they all gave up on me (kiribaku)

26

Three weeks later found Bakugou seated in a new room, being asked strange questions by a retired detective. Bakugou didn't understand why they needed a new room for this, hell, he didn't know why they were doing this in the first place. But then the detective (Tsukauchi was his name, apparently an old friend of All Might's) started asking questions about second personalities. Something he had only ever talked to Kirishima about.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked the detective in a flat tone, betraying nothing of the turmoil inside. Will they lock me up tighter? Will they stop letting anyone see me? Will the snake come back? He didn't like this. Why couldn't he just remain in his cell forever, where he couldn't hurt anyone else?

Tsukauchi sighed. "I suppose telling you won't hurt. Would it make you more willing to answer questions?"

"Sure," Bakugou replied evenly.

"If there was an alternate personality of some sort in your mind, you could get out of here. You could actually make a life for yourself outside of villainy. Not many people know that you're the Fire-Raiser; you could do virtually anything you wanted."

Bakugou remained silent, contemplating the answer. It could be a ruse, designed to make him more willing to disclose information, or... he could be telling the truth, as unlikely as it seemed.

Tsukauchi watched him for a few seconds. "Who killed the pro heroes Chargebolt and Cellophane?"

Bakugou opened his mouth to respond, but--there is blood, vibrant and red as it should be, staining his hands. Hands clasped around a mutilated neck, and he could smell scorched flesh. And looking back, of course he could see that scaled body wrapped around the controls of his mind, and he almost--almost--said that. Blamed the snake. But that wasn't true. He'd been the one to let it inside, to inadvertently open the shield around his brain. So this blood was on no one's hands but his own.

Chargebolt's dead eyes stared up at him, and--yes, the answer was there, too--your fault, they said. Your fault, an accusatory glare that drove deep into his mind, and he wanted to scream, pound his fists on the floor until they bled and shout that he was sorry, sorrysorrysorryohsogoddamnsorry but his throat remained sealed--

He blinked, and realized he'd been staring at the detective, who was watching him closely. He frowned.

"Who killed pro heroes Chargebolt and Cellophane?" Tsukauchi asked again. "Or do you remember Earphone Jack? What about the Invisible Girl-"

"Stop," Bakugou hissed. His eyes stung, but he would not show weakness in front of the goddamn detective. "Stop."

"Why?"

"Because!" Bakugou spat violently, restraining himself from lunging across the table at the detective. "Because I killed them-" He cut himself off. He had not meant to comply with Tsukauchi's wishes.

Tsukauchi blinked, seeming a bit surprised--and pleased, the fucking bastard. "Why are you so goddamn happy about it?" He asked testily.

Tsukauchi countered with, "Do you ever feel like it's not you controlling your mind?"

"You asked that before."

"And you didn't answer."

"I don't, okay? I never have, I never will. Can you stop asking me questions now."

"Why don't you want to get out of here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Bakugou spat. That was private. Something that he'd only tell to people he fucking trusted, not extras who didn't know when to stop asking useless questions. It was already enough that the detective seemed to be toying with him, almost. As if he already knew all the answers, and he just needed them confirmed--