like him and the feeling’s mutual.
He’s not here to make friends. Katsuki meant every word he said in the entrance exam. He will be a hero, there’s not a curse on this earth that could stop him from that. All this? Curses and sorcerers and fucking bounties on his head? Just a wrench the universe decided to throw at him. Katsuki will approach it the same way he does with most things in his life: agression, skill, and a fuck ton of profanity.
He honestly forgets that he returned the notebook until a few hours later, when he’s worn himself out from training and is getting ready for bed. Deku’s energy brushes against him, a quick there-and-gone tap that reminds Katsuki of simpler times, when they used to play tag or watch hero cartoons together.
The contact lets Deku whisper in Katsuki’s mind. Thank you. And then he’s off to his own room, leaving Katsuki alone. He didn’t use to do that.
Katsuki goes to bed and dreams of sunny playgrounds, sourpatch watermelons and the goofy smile on a freckled boy’s face. If his pillow is damp when he wakes up, that’s no one’s business but his own.