PLAGUE [BNHA] ~kacchako~

part six

Bakugou stood in the kitchen, his hand gripping the counter so hard it ached.

He was the reason this happened to her. Because he was stupid. Wasn't the best. Because he wasn't
enough.

His face was contorted with outrage, his throat on fire from all of the things he wished to yell, to scream- to expel into the universe with such rage that would no longer be borrowed inside his body.

But that would frighten her.

And-

Bakugou shook his head, jerking his hand away from the counter.

She was alive. She was okay. Why was he standing in the kitchen?

He slammed his hand on the counter and set off toward the room.

She looked up when he entered, a strange peaceful look on her face. It frightened him.

"How are you calm? You're heart stopped, Uraraka. Three times!" He didn't know why he was yelling, yelling at her.

He wasn't angry at her.
And yet.

Her eyes knitted together, as if she was remembering something. "I—"

He shook his head, handing her the glass of water. Her fingers shook as they closed around it. She brought it close to her face, but didn't drink.

Her breath clouded the glass.

He watched her with wild eyes, not sure if he should move or stand still.
Feeling like if he stood still he would go insane.
Feeling like he didn't even know what to do if he moved.

He stuck his hands in his pockets.

Her doe eyes met his and at last she drank.
She nearly drank the entire glass in one gulp.

She held it in her hand even after she finished. So tightly, as if she was grasping at something solid.

Something real.

"It must have been scary. Just sitting here- waiting."

Bakugou didn't speak.

"It must have frightened you. Or made you mad. To see another person almost die."

Bakugou looked away.

"I- I'm sorry, Bakugou." Her voice was trembling.

His eyes shot up, his face contorting with sadness and anger and fury and shame and all of the terrible things that had lodged themselves between his ribs.

"You're sorry?!" He screamed. "Why are you sorry, Uraraka. Are you dumb? Do you even care that you almost died?" His voice bellowed with rage.

She flinched.

Shame, more shame thick and putrid stained his eyes. He shut them, but the feeling was still there.

His body went rigid, "It is my fault this happened to you."

His eyes shot down, his teeth gritted. He wanted to scream. To-

"It is not your fault. You didn't poison me, Bakugou." She said softly, kindly. It only made his blood grow warmer. He didn't want her kindness. He would rather her be angry, because at least than it was an emotion well justified.

He was shaking now, his fists tight at his side.
He was fuming. Bakugou was going to explode, god he was going to explode.

"If I had stopped that asshole, killed him before he could—"

"No more people need to die, Bakugou."

His eyes shot up.

And she was looking at him.
Looking at him with such softness he couldn't look away. Not this time.

He was too weak.

"It is my fault. If I had stopped him before-." He shook his head, "If I was better, none of this would have fucking happened."

Suddenly, her arm shot out. It curled around his wrist. But it wasn't tight, wasn't urgent. It was only there. It was comfort.

And yet, after a few moments he pulled his arm away.

"I knew the risks of what I was doing, Bakugou. I'm not helpless. You were supposed to know that." Her voice was stronger then. It rattled him.

"I know that. You aren't helpless, Uraraka. I have never fucking thought that. But this isn't about protecting you, taking care of you. It is about, about—"

"Being the best." She interrupted, her voice heavy with understanding.  "You don't think you're the best because you didn't stop him first. Didn't win?"

He shook his head. "That isn't right, not what I'm trying to say."

"Then what are you trying to say, Bakugou?"

His breath caught for a moment, and he damned himself.

"I couldn't protect anyone. I was fucking powerless. That, that is my worst nightmare. And it came to life. And I couldn't do anything about it. Not a fucking thing." His fist jerked at his side. But she didn't flinch.

"And this past week I felt powerless. I felt shame. Disgust. Because I couldn't do anything- anything to help you."

He was shaking. Bakugou was shaking. It was as if his feelings had taken physical form, tremors ravaging his spine.

"And I hated that."

He looked up at her once more. She was crying, soft tears fell upon her cheeks. But she smiled.

"I am okay now. Nothing is going to happen to me. And you did do something. You did help. You stayed by my side. Even after my heart stopped three times. You never left. Never gave up." She sighed, " Someone weaker, someone whose heart had been completely broken by the world we live in now might not have."

Her lip twitched, "I might not have."

He didn't speak for a moment.

"These things that have happened, these horrible things that continue to happen- they change us." Her eyes were on the glass yet again, her hands still tight around it- as if she couldn't let go.

"You're different. I'm different. Trauma and heartbreak and death change us. But we are still us."

And then one of her hands left the glass. This time it didn't wrap around his wrist, but his hand. He didn't move as her fingers intertwined his.

Her voice was soft, light-unsure. "I'm still Uraraka. You're still Bakugou. And you are not powerless, you never have been and you never will be."

His throat ached.

"And I'm sorry, I am sorry that this happened. That you were alone. But you aren't anymore. I'm here."

She was the only one left.

This past week it felt like a chasm had been ripped open inside of him, as if the ache and hurt and anger burrowed deeper inside. He didn't know it had anywhere else to cleave into him, anymore more room inside. But there was. There was always more room for pain. For the terrible.

If Bakugou knew anything after all of this- it was that.

It was then he realized her hand was still interlocked with his, and not so subtly he removed his.

Uraraka wasn't upset, wasn't phased- simply wrapped that hand around the glass once more.

"I guess I'm glad you're alive."

And then he turned on his heels and left the room.

He heard her soft laugh of surprise as he entered the hall, as he slammed his fist into his thigh with frustration.

How would he tell her now?
How would he tell her what he did?