Thread by @kingfischerr

#ktdkweekly #kdw2ndrun | prompt: assassins
#bkdk #ktdk #bakudeku

Katsuki is a masked assassin. Izuku is his quartermaster and the only person in the UA syndicate who hasn’t seen his face. To this day, he can’t figure out 𝘸𝘩𝘺 the blond is so secretive of his identity.

It went like this: it’s been a running joke even before Izuku joined UA syndicate that Bakugou Katsuki, one of the best assassins in their league, rarely ever took off his mask even when the mission was completed.

But now, ever since Izuku transferred over from another assassins syndicate, he never took it off. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳.

Izuku thought it was funny at first, and maybe endearing, that the brashest, most ruthless, most efficient killer in their league was so skeptical of the new hire.

But it’s been five months since Izuku started at UA as a quartermaster to the assassins on-field, and he still hasn’t 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 seen Katsuki’s face. Even when they were paired together more often than not.

Sure, all the assassins in their syndicate were required to wear a mask on missions, but this was taking it a 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 too far. Katsuki’s mask was a sleek, onyx covering with two jagged eye slits, a craggy ‘x’ carved across the face, matching his usual tight-fitted,

all-black attire. He was covered all down to the hands and feet. The most Izuku had seen of his skin was when he would lift his mask a bit to drink or bite down into a quick meal, revealing smooth, pale skin and a jaw that was just as sharp as the knife in his holster.

And the thing was, it wasn’t like Katsuki’s actively avoiding him. Not at all, even. He’d interact with Izuku like he would everyone else, with the same gruff voice that masked his genuine care and concern.

Hell, even the other members of their syndicate said that Katsuki spoke to Izuku more than he did with anyone. And yet, Katsuki would still wait until Izuku had left the room to wipe down his face or take a breather.

They’ve never spoken on their off-hours, either. Katsuki was always either on a mission or in his room in the syndicate’s dormitory. Nothing else.

To this day, all Izuku knew about Katsuki’s physical appearance was the piercing red eyes that would look out from his black mask, and the spiky blond hair that sometimes peeked out of his hood.

It was bewildering, and also a little frustrating. Everyone else in the syndicate knew what Katsuki looked like except for Izuku. It bothered him 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 that he had even gotten to the point of asking Todoroki Shouto,

another assassin who was regularly paired with Katsuki, if the blond was self-conscious about his looks.

That had earned him a rare but loud laugh from the usually stoic assassin.

“Bakugou? Self-conscious?” Shouto scoffed. “If he wasn’t an assassin, he could be a model.”

And that, if anything, only raised Izuku’s intrigue.

He’s tried to sneak up on Katsuki sometimes, looking for moments where he knew the blond would be alone in the syndicate’s cafeteria, enjoying a quiet dinner.

But it was difficult trying to catch an assassin off-guard. Like attempting to beat Katsuki at his own sport. It would always end up with him with a tray in hand, creeping up behind Izuku, asking him what he was doing.

Izuku had stopped trying months ago, when it became apparent that it wasn’t a joke, or some kind of avoidance because Katsuki didn’t like him. It was something far more… delicate.

Izuku saw it in the way Katsuki’s body language was more relaxed with him, heard it in the newfound softness of his voice.

As well as in the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he would get all quiet and severe when Izuku would try any of his sad, failed attempts.

Not something like anger. But more like… fear.

And then Izuku decided, firmly, that he wouldn’t force Katsuki into showing him his face, wouldn’t pry. Not until he was ready.

That brought them here now, today, with Izuku, Shouto, and Katsuki assigned on a mission together to take down a warehouse full of traffickers that they have been tailing for almost a month now.

Izuku was on the comms, as usual, situated in a van not far away from where the two assassins were making their way through the area.

And it had all been fine. Until it wasn’t.

Izuku had been focusing on guiding Shouto, who had just gone through the perimeter. He was chattering into the mic when his earpiece basically exploded with volume, making him jolt in his chair.

A blast sounded, loud and booming, and a grating crunch caused a constant whine to feed into their comms. It was tinny, and the sound drilled into Izuku’s skull.

He hurriedly rerouted Shouto’s line, feeding it into the speakers installed in the van, thinking that the assassin’s mic had busted.

But Shouto’s voice carried on as normal.

The explosion hadn’t come from his end.

Izuku released a sharp breath. He pulled up the heat-map to track Katsuki’s position. A sudden circular spike of red engulfed his marker in a plume. It was too wide to be safe, and the log told him that the blast occurred in the last ten seconds.

Izuku froze.

Katsuki’s marker didn’t move.

“Bakugou?” Izuku yelled into the mic.

The crackling continued, and he pressed a hand against his earbud as if it would bring Katsuki’s distant voice closer to him.

“Bakugou!”

He heard staticked coughing, painful and dry.

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦— 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱— 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦—” came his fragmented reply, pushing past the crackles with frenzied panic. “𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯’— 𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪— 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶— 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦— 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴—”

“What?” Izuku said. He pulled up another map, and saw that Shouto was still on the other side of the base. “Hold on, Bakugou, I’ll try sending Shouto to you.”

“𝘕𝘰— 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯’ 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥— 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰—” Katsuki’s voice was coarse.

Distantly, Izuku heard the pops of gunfire in the backdrop, too frequent for comfort. “𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘯’— 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵— 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦—”

It was too late. Izuku was already switching lines. He transferred Katsuki’s feed to the speakers while Shouto’s comms filtered into his earbuds.

“𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?”

“Some kind of bomb detonated.” Izuku replied hurriedly. He clenched his hands into fists. “It’s Bakugou. He’s in trouble. You 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 to go get him.”

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵.” Shouto’s voice was strained. There were gunshots on his end, too. “𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘵’𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵.”

“How many people?”

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘮? 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘹. 𝘉𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦.” Shouto grunted and Izuku heard the snap of some kind of wood. A yell, and then distorted shuffling.

“𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵?”

“His comm is broken. I can’t hear much more than static.” Izuku gritted his teeth.

Katsuki’s cutting prattle of dissent was still crackling in the speakers. Izuku may not be able to understand much, but he wasn’t stupid. Even now he could hear his frenzied warnings of ‘don’t’s and ‘leave’s.

“He’s telling us not to go to him.”

“𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.” Shouto huffs. There was clacking as he replaced his magazine. “𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘜𝘈. 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘶𝘱.”

Izuku squared his shoulders. That was easier said than done.

He calculated the distance from the nearest agent in their vicinity to their whereabouts. They would need to be 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 gone from here by then. There just wasn’t any other way. He ran his hands through his hair.

Katsuki’s hoarse voice still played over the speakers, desperate and warning. The gunshots sounded closer.

“There isn’t time.” Izuku said tightly.

He pulled away from his chair, opening a compartment beneath the metal flooring.

A bulletproof vest. A shotgun and a rifle. His hands shook as he pulled them out from their bags. It’s been years since he’s had cause to even hold one of these. The last time he could recall was in the very beginnings of his career in UA,

where gunmanship was a mandatory practice to pass screenings. But ever since he got the quartermaster job he’s never really needed to sharpshoot anymore. He snapped a holster around his waist and pulled at the straps.

There was a thickening pause on Shouto’s line.

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨?” He asked cautiously. When he didn’t get a reply, his tone climbed. “𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶?”

“He could 𝘥𝘪𝘦.”

Izuku cocked the shotgun, slipping it into his holster. The sound was clunky and unmistakable as it filtered through his mic.

Shouto stopped. Slowly, the reality of what Izuku was about to do dawned on him. Izuku’s earbuds burst with his panicked voice.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴!” Shouto snapped. The line crackled with silence. “𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶.”

Izuku tugged the vest over his torso. He gestured at the air, pretending a certain assassin was standing in front of him.

“I can’t just 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 him there!”

Shouto made a disgruntled sound in his throat. “𝘏𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵.”

Izuku shut his eyes against his words. There were a lot of things Izuku wished he could say to Katsuki right now.

A lot of things 𝘩𝘦 wished Katsuki would say to 𝘩𝘪𝘮. But it didn’t matter. They’d have plenty of time to argue after Izuku dragged his ass back into the van. And Izuku would look at that stupid black mask with the stupid jagged ‘x’ and he won’t even complain about it.

He could almost hear Katsuki’s disappointed voice, the way he’d yell. But it didn’t even 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.

“So what?” Izuku grumbled. He snapped a cartridge into place. “At least he’ll be alive to be angry.”

Shouto sighed. “𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶,” his tone was oddly gentle, if not exasperated. “𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥?”

Izuku swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“No, I don’t,” he said tightly. “Don’t try and stop me.”

“𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶?” Shouto said. His voice rose just as Izuku reached to shut his line off. “𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶!”

It fizzled out with a click. Izuku routed Katsuki’s comm back into his earbuds, and waited for the gunshots to leave an opening for him to speak, making sure that he was heard over the commotion.

“Bakugou?” Izuku said. “Hold on. I’m coming to get you.”

“𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘺𝘢?” Came Katsuki’s distraught reply. He must’ve sustained an injury of some sort, but Izuku knew if he asked, he wouldn't get an answer. “𝘕𝘰— 𝘯𝘰— 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬— 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵—”

For good measure, Izuku shut off 𝘩𝘪𝘴 line, too.

He could easily turn it back on if the situation called for it, but for now he didn’t need his friends yelling in his ear. He wrenched open the van’s door, shotgun strapped to his waist and rifle in hand, and made his way into the base.

He was greeted by a fanning plume of smoke, laced with debris and the smell of sulfur. He coughed into his elbow, the sting of it was already irritating his eyes. Smog escaped from an opened barn door, the rest of it wafting up from collapsed rafters.

Izuku ran towards the sound of prattling gunfire, one finger poised on the trigger of his rifle. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears now as he navigated between abandoned rooms coated with ash.

But his footsteps didn’t falter. He thought about Katsuki’s stupid mask and the ghost of a stupid smirk, one Izuku knew that he’s given many times before but just couldn’t see, and forced himself to keep moving.

Izuku heard gruff voices when he entered the third winding room, where the smoke thickened so much that it almost became hard to see. The barn, a mostly rotted structure with exposed paneling and feeble timber boards, was repurposed into a den of sorts.

He saw firearms strewn across folding tables and bullets not yet affixed into cartridges. Katsuki must’ve taken them by surprise. Or at least he hoped.

Izuku ducked behind a stack of crates. The voices were louder now, and the smell of gunpowder stung.

The ceiling opened up to a dusty, collapsed roof, and joists of splintered rafters hung on hopeless threads.

He must be in the same room as Katsuki, now, with the amount of people milling in it.

He spotted a man to his right, clad in a bulletproof vest not dissimilar to his own, crushed underneath a pile of wooden rubble, unmoving. At least five of them were clustered in the middle of the room, where sunlight from the accidental oculus bathed them in yellow rays.

They were saying something that Izuku couldn't quite catch, looking down at their feet. It was a large room, in the heart of the barn, and with the groans of structural damage around him, he couldn't hear a thing. But he caught their tone. They sounded like taunts.

Izuku leaned back against the crates, lining his body against its wooden boards. He made sure he was fully concealed and waited for any signs of struggle, anything that would tell him where Katsuki was. And then he heard it.

A bare rush of words, so bitter and arrogant that it could only belong to one person. Izuku carefully turned his head and peeked past the crates.

It wasn’t a mystery anymore now that they were all looking down at Katsuki.

One of them stepped forward and swung his leg, and when the metal point of his boot connected with a loud thud, Izuku heard a familiar groan.

He stifled the burn of something hateful in his chest as he propped the point of his rifle up against the top of a crate.

From where he was, one spray of bullets could take down all the men in the center of the room. He counted six of them now. But he told himself to be careful. He didn’t know how many other people might be in the surrounding area.

Izuku relaxed his grip around the trigger and gritted his teeth.

Katsuki didn’t even know he was here, but it might be better that way. Who knew what he might attempt to pull to get Izuku out before he could reach him.

Izuku reached up to his earpiece and switched the channel to Shouto’s line.

He could hear gunshots, but they’ve lessened now. On Izuku’s end, it was entirely quiet except for the distant grumble of conversation and creaking wood.

“Shouto?” Izuku whispered. He heard Shouto exhale with relief.

“𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶.” He replied. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?”

Izuku did a cursory sweep around the room before he ducked behind the crate again.

“Katsuki is surrounded. There are six men. I’m towards the front of the room.” Izuku stopped talking when the conversation reached a lull, and only continued when it started back up. “They can’t see me. Can you come over?”

“𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.” Shouto fired a few rounds. “𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯.”

Izuku sighed. “As soon as you’re done, get to the main room.”

“𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮?” Shouto asked. “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘨𝘰.”

“We’re not leaving you.” Izuku hissed into his mic.

“𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵—” Shouto grunted. “𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰. 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵.”

Izuku sighed. Shouto and Katsuki are too similar in this way. Determined. “Of course.”

“𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.”

Izuku smiled sourly at that, and left it as requested.

He propped the rifle up against the crate again. The men crowded around Katsuki more menacingly now, pushing into his space.

When Izuku shifted his perspective, he thought he could see the heels of Katsuki’s boots on the floor, the tiniest flash of his gloved hands. He would need to be quick. They seemed to be more hostile now.

Izuku looked through the aim.

He aligned the crosshair to one of the men’s temples. If he was steady and quick enough, he might be able to shoot down at least four of the men in one fell burst. But he felt his hands tremble at the weight of the firearm, the way the metal felt odd pressing into his skin.

He wasn’t built to kill. Not like Katsuki or Shouto. He wouldn’t be a quartermaster if he was.

Izuku took a deep, steadying breath. It was now or never. One of the men started to press forward, his hand reaching behind him to grab onto a rifle.

He aimed it at the floor —at what must be Katsuki— and the next thing Izuku knew his instincts were kicking in and his finger tightened savagely around the trigger. Like his body moved on its own.

The bullets erupted in bursts.

Izuku took down three of the men. At least he thought he must, because their bodies dropped to the floor like rag dolls and the blood that pooled onto the floorboards meant nothing but death. The three other men cursed and reached for their firearms.

They tried to spot him, tried to scour in the direction of where the shots came from, but between the gore and the surprise there was hardly anything to see. Izuku aimed and fired again. Another man dropped.

The remaining two spotted the movement this time, and the next thing Izuku knew the crates he was hiding behind were being punctured by bullets.

One zipped out the other side, Izuku didn’t even see it—

And it grazed the skin of his right arm.

Izuku let out a low hiss, clamping a hand over the gash. It was already starting to bleed, and by the feel of it he’d definitely be needing stitches, but it was nothing fatal. Izuku gritted his teeth against the pain and clutched the rifle again.

“𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶?” Shouto asked from his earbud. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥?”

Izuku clenched his jaw. He felt blood trickling down his sleeve. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮?”

Izuku could barely hear him past the gunshots. “Two more.”

He ran towards another pile of cargo, closer to the center of the room. This time the corrugated metal and the hardware inside didn’t let the bullets pierce through. Izuku tried to get a hold of his bearings.

He peered past the top of the cargo just as a bullet skidded past the arch of his shoulder. Izuku dropped his head back behind the covering. But he saw what he needed to see.

One of the men was isolated towards the right side of the room.

He must’ve thought that he would get a better angle on Izuku from there. But the principle also went both ways, and Izuku had the advantage of obscurity. It took four attempts before he managed to stick a bullet into the man’s shoulder.

He went down with a scream, and Izuku fired a few more rounds for good measure.

“One.” Izuku said into his mic, and Shouto hummed in approval.

But the celebration was short-lived. Just as Izuku turned to clean off the last guy, he stopped in his tracks.

The man had grabbed onto Katsuki and hoisted him up with an arm around his neck and another by his waist. Izuku parted his lips to call out to him, to tell him that it was okay, that he was here, but he was cut off by a scream.

There was a wound on Katsuki’s side, close to his hip, and everytime he struggled the man pushed his fingers into the bleeding flesh. Katsuki doubled over, his knees buckling, but the man only tugged him back up by the neck and tightened his grip.

And then their gazes met.

Katsuki’s eyes were hardened and severe. Izuku could barely see them underneath the shift of his mask and his fringe, which now hung over his temple, matted down with blood. Somewhere along the way he had also sustained a head injury.

It looked to be from something blunt, but forceful. Like the point of a table. Or a bat.

Like the sharp end of a boot.

Izuku tightened his jaw. He looked through the aim of his rifle, determined to get this over with. But then he heard a dissenting tut, a metallic clack of disapproval.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man drawled.

He pulled out a gun with the hand he had by Katsuki’s hip, and Katsuki nearly toppled over with the lack of support. But the man didn’t let him. He hauled him back up, and the cocked handgun came to rest at the side of his temple.

“If you so much as move, he dies.”

Izuku scoffed. The man only pressed the mouth of the gun further into Katsuki’s hair.

“You don’t want to make threats with me.”

“Izuku,” Katsuki said.

His voice was hoarse, but there’s an illusion of firmness there. He tilted his head up when the man’s grip around his neck tightened. And vaguely, Izuku could see that the lower part of his mask had cracked. It revealed the sharp curve of a jaw, the edge of pink, bloodied lips.

“Just 𝘨𝘰.”

And Katsuki had never sounded that desperate before, that 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. It was like he was another man entirely, not UA’s most feared killing machine.

Izuku ignored him. “How about 𝘺𝘰𝘶 let 𝘩𝘪𝘮 go, and I’ll spare you?”

He was all too familiar with men who wanted to bide their time. They look for a window of opportunity. And most importantly, they don’t want to die. Or pull the trigger, really, if it meant that Izuku would only finish him off the moment he did.

He must be waiting for something, for the other shoe to drop.

“I know how important he is to your people.” The man snarled.

He used the point of his elbow to nudge at Katsuki’s mask, and it shifted just enough for Izuku to catch the start of his nose.

“Do you think I’d just let him go, knowing how precious he is to you?”

Izuku tightened the curl of his fingers around the handle of the rifle. It’s odd to be addressed so directly, and Izuku knew that the man 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 be referring to UA. But there was an underlying suggestion there that he didn’t like.

It sent a course of red-hot anger through his veins, and it filled up his chest, the inner workings of his head.

“Your friends are all dead.” Izuku said. He kept his finger poised on the trigger. “Another assassin in the left wing wiped them all out. You’re done. Why bargain?”

“𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴? We don’t have friends here.” The man laughed. It made him sway, and Katsuki was forced to follow his movements. “We aren’t like you.”

“Shame.”

“Not really,” he gloated. The point of the gun was brought down, tucked under Katsuki’s chin, and he was forced to look up with a slow drag of metal. “That way we don’t form any 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 attachments.”

“Is that supposed to 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 something?” Izuku challenged.

“Izuku.” Katsuki pleaded, softer and obviously frightened now. But something told him he wasn’t thinking about the gun to his head.

“Is he really worth your life?” Izuku asked. He pushed Katsuki’s feeble voice away, to the farthest corner of his mind.

“Is he worth 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴?” The man taunted back.

He pushed Katsuki’s face back down, and slammed the heel of his gun into the back of his head. Izuku’s vision filled with red. He didn’t even hear Katsuki groan, almost didn't hear what he said next.

He only saw that Katsuki’s head was hanging forward, and he had a clear shot to the man’s temple. Izuku prayed the blond wouldn't move.

“I know you won’t do it. You won’t do anything that’ll put him at risk.”

Izuku gritted his teeth. “Say that again.”

The man’s lips stretched into a vile grin. “You won’t—”

Izuku pulled the trigger.

gonna have to upload pt. 2 of this tomorrow bc i can barely keep my eyes open (っ- ‸ - ς) i can feel that this thread is gonna be a long one so please stick with me!! (っ,-)

pt. 2 starting! thanks for bein patient ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

The bullet landed true. The man’s head was knocked back from the force of the shot, a wicked smile still on his lips, and his body fell back with a thud. Katsuki fell with him, still trapped under the vice grip of the man’s arms,

and only sluggishly crawled away from the body after it had fallen. Izuku rushed over, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He stepped over the man’s body, whose eyes were still open as if in shock.

That was the thing with desperate men, Izuku thought. They talk far too much.

Izuku spoke into his mic. “I have Bakugou! Get to the van 𝘯𝘰𝘸.”

Shouto whistled through the comm. “𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬.”

“Bakugou?” Izuku placed a hand on his shoulder.

Katsuki was still curled on the ground, clutching his side. When Izuku pulled his hands away to inspect the wound, it came off bloody.

“Did you get shot?”

“What do 𝘺𝘰𝘶 think?” Katsuki snapped, but there was no real heat behind the words. His voice was weak and strained.

“You’re so ungrateful.” Izuku grumbled, but his hands were still gentle when he reached for his shoulder, hauling him halfway up. “Come on, we have to get back to the van.”

Katsuki took in shallow breaths.

He tried to cooperate with Izuku’s movements, reaching over his shoulder to use him as a crutch, but when they shifted to a stand Katsuki grunted and folded over, as if all the muscles in his legs gave out.

“What’s wrong?” Izuku asked.

They’re still holding on to one another, and Izuku’s hand ghosted over Katsuki’s wound.

“𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬.” Katsuki said between breaths. They collapsed to the ground again. When Izuku pulled away, just enough to catch the blond’s eyes, they were half-lidded and almost lost. “Izuku.”

Izuku shook his head tightly. He ignored the way his throat closed up. “You can do it. I’ll help you.”

And if this was any other day, Katsuki would shake him off vehemently, would insist that he could stand up on his own. But now, his body was limp in Izuku’s arms.

It took all of his strength to haul Katsuki up to his feet. It came with barely-bitten protests, a desperate hand automatically coming to clutch his side.

Izuku pressed a hand there, too, in a futile attempt to staunch the blood.

They staggered towards the exit, past the winding rooms, and suddenly the barn felt like it stretched as far and wide as a football field. It didn’t help that Izuku’s arm stung with every movement Katsuki made, every time he had to haul him back up to keep him from slipping.

“You’re so heavy.” Izuku exhaled sharply as he tightened his grip on his shoulder.

Katsuki let out a huff of breath. A tired laugh. “Fuckin’ rude.”

“I still haven’t gotten a thank you.” Izuku drawled.

“Shouldn’t have come. Stupid.” Katsuki said. His voice was becoming more and more faint, and the drags of his feet became heavy.

Izuku panicked. He tried not to let it show in his voice. “If you pass out on me I’ll never forgive you.”

Katsuki hummed. His weight was warm against Izuku’s side. He tilted his head in Izuku’s direction tiredly, far too tall to rest it on his shoulder. Instead, he propped his cheek against his hair.

“Half n’ half?”

“He’ll meet us at the van.” Izuku said, softly. “And you better be awake when he comes back.”

“𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬.” Katsuki cursed.

He was barely carrying his own weight anymore, but it didn’t matter. They were outside now, the smoke and debris far behind them. The van was only a few feet away.

“Izuku.”

“You can do it, Bakugou, come on. Just a little farther.” Izuku assured, trying not to let the fear show in his voice, but he didn’t miss the way it trembled towards the end. “It’s not that bad, right? You’ve gotten worse.”

And they both know it was a lie.

Katsuki was far too hot-headed and stubborn to admit that anything could hurt him, which only made situations like this, where he was all pliant and vulnerable, all the more frightening. Izuku just wanted a rebuttal. Something. 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 that showed

that Katsuki’s snark was still here.

“Bakugou?” Izuku waited, but he didn’t get a response. Not even a huff. “𝘒𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘪?”

And then Katsuki’s legs gave out. Izuku tumbled down to the grass with him, for a moment confined under the heaviness of his arm before he shrugged out of it. Katsuki’s eyes were closed, but Izuku saw the fight to keep them open, the way his eyelashes fluttered.

“Katsuki!” Izuku cried, cupping his hands against his jaw, gently tapping his cheek.

He was met with soft skin on one side, the side of his mask that cracked, and he tentatively retracted his hand. It felt wrong to even touch his face.

“Come 𝘰𝘯, Katsuki, just a little more to go. I can’t get you in the van by myself.”

Katsuki opened his eyes for just a few seconds. Izuku couldn’t miss the glassiness he found there.

“Blood.”

Izuku reached for his shoulder again, trying to pull him up. “I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. But there’s a med-kit in the van and that’s why we need to get you inside.”

“No, no.” Katsuki waved him away. He reached for Izuku’s arm, tugging at his shirt sleeve, the dripping crimson fabric. “You.”

Izuku froze for a moment. “It’s nothing.”

Katsuki hummed like he didn't believe him, the sound rumbling in his throat.

Izuku sighed. “You literally have a bullet in you. Come 𝘰𝘯.”

Katsuki heaved a breath, trying to steady himself. He attempted to reciprocate the grip, tried to fold his legs underneath him, but he only squeezed Izuku’s arm in vain.

Izuku didn’t know what to do. Katsuki always tried to act like nothing was wrong.

He almost lost an arm once and played it off like a papercut. With the way most top-grade missions go —the ones Katsuki was always assigned to— there was bound to be some bloodshed. But never to this degree. Katsuki had never allowed a mission to go this far south.

Izuku pressed his lips to a thin line.

“Katsuki, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.” Izuku’s lips trembled, because if he said anything more he was afraid of what might come out.

Katsuki grunted. “Fuck. ‘Zuku. 𝘊𝘢𝘯’𝘵.”

Distantly, Izuku heard the start of gunshots again. It sounded faint, far enough that they didn’t have to worry about it for now, but he knew if they didn’t act fast things would only get worse. He prayed that it was just Shouto making his way through the exit.

When Izuku looked down at Katsuki, he knew he heard it too.

“Try.” Izuku said. He held onto Katsuki’s gloved hand, this time only to soothe, not to pull him up. Katsuki squeezed his palm feebly. “Please, try.”

Katsuki’s voice broke. The gunshots sounded again. “‘M sorry.”

And if Izuku’s heart could break into two at that moment, it would have. Despite Katsuki’s generally cold, aggressive demeanor, he was entirely too selfless for his own good. Though this was Izuku’s first time ever hearing him apologize to anyone,

he knew that it wasn’t because he couldn’t get back up. It was because he felt that he was putting Izuku in the line of danger.

Izuku looked back, towards the barn door that was swung wide open. Anybody could come through at any second.

Izuku was certain that he didn’t leave anybody alive in the main room, but he couldn’t be too sure. Then again, they could be coming in from the outhouses. UA didn’t give them enough time to scout out the surrounding area.

Izuku shut his eyes for a while. The glaring sun was hot on his back, and the heat suffocated them.

They’ll just have to take the chance.

“Okay.” Izuku said, finally.

He’d wait for Shouto to get them to the van.

If he tried to pull Katsuki up without support, it would just wear on his wound. He’d lost enough blood already. He looked down at Katsuki and their eyes met, except Katsuki barely had them open. Izuku gently pulled his head onto his lap, tucking him away from the blinding sun.

“Okay, you’re okay. I got you. We just have to wait.”

Katsuki shifted, and the coarse fabric of Izuku’s pants brushed his cheek. He seemed to startle at that, bringing a bloodied hand up to his jaw.

“My face.”

“It’s okay.” Izuku reached towards him, trying to tug the mask back into place, doing what little he could to compensate for the burnt polycarbonate.

“No.” Katsuki turned his head the opposite way, now, away from him.

Izuku frowned, something painful tightening in his chest. He retracted his hand.

“I won’t.” Izuku assured. He was a little bit disappointed that Katsuki would think so little of him. “I won’t do anything, I promise. I’m not trying to look.”

Katsuki shook his head. Somehow, that only made it hurt worse. “No…”

Izuku pushed past the bitter haze of disappointment. Katsuki was not thinking clearly, he told himself. Between the blood loss and the heat, he shouldn’t overthink it.

But would it be so awful if Izuku saw his face? Would it be so bad? He reached up for his earbud instead, leaving behind the ugly thoughts.

“Shouto?” Izuku croaked. “Where are you?”

“𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯,” his voice said. It was accompanied by the same gunshots that rang out by the barn. So it 𝘸𝘢𝘴 him, after all.

“I need your help.” Izuku looked down at Katsuki, his eyes fully closed now.

He reached over to shake his shoulder, but he was unmoving. A wash of dread overcame him.

“Katsuki can’t get up. He’s not moving. You have to hurry.”

“𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.” Shouto assured. In the thick of a fight, the assassin could only concentrate on little else. But Izuku could still hear the fear in his voice. “𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨?”

Izuku reached over to Katsuki’s jugular. He pressed down gently, and a slow pulse came up to greet him.

“Yes. But it’s not good.” Izuku said. His voice was starting to catch in his throat, something ugly and frightened. “𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘰.”

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.” Shouto said, because he knew how Izuku got about these things.

Usually, as a quartermaster, he was helplessly tucked in a car or a hotel room or a plane, far away from the mess,

but at least the computer screens told him truths and concrete reassurance. Now, it was different. Katsuki was bleeding out in his lap and there was no telling if they were safe, if Shouto was even going to make it.

And then Izuku heard it, one rushed pair of footsteps, thudding against wooden floorboards. Shouto came running out the door, rifle still drawn, until he spotted them only a few feet away from the exit. Izuku’s chest flooded with relief.

“𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴.” Shouto cursed as he fell to his knees, pushing his own red-white mask over his head, inspecting Katsuki’s wounds. He brought a hand to lift up the blond’s fringe, uncovering the bloody gash.

“I couldn’t keep him awake.” Izuku said,

trying his best not to let his voice betray him. “What if he has a concussion?”

“It’s going to be okay.” Shouto said. It seemed to be his mantra of the day. “We’re all clear for now but we should still get out of here. You take his left and I’ll take his right. Ready?”

Izuku nodded.

It was difficult. Katsuki was taller than Izuku and much heavier than he looked. But they managed to get him off the ground enough so that the support didn’t strain his side, and they carried him to the van.

Izuku slid the door open with one hand and they lowered him to the ground gently. Izuku lifted one of the compartments open and grabbed the obscured med-kit. Shouto got up and slid the door closed again.

“You stay and fix him up. I’ll drive.” Shouto instructed, already making his way to the driver’s seat.

“No!” Izuku got up from the floor hurriedly, dropping the bag. “No you should do it. I can drive.”

Shouto looked at him with a quirked brow. He gestured at him “But your arm.”

“It’s fine.” Izuku said. He thought about Katsuki’s head wound. The gash seemed to go into his hairline, by his ear. “You’ll— You’ll need to take off his mask.”

“Okay?” Shouto said, with a tone that suggested that he was confused. “I’m sure he won’t mind if he’s 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

“Please.” Izuku said, pointedly. Shouto could be quite clueless about things sometimes. But frankly, they didn’t have the time for Izuku to explain. “Just do it.”

Shouto sensed the change in his tone.

He lowered his voice, his eyebrows now knitting together in concern. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Izuku assured. “Nothing happened.”

He scrutinized him for a second. Izuku let him look all he wanted.

Shouto exhaled sharply, finding nothing. “Okay. Fine.”

He made his way towards Katsuki, dropping down beside the med-kit. “Just get us out of here.”

Izuku got into the driver’s seat. He pulled them into the road, routing the way back to UA, driving faster than he normally would.

Distantly, he heard Shouto ripping at packs of alcohol and swabs and gauze. The pain of disinfection must have woken Katsuki up, because Izuku heard a startled gasp and a bitten groan.

“‘Zuku?” Katsuki asked hazily.

His mask must be removed now, with the way his voice sounded unobstructed.

“No,” Shouto replied gently. “It’s Todoroki.”

Katsuki fell silent at that.

Izuku notified UA that they were on their way back with Katsuki severely injured.

When they pulled into the secluded base, Aizawa and Shinsou were already waiting on the driveway with a stretcher. Izuku waited in the driver’s seat, looking resolutely down at the steering wheel as they got Katsuki out of the van and into the building.

To his surprise, Shouto stayed behind with him, both of them simmering in the sound of distant chaos. Izuku only moved when he heard Aizawa and Shinshou’s frenzied chatter cease as the front doors closed. He slid sluggishly out of the car, and Shouto followed.

“So,” the assassin said, drawing out the syllable. “Are you gonna tell me what that was about?”

Izuku didn’t look at him. Right now, the grass seemed more interesting than his confused face. “I’m not gonna tell you because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Right.” Shouto drawled. He glanced sideways at him, his bloodied shirt. “Are you going to check yourself into medbay?”

Izuku shook his head. He couldn’t. Not right now, at least. Their medbay was pretty small and there was no avoiding Katsuki there.

Unconscious or not, he’d be maskless. The thought of even seeing his face accidentally felt like betrayal. His stomach churned. If he let his thoughts wander, he could still see Katsuki flinching away from his touch, the way he turned his head so sharply.

“I’ll wait.” Izuku said weakly.

Shouto didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, giving him a pointed look that Izuku didn’t reciprocate. He sighed heavily as they pushed past the front doors. There were people milling around in groups, whispering amongst themselves.

It seemed that they always caused a stir whenever they wrapped up a mission.

“You know,” Shouto sighed. “For somebody who’s supposed to be one of the smartest people in UA, you’re actually such an idiot.”

Izuku shut his eyes. That was rich, coming from a person who was always so clueless. “Shouto.”

“Izuku—”

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now—”

Shouto stopped him with a tightly-curled hand on his shoulder.

When Izuku turned to look at him, already frowning, the expression that greeted him was nothing but apologetic and sincere. There was a hesitation in Shouto’s two-toned eyes. Like he knew what this was about after all.

“I was looking at him when he said your name earlier, you know. When he woke up.” Shouto said. He retracted his hand. “I could tell that he wished it was you, not me.”

Izuku shut his eyes against the words. Wasn’t it cruel to say things like that to him right now? He couldn’t see the joke behind the words.

“Please, Shouto. He didn’t want me there.”

“Talk to him.” Shouto pleaded. “We get grouped up together too much for things like this to happen.”

“He—” Izuku shook his head. “I just—”

“What happens if he’s actually dying someday and the only way you can help him is to take his mask off?” Shouto’s voice grew stern. “Are you just going to leave him like that?”

“No!” Izuku bit back. “Of course not.”

“Then talk it out with him.” Shouto finished with a tight gesture of his hand. But he stopped himself, after, when he saw the devastated expression on Izuku’s face. He softened. “You know he doesn’t want to hurt you, right?”

No, Izuku wanted to tell him. He promised himself that he would never pry, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when he was reminded of how much Katsuki didn’t want him to know what he looked like.

“I’m going to my room.” Izuku said, resolutely, and hoped that the stinging in his eyes didn't show.

“Izuku, come on.” Shouto said when he started to walk off.

But Izuku didn’t look back.

When he got to his syndicate assigned dormitory, he pulled a first aid kit out from under his bed and stitched himself up. The graze from the bullet wasn’t so deep to be of any concern,

so he just gritted his teeth through the threading needle and washed off the day’s blood and gore down the shower drain.

Izuku didn’t know what to think. His mind kept flashing back to the moment where he had held the edge of Katsuki’s mask,

trying to tug it back into place. The way the blond had flinched, tossing his head to the side despite his current injuries. His painful, distraught ‘𝘯𝘰’s.

What was it? What was it about Izuku that was so… 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 that Katsuki couldn’t bear to show him his face?

Yes, they fought sometimes. Hell, it wouldn’t be a conversation with Bakugou Katsuki if there weren’t a few curses thrown in there, but even 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘰 had seen what he looked like and Katsuki unironically claimed to hate him.

He tried to swallow past the tremble of the terrible memory, the desperate echo of his voice.

It was hours later, late into the dead of night, that Izuku came out of his room. UA’s cafeteria, open to any members of the syndicate at all hours,

was a ghost town when he walked in for a cup of something warm. It was somewhere around three in the morning, but sleep was a futile pursuit. He’s surprised that none of his friends had tried to coax him out of his room. Then again, word traveled fast in their little headquarters

Izuku wandered towards the back, hand aimlessly hovering over the myriad little instant drink packets laid out on the counter, when he heard the door open in a rasp.

When he looked back, he was greeted with his coordinator’s exhausted face, a mug in hand.

Aizawa Shouta, in charge of most of the younger members of the syndicate, perpetually looking like the walking dead. He didn’t seem surprised to see Izuku hunched over the drinks counter, wordlessly shuffling over to join him.

Unlike Izuku, his hand did not hesitate to reach for the strongest packet of instant coffee, pouring the mix into his mug with such sluggishness that Izuku would think he was sleepwalking.

If he was here, it must mean that Katsuki’s condition was stable.

They both worked under Aizawa. There was no doubt that the man had stayed by Katsuki’s bedside until his treatment was done.

“How is he?” Izuku asked, after the silence stretched on for too long.

Aizawa was wordless for a moment while he poured boiling water into his mug, the clinks of his spoon against ceramic ringing out in the empty cafeteria.

“Good,” he said with a sigh. “As good as he can be after a bullet almost punctured his liver, at least. Bakugou’s always been a fighter.”

That was too close of a call. Izuku felt a shiver run down his spine as he stared at his own empty cup.

It took a moment before Aizawa spoke up again.

“He’s asking for you, you know.”

Izuku turned to glance at him sideways, letting out a breath. “Did he say 𝘸𝘩𝘺?”

“Not exactly.” Aizawa continued stirring. “But I feel like you know.”

Izuku hesitated.

“I do.”

Aizawa picked up two packets of sugar, shaking it languidly into the coffee. The smell of it stung in the cool night air. Incongruous. If Izuku hadn’t seen him do this ten thousand times before, he would’ve been concerned.

“Give the kid a chance.” Aizawa said, lifting the steaming cup to his lips. “He’s not the best at talking.”

Izuku scoffed. “I’m not either.”

Aizawa took a long sip before he placed the mug back down again, sighing, both hands braced against the counter before he spoke.

“Look, Midoriya,” he said, his voice softer this time. “Your name was the last thing he said before he passed out and the first thing he said when he woke up.” Aizawa turned to look at him properly, possibly trying to study his face, but Izuku looked down resolutely.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but if he’s thinking about you over a bullet wound and a concussion, I think you should give him at 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 five minutes of your time.”

Aizawa’s words echoed in his ears.

The last thing he said before he passed out? The first thing he said when he woke up? Izuku didn’t know that Katsuki had noticed he had been so affected by his actions. Had it been so obvious?

Was Izuku making him worry, now?

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him, Aizawa-san.” Izuku drummed his fingers against the counter. “I think…I think I’m just afraid of what he’ll say.”

“He cares about you.” Aizawa said. “Do you know that?”

Did Izuku know that? Of course he did. Katsuki had saved his life countless times on the field, had looked out for him in his own, gruff way, had tended his wounds when he was too distraught to do it himself,

had reminded him to eat when the thrill of chasing down a target got to his overactive brain.

Did Katsuki care about him?

Izuku blew out a breath. “Yes.”

“Do you think that it’s genuine?”

“𝘠𝘦𝘴.” Izuku answered, instantaneously. He was surprised by how easily it came.

Aizawa hummed. “Then everything else will fall into place.”

Izuku traced the rim of his empty cup. He didn’t know if he trusted fate or coincidence or happenstance to sort this thing out between them. Katsuki was a smart man with good intentions.

There should be a reason behind this whole faceless charade. And Izuku may be blind to it now, but there 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 be one, right?

He just hoped to god that it wasn’t a reason that 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵.

“Fine.” Izuku resigned. “I’ll go in the morning.”

“Now.” Aizawa corrected, sliding away from the counter with his steaming cup of coffee in hand.

When Izuku shot him a confused look, Aizawa only rolled his eyes.

“He’s up. You’re not the only one who can’t sleep.”

speaking of sleep im gonna go snork mimimimi (ᴗ˳ᴗ) the next part is gonna be the last one which im hoping to post tomorrow! so please stick with me!! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)