Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Waking up is like a Howitzer to the face. Mostly because he hadn’t really expected too.

See, when Katsuki went into that fight with Shigaraki, he was prepared to die. Hell, he’d been actively dying by that point, the deal was sealed. His life in exchange for millions.

So waking up is… weird. He was done. Gone out the way he’d always wanted to, winning. Saving people.

At least, he’d assume he’s won, because he wouldn’t be opening his eyes right now if he didn’t, that’s for sure. Although, wherever the fuck he is, it sure as hell ain’t the battlefield or a hospital.

For starters, it’s hard and dark. No soft grass or a lumpy hospital mattress. No moonlight or hospital fluorescents. Instead, beneath him feels like cuffed, wet cobblestone and the air is so smoggy he wouldn’t be able to tell you where the dull light was coming from if it hit him in the face.

Huh. At least no one buried him alive. That would’ve sucked. No, instead they dumped his body behind the dumpster in some back alley, going off the smell alone.

Great way to repay him, really. Well, there’s no use in sulking now, better find whoever did this and kick their ass into the next dimension.

He gets up and manages a grand total of three steps before he keels over again and sprays the already disgusting floor with his stomach acid.

Really, what did he expect? Obviously, if he didn’t end up in the hospital, no one tended to his injuries. Though they are substantially less deadly than they were however-the-fuck-much-time ago. Instead of some missing limbs and more blood on his costume than in his body, it got reduced to what looks like him having gone through a fucking shredder. Elegantly.

At least nothing’s chopped off. And he still has clothes. But those also aren’t the ones he fought in. It’s an overall. Black and not very thick, and also lacking anything actually useful, like say, socks, or pockets.

What the fuck is going on?

And why the fuck is it cold here, really, he’s freezing his fucking toes off. And where is here?

Fuck it, no time like right the fuck now. What’s he gonna do, lie around and wait for someone to finish the job? Like, the fucking air here is seedy, he’ll be stabbed and rifled through for change before he’s even fully fucking processed this shit.

He gets up and tumbles out of the alley, careful not to lose any more blood by cutting his feet on the copious amount of glass shards littering the floor. Who the fuck lives like this?

Americans, it turns out. He somehow landed in fucking America. Because there sure as hell is no city in Japan that looks like this. And has English street signs, but that’s unimportant. Important is the literal smog in the air, the trash scattered all over the alley behind him and the prostitutes giving him the side eye from the other side of the street.

Why the fuck did he have to be dumped in the worst parts of America, too? The parts that look like they’re from the last century, with that Gothic architecture and the lack of billboards.

“Hey, kid. Get off them streets, this ain’t your place and time.”

Ok, English. He’s at the top of his class in every subject, including English, but this is an accent he’s never heard before. Sounds New Jersey, but ghetto. Oh fuck, is he in the ghetto?

“I’ll go wherever the fuck I damn well please to, shut your face.”

Judging by their kinda confused faces, they did not expect the Japanese accent. Well, fuck them, their language is bullshit and he’d like to see them try Japanese.

But, oh miracle of miracles, they actually leave him alone. God, this is the life. He’s missed it, being able to do things without the constant prodding of extras trying to get all up in his business.

Yes, he’ll walk around on dark ass streets in the middle of the night, bleeding out of several deep gashes through what is essentially a useless fucking onesie, what’s it to you.

He manages about three blocks before he has to sit down on the curb and breathe. So, maybe the broken ribs are still there. Yeah.

Whatever, he’ll manage just fine, a few broken bones won’t stop him.

God, why the fuck does it have to be so cold. If he was sweating right now, he’d at least have a way to fight any villains trying to fuck with him. But no, he’s shivering his ass off instead, in this stupid fucking onesie that does fuck all to help against the cold.

But he ain’t no pussy, so he limps into the next alley with a fire escape and climbs it with an embarrassingly large effort. But it pays off, the roof has a good view over the block.

He steps over to the edge and flops down, swinging his legs over the edge.

So. He died? Maybe. This could be some sort of afterlife. Anything else takes too many explanations. For example, if he did survive, why would he wake up in another country and possibly another time? And in a different condition, no less.

Apropos condition. He pulls down the zipper of the onesie and lets it pool at his waist. There are long gashes decorating his torso, accurately placed but too… too little, too survivable for them to be the real ones.

And his arm is… attached. Also decorated with various injuries, but there.

He raises a hand to his head and starts methodically carding through his hair, halting when he feels wetness. Okay, so the head wound is also still there. And the one on his cheek.

Fuck, he’s glad it’s so dark out, the prostitutes probably would’ve had a heart attack. If he looks the way he feels, Frankenstein’s monster could be an accurate comparison. But in half disassembled and less pretty.

Like this, he can barely see the damage himself. He knows that he has broken ribs, but between the blood smeared all over his torso and the bad lighting, he can’t tell how bad for shit. And fuck if he’s gonna try and feel for them, no no, he made that mistake once.

The mix of feeling bone shift from the inside and from the outside made him retch for half an hour.

So he’ll need a medkit. Or someone with a healing quirk.

Wait, quirk.

Between the fire escape and the pain, he should’ve build up a decent amount of sweat by now. He raises a hand and tries to set off a little crackle, just like for excess sweat.

He can feel the telltale signs of an explosion, the warming of his hand, the slight buzz, the pleasant sting. But. It doesn’t come.

He tries again, harder. Maybe there’s just not enough sweat?

It doesn’t work. He can feel the wet on his skin, but it won’t ignite.

He tries again. Rubs his hands together to create some more warmth, zips the onesie up again to ward off the chill and keep warm. But it doesn’t fucking work, he’s as quirkless as the fucking day he was born.

But how? How the fuck when he can feel the spark under his skin, when he knows the quirk is still there. It’s not like with quirk restraints, where the spark goes numb, where half of his quirk is just gone.

Because technically, this whole thing has two parts. One is a bit like a mutation, just the sweating of his nitroglycerin-like substance. The other is the whole ignition thing. With restraints, he can’t ignite. Right now, he can, but it’s like there’s nothing to ignite.

Wait.

He raises his hand and sniffs. His sweat usually smells a bit sweet, like burned sugar. He almost recoils when he’s instead hit with the stench he associates with the locker room after quirk training.

He’s not quirkless. His sweat just somehow turned normal, turned useless.

Fuck.

“God fucking dammit.”

Swearing out loud may be unnecessary, but damn if it doesn’t make him feel better.

He runs through his whole curse vocabulary, violently, and tops it off with a little scream of rage just for the sake of it.

Why him? Why always him. No, the whole kidnapping thing wasn’t enough, the war wasn’t enough, now he’s stranded somewhere random with a virtually useless quirk and weirdly placed injuries and no idea how to get home.

He flops on his back and wants to stare up at the stars, but there are no stars, because he’s in some random ass disgusting city with the worst light pollution ever and no idea how to get the fuck away, so he sits up again and busies himself with people watching while he comes up with a plan.

He leans forward on his elbows and creates a mental list.

Step One: find out why the fuck he isn’t sweating nitroglycerin anymore.

Step Two: find out where exactly (and possibly when exactly) he is.

Step Three: find out how to get back home.

Step Four: kick ass.

Actually, step four can be applied at any step of the way.

He rises and searches the street below for any sign involving the word ‘food’. He doesn’t remember when he last ate, but he damn well knows that it’s time, he needs his fuel.

He thinks he can see an Asian restaurant at the next block and leans forward just a little to see whether it’s Japanese, when out of nowhere he’s suddenly bowled over by however-the-fuck-many-kilos of pure muscle.

The asshole practically clotheslines him around the waist and holds onto him like a fucking koala while they roll over the roof, coming to a stop with Katsuki pinned underneath him.

“Sorry, but not on my turf. Actually, not at all. Betcha it ain’t worth it.”

The voice is distorted and mechanical, but deep enough for Katsuki to assume it’s a dude under that red helmet. And when the bastard sits up and he can actually get a good look in, he can also assume that he’s not a civilian.

The large insignia on his chest and the guns strapped to his thighs make it kinda obvious. So he’s part of the community, but which side? The guns and the tackle of a random person say villain, but the shielding he did to try and not hurt Katsuki more during the fall says hero. Or vigilante, at least.

Katsuki’s about to ask, but then the dude gets a good look in, too, and stiffens up.

“What the hell happened to your head. And what are you wearing.”

Why the fuck does he care? He just fucking tackled him, built like a truck and at a fucking speed Katsuki usually only achieves through his explosions, and he’s wondering why Katsuki is not, in fact, completely uninjured.

“You just fucking tackled me into concrete and you’re asking what happened to my head? Are you stupid?”

He seems to be, because he just stares down at him like an idiot, not fucking answering and also not getting up. But, unfortunately for the brick house bitch, Katsuki is a pro hero in training and will destroy him, so before he can actually respond, Katsuki slings his legs around his waist and pulls him off, scrambling into a standing position and putting up his fists.

Even without a quirk, he’s the best fighter of his class. He can take him.

Even if he’s a few inches taller and twice as broad. And has guns. And armor.

Sometimes Katsuki hates that he’s given up his all consuming narcissism. Or the facade of it. At least, back then he could’ve actually fooled himself into believing he could take the brick house bitch down.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s not suddenly insecure or some shit, he knows he’s good, one of the best. But he’s also virtually quirkless right now, and injured. At a painful disadvantage he really fucking hates to admit.

And now that he actually did die the way he wanted to, he can admit that it’s hard to top that. He gave his sacrifice, and look where he ended up. He won’t go into a fight he knows he’ll lose, just because of his pride. He’s not that person anymore, he likes to think he’s grown out of that.

And he knows he’d lose this one. Brick house bitch is big, jacked, armed, and obviously no stranger to combat.

“Kid, where are you from?”

That sounds racist. Is that a racist? If he’s a racist, fuck character development, he’s gonna beat that bitch into the ground.

“I’m from Japan, fucknuts. Why, that a problem to you? You a racist? Wanna throw down?”

The dude blanches. Like accusing him of racism is actually the most hurtful thing Katsuki could’ve done.

“What?! No, I’m not racist. But you kinda look like an outsider. Not like a Gothamite.”

A… Gothamite? Is that an insect? Why would he look like an insect? Or not like an insect.

“The fuck’s a Gothamite?”

“Fucking knew it, you’re not a Gothamite. Wouldn’t be hanging around here if you were.”

“What the fuck’s a Gothamite? And who the fuck are you? And where the fuck am I?”

Katsuki’s done now, actually. He wants answers and he wants them now and he will commit violence to get them, so that brick house bitch better get to it.

“You’re in Gotham. Fuck if I know how you got here if you don’t even know where you are, but you’re obviously not a native. A Gothamite. And I’m the Red Hood.”

Wow. Talk about bad branding. Or is hood another English word for helmet? If it is, ok, a bit on the nose, but that’s his problem. If it isn’t? Fucking stupid, really.

But, Gotham. Not a city Katsuki ever learned about in English, and they talked about most of the bigger cities and some smaller ones. So it’s probably, like, really small, because who actually wants to live like this? Assuming the whole city looks like this, no one, right?

“Great. Where is Gotham.”

“Nah, now it’s my turn. Where did you come from? And why the fuck are you wearing a onesie in winter? And no shoes?”

“Why do you care? Not your problem, bitch.”

“I care because you just tried to kill yourself and also look like someone just beat you up and can’t be any older than twelve.”

“Twelve?! Bitch, I’m sixteen. And when did I try to kill myself?”

“Sixteen? You’re, like, five foot max, you’re not sixteen. And what the fuck else was that supposed to be?”

“I’m Asian, extra, obviously I’m not a fucking beanpole.”

“Just answer the damn question, pipsqueak, why did you try to jump.”

Jump? When-? Oh. Oh, ok.

“I didn’t. If I wanted to take a swan dive, I would’ve done it years ago. I ain’t no pussy, I don’t just give up.”

“Then why run around on rooftops? The fuck you doing out here dressed like that?”

“Oh my god, fuck if I know! I woke up like this in some random trash alley, moron, I don’t have any answers for you!”

Maybe that was too honest. No, screw maybe, that was definitely to honest. He just admitted a weakness to an armed enemy while severely handicapped. Fuck, did he get some sort of brain damage on top of all the other shirt?

Dumb question, there’s blood matting his hair, obviously he has a head injury. Dammit, he can’t afford this shit right now.

“Wait, in an alley?”

Why is that the part he’s hung up on? Why not the ‘I don’t have answers’ part?

“Yes, an alley.”

And that’s where he’s gonna go now. Because no way in hell is brick house bitch able to help him and Katsuki ain’t gonna spend any more time in the presence of an armed person he doesn’t know. Especially not like this.

He turns on his heel and sprints over to the fire escape, jumps down despite the broken ribs, which he immediately regrets, but instead of whining like a bitch he takes the rest of the stairs, drops to the disgusting alley floor and heads in the direction of the Asian food store slash restaurant he’d seen from the roof.

He crosses two streets and is almost there when brick house bitch drops down in front of him like some freak and grabs for his arm. Isn’t it a bitch for him that it’s the arm smeared with blood, making the fabric extra slimy and the task of pulling away incredibly easy.

Katsuki slips around him and his fingers are two fucking centimetres away from the fucking door when his wrist is grabbed and the moron turns him around like he’s a fucking marionette on a string. So his quirk is probably some kind of super strength.

“Which alley?”

What the fuck. That’s it? The bitch chases him down to ask which fucking alley he woke up in? This is why Katsuki doesn’t like America. The people are all crazy. Evidently crazy enough that no one can tell who’s a hero and who’s a villain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I don’t fucking know which alley, I wasn’t exactly looking around for street signs!”

He tries for the door again, but brick house bitch effortlessly keeps him right the fuck where he is and out of the corner of his eye, he can see the owner of the shop flipping the sign from ‘opened’ to ‘closed’ with a terrified look.

That speaks for brick house bitch being a villain.

“What fucking side are you on? You a villain? Do I gotta kick your ass?”

A snort. “Kid, you sure you ain’t twelve?”

“Yes, I’m damn sure, the fuck you talking about? Just answer my damn question!”

“You sure cuss a lot for a twelve year old.”

Katsuki jabs an elbow into his ribs and twists out of his grip. He’s already two steps into a new escape attempt when brick house bitch trips him up and pulls out one of his guns.

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Answer my fucking questions, kid, and I don’t hurt you.”

He fucking knew it. He knew that’s a villain the second he got clotheslined.

And now he’s on the floor with a gun aimed at his head because he doubted it. Because the dude was talking about jumping like he’d care.

Fuck, that brain injury is turning him into the nerd.

Chapter Text

So Jason isn’t having a good day. Fuck, he isn’t having a good month.

The month is maybe two weeks old and he’s already had enough. He’d rather tap out for this one, please and thank you.

It started with corpses. As it usually does in his life.

But this time, it was neither his corpse, nor did he cause them, so he was understandably a little pissed to find those in Crime Alley. On his turf, which shouldn’t have children’s bodies lying around in its alleys.

But it does. They were discovered by Jeff and Jenny, two kids from the worse parts of the Alley, already traumatised enough without that particular image.

That image being three bodies haphazardly stacked behind a dumpster.

Two kids and a young adult. None of them looked like regular citizens of Gotham. More like people from other, less fucked up cities, like people with suburban, fucking perfect lives. At least the kids did, with their clean clothes and nice haircuts. The young adult, a woman with ginger hair, was wearing a black overall.

Three days later, another body turned up in the same alley. This time an old man, also in a black overall. His eyes were missing.

That was the point where Jason gave up trying to deal with it on his own, mostly because he just doesn’t have the time and resources to take care of it. So he contacted Bruce and let him stick his nose into his business. And now there are several noses all over his business because Bruce comes with Tim, comes with Dick, comes with Damian, comes with everyone else.

So now the whole family is waltzing all over his territory and it’s getting on his last goddamn nerve. He can’t spend a single patrol without so much as seeing one of them getting all up in shit he’s already taken care of years ago, like drug dealers he’s already got in his pocket and homeless kids he’s already bullied into accepting a modicum of help.

And it ain’t getting better. Replacement tried finding the people in any missing records and came up empty. He dug deeper, even internationally. Nothing.

Wherever they come from, no one’s missing them. Which is improbable, since at least the kids look like they led picture perfect lives.

So they took DNA samples. Multiple ones. Ran them through every test imaginable, tried every explanation first before having to settle on this: The people don’t exist because they shouldn’t be able to exist. Their literal cell makeup makes it impossible for them to ever have lived.

All this while more bodies appeared, each more mangled than the last.

A middle aged man missing both legs.

A little girl leaking her brain matter all over the cobblestone.

A teenage boy with a crushed hand.

Two women, each missing an arm.

The worst one?

The hull of a person very obviously missing all their bones, sunken together and completely unrecognisable, a fleshy mass sloshing at every touch.

Steph found that one. Jason hasn’t seen her since.

Apart from that one, they were all wearing a black overall. According to Replacement, it was put on post-mortem.

And also, they were all dumped in the same alley, despite it being heavily patrolled by both the Bats and Jason’s men. Somehow, there were always new bodies.

Today, it had been Jason’s turn. He’d been patrolling the area for a few hours when a figure caught his eye.

And Jason hasn’t slept in way too long, the Pit is going fucking crazy today and he has a really fucking annoying bruise on his knee that smarts at every single fucking step, so he’s a bit pissed, a bit unconcentrated, okay?

So, he tackles them off the edge of the roof. They’re small and they’re leaning forward and Jason won’t have any more kids dead on his turf, so he swings into them at maybe a bit too fast of a speed.

He’s not a complete asshole though, so he tries to shield them from damage as much as he can. He lands on top and when he gets a good look, he freezes. It’s a boy. Young, Asian, with weirdly pointy, bared teeth. But what gets him?

It’s dark and he can’t see all that much, but there’s blood matting his hair and smeared over his face, like he’d touched it with bloody hands. Had he hurt himself? Cut his wrists and then decided to speed up the process ?

“Sorry, but not on my turf. Actually, not at all. Betcha it ain’t worth it.”

And then he registers the clothes. He’s wearing a black overall. Kinda in bad taste, but maybe he’s not from Gotham and doesn’t know about the recent murder series?

But that’s not important right now. Important is the head wound and the suicide attempt.

And then the kid gives him attitude in the weirdest mix of accents and dialects he’s ever heard in his life and the night goes from ‘fuck’ to ‘what the fuck’.

He obviously has combat experience, but in a weird way. Like he’s going into a gunfight with a kitchen knife. Prepared, but not with the weapon he actually wants. Like he knows he can do shit with his bare hands, but it’s the wrong shit.

It’s weird, is what it is. Like the accent. And the overall. And the vocabulary. And his nonexistent knowledge about the literal city he’s in. And the denial about trying to kill himself.

And then the kid mentions waking up in an alley.

Suddenly it all makes a horrible kind of sense.

He’s the one. The first survivor.

And he’s running.

His first fucking glance of a clue and it’s running away at breakneck speed with no regard for its personal safety, trying to escape the one fucking person in Crime Alley who has any chance of helping them.

Jason mentioned his day, right? With the lack of sleep, with the Pit, with the whole fucking stress? So, no, he won’t take the blame for pulling a gun on the kid.

He’s just had enough, okay? For two weeks, he’s been seeing corpses left and right, just like his family, and the Pit has finally had enough, because his only lead is a little brat running away from the people trying to help him and the parallels are not helping the green haze covering his vision.

But the kid looks… unsurprised.

He’d asked Jason if he was a villain. And if Jason shoots him, he’ll be no better than the monster killing people and leaving their mutilated bodies for innocent kids to find. For Jason’s siblings to look at.

He twitches. Just a little.

But the kid has to have sensed that little moment of hesitation because he darts forward, grabs the gun from Jason’s hand, socks him square across the helmet with it and makes a run for it.

When Jason’s sight is cleared of the black spots and the green haze, the kid is gone.

And so is his gun and any kind of evidence on this godforsaken case capable of answering his questions.

.-.

Katsuki has a gun now. He’s never fired one before in his life and the model is kinda ancient, but it can’t be that hard to figure out. It’s like his quirk but less efficient, he’ll figure it out.

Currently, he’s hiding in a sewer. The sewers of this ‘Gotham’ are ridiculously easy to get into and a perfect hiding place until he can figure out his next steps.

So he tucks himself into a dip in the tunnel and takes a deep breath to get rid of the leftover adrenaline from the chase.

First off, food. And different clothes ‘cause this shit is cold, uncomfortable, and way too conspicuous.

Then he can think about all the other shit. Only then, when he’s safe.

Safe from villains obsessed with which fucking alleys he wakes up in. Seriously, what the fuck is going on with these people?

Why do the villains always have to be obsessed with him? Why not a simple ass kicking and they’re done?

Whatever. No use in crying over it, that shit’s for nerds. No, Katsuki is gonna follow his kick-ass plan, find some food and clothes and maybe even shelter that doesn’t smell like shit, and go the fuck home.

He runs into the first snag at the lack of pockets to shove his gun into.

Fuck this shit. It’s like the universe wants him to lose. Fucking piece of shit.

But because he ain’t no dumbass, he rips off a piece of his left sleeve and loosely ties it around his left shin, tucking the gun into the makeshift holster. The onesie was ruined anyways, won’t change shit about the homeless look if a piece of sleeve is missing.

He enters the first shop he sees on the block. He’ll have to steal and this one looks like the security is abysmal at best. And if they pull a gun? Well, Katsuki has one too, now, so they’ll fucking regret it for sure. Just let them come.

He grabs a plastic bag off the shelves and starts shoving canned shit and protein bars into it. He’s kinda glad he’s not a fucking giant right now ‘cause the clerk doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet.

A few electrolyte drinks, a flashlight and some water bottles later he notices the lack of clothing sold here. Fucking dammit, his toes are already numb, he needs some fucking boots if he wants to survive for longer than a week.

But one thing at a time. The bag is full and the clerk is a distracted teenager playing some kind of video game on the most ancient phone Katsuki’s ever seen in his life, so he doesn’t bother pulling the gun and goes for stealth instead, and what do you know, it works.

He’s the fucking best. Suck it, extras.

When he sneaks out, the smog seems marginally lighter than it did before. With the sun rising, he needs to get some kinda shelter if he wants to hide from that brick house villain. There ain’t no way he’s letting himself be caught before he’s back at full strength.

Luckily, the area seems to mostly consist of the most run down abandoned ruins possible without sitting there with straight up rubble. He just picks one that looks like it hasn’t lost its structural integrity yet and starts searching for something like a bed.

He doesn’t find one. What he does find is a bathroom with a medical kit. Time to take a look at the injuries he’s been almost successfully ignoring, it seems.

He drops the plastic bag in the tub and pulls out the flashlight and a water bottle. Unzipping the overall, he uncaps the bottle and places it next to the sink. He turns on the flashlight and is almost blinded by the mirror it’s pointed at, which he hadn’t seen because why would anything be easy for him and make this building have working lighting?

And then he gets a good look at himself and almost drops ass first into the fucking tub.

Because that ain’t him. That ain’t Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

‘Cause Bakugou Katsuki has blond hair and red eyes.

Not black hair and brown eyes.

But Bakugou Katsuki should also be dead. Bakugou Katsuki was torn to shreds fighting Shigaraki. Bakugou Katsuki should be six feet under in the best fucking coffin they could get for him.

Instead, he’s here. Like this.

This is wrong. That’s not him. It can’t be. That’s not… that’s… that’s his jaw. His teeth. His skintone. His ears…

No. No, those aren’t his ears.

Fuck. How did he not notice? He just ran from a villain through some random city without noticing that he doesn’t have hearing aids in. And he can hear shit. He’s not hard of hearing and his eyes don’t have an inbuilt protection from flashing lights anymore, as proven by the fucking mirror.

Two integral parts of his quirk. And they’re not there anymore. Just like the nitroglycerin.

He lost his quirk.

He’s in fucking enemy territory and he’s fucking quirkless.

He’s quirkless.

No, no, he can’t be, the sparks worked, didn’t they? They did, he felt it, he can do it again, he just has to concentrate. If his fucking vision would stop blurring and his fucking useless lungs would start pumping, he could fucking do it, just fucking breathe, dumbass, it’s not that hard.

But it is, isn’t it? Because there’s sludge in his lungs and a hand around his throat and his body isn’t his own anymore. He’s not in control here. He’s just a weak loser up against a stronger villain.

And he’s gonna die.

He stumbles back into the wall and slides down onto the disgusting tiles, clutching at his legs with shaking hands. He frantically thumps at his chest, trying to get his lungs to fucking do their job, but it just triggers a coughing fit that really doesn’t help with the hyperventilation.

Neither does the dark. He dropped the fucking flashlight and now the shadows are moving and elongating and they look kinda slushy if you look at them right and his head feels heavy and the blur in his eyes could be slime and his chest hurts and he just wants it to be over, please just stop, please someone help, please, he can’t, he’s gonna die, gonna suffocate, gonna be ripped apart at the seams, please, someone-

He shoves his head between his knees and unbidden, Shitty Hair comes to his mind. He always helped with panic attacks, always counted for him and stopped him from blowing up. He was always there.

The image takes over, Shitty Hair next to him in the dorms, calmly counting to four, to nine, to eight, offering a palm for Katsuki to grab onto if he can.

He clutches at the zipper of the overall and counts for himself, concentrating on the image of his friend holding out his palm instead of the writhing shadows, and slowly but surely his breathing slows and the panic recedes, leaving him with newly awakened pains and a crap ton of new issues.

‘Cause now that particular can of worms is open too and he has to think about his friends. About Class 1A. About the people he left behind when he died.

His family.

The thing is, when he was about to die, it felt like it was worth it. Saving all the people he cares about. Sacrificing himself in the process seemed inevitable, like it was the only thing he could do.

He wasn’t thinking about the consequences. Because for him, there were none. He thought he’d be dead.

But he isn’t. He’s here, wherever here is. And he misses them. He misses the extras he calls friends, he misses his parents, he even misses Sensei for fuck’s sake. It’s bizarre.

But the adrenaline is coming down and the whole thing didn’t do shit for his ribs and his head, so he rifles through the medkit for some painkillers.

They’re old, it turns out. Like, really old. A few fucking decades old.

Just like the phones. Like the city.

Fuck. God, hasn’t he had enough realisations for one day? Enough shit happening?

Because all this points at time travel on top of being teleported to another fucking country. Is this even his fucking dimension? ‘Cause he’s pretty sure that around the time the painkillers are dated, quirks were already fairly common.

And he hasn’t really seen any yet. Maybe brick house bitch is just buff as fuck. Maybe this is some kinda alternate dimension where quirks don’t exist, which would explain Katsuki’s current situation in that department, too.

Not to mention the way he looks different. Or isn’t injured as fuck.

On top of that, Gotham doesn’t exist in his universe, he’s pretty sure.

Oh fuck.

Okay. This is just a theory. No proof yet. Anything’s possible. He’ll just keep it in mind (and not think about it. Just ignore it, yeah, he’ll deal with it some other day, he’s had enough panic attacks for today).

Looking for some kind of distraction, he finally gets started on his injuries. He uses the first water bottle to rinse away some of the blood on his torso, uncovering truly disgusting bruises all over his ribcage and a jagged cut down his front that definitely needs stitches.

He’s never been this glad about Sensei making them learn first aid.

He ignores the date on the pills and the possibility of them actually being that fucking old and downs a handful before getting to work.

It hurts, and if there’d been any other people in the building, they’d have learned an impressive lesson in multilingual swear words and probably gotten a tinnitus. But the stitches get done, even almost neat.

He washes all the other wounds too and stitches those that need it together, in some cases one handed and therefore painful and crooked. When he’s done, he’s so fucking exhausted he almost just says fuck it and immediately conks out in the bathtub.

But he bled today. A lot. And contrary to popular belief he’s not actually suicidal or batshit insane, so he downs an electrolyte water and eats a few protein bars before curling up with his plastic bag in the bathtub and finally fucking sleeping.

Chapter Text

Something really fucking annoying is poking at his side. It’s hard and cold and it’s positioned perfectly between his ribs to poke at that one damn spot.

He uncurls and curses the bathtub, already feeling the new tension in his neck radiating into his head. He stretches, immediately regrets the decision when his ribs twinge and his stitches pull, and grabs the flashlight responsible for his newfound consciousness.

Chucking it out, he peaks through the boards nailed over a window next to the tub. It’s still light out, he probably hasn’t slept that long. He’ll have to wait for the sun to set before going out again.

He has to get something else to wear than the stupid onesie, it sticks out way too much and immediately marks him as a non-civilian. If he wants to go out, he needs to blend in as much as possible, he doesn’t want a repeat of brick house bitch.

Until then, however, he’s going to sit here and think about what the ever loving fuck is going on with his quirk. Because he can fucking feel the spark, so something has to happen, right? It’s igniting, just not his sweat.

Rifling through his plastic bag, he comes up with a can of corn, however the fuck that thing got into his bag. He cracks it open and pops a few kernels into his mouth, washing them down with some water. He’ll need energy for this.

Then he deposits the bag and his snack on the floor next to the tub and sits up straight. He splays his hands out on his thighs, palms up, and studies them carefully for anything unusual.

His callouses are still there, they’re still broad and strong, still scarred in places due to cooking accidents or old quirk injuries. They look the same, are still his fucking hands, so why aren’t they doing their job?

He flexes his right, then his left, raises both and concentrates on the spark. It’s usually white-hot and leaves a pleasant sting, like balsams on bruises.

The sensation is still there, but different. There's no release, no sting, just a white-hot flare-up with no fucking results. Like a lighter in the wind, blown out before it can do shit.

Is he just a glorified fucking lighter now? Icy-Hot, teemu version? Fuck, the extras would never let him live it down. Maybe he just needs something to light up?

Hm. The boards on the window look dry. Dry as fuck. Should he add arson to his growing criminal record?

Well, if it’s there already. Katsuki doesn’t do shit by halves. If he has to break his own moral code, he’ll do it right. ‘Cause this is about survival and he’s done plenty of reprehensible shit for that.

He presses his palm to the board and sets off the spark. The white-hot comes, the sting does too, and then the board bursts into flames with a resounding crack and Katsuki is abruptly reminded of the fact that this is his fucking hideout that he’s destroying right now.

God fucking dammit, he needs something for that fucking headinjury, right the fuck now. Scrambling out of the tub, he collects his shit and the medkit and flees the room, which is already gaining unbearable temperatures.

Fresh out on the dingy streets, he takes a deep fucking breath of alley stink. So he’s not quirkless. Just half? How the fuck did he lose half of his quirk?

The questions are fucking piling like horseshit and he just wants some answers, goddammit, like, at least one? Maybe as to where the everlovingfuck he is? Or when? How? Damn, he really isn’t picky right now, even a why would be enough.

Or not enough, but at least better.

Wait. If he’s already going out for new clothes, maybe he can go to some kinda library, maybe they have computers or some shit over there?

Decision made, he stuffs the medkit into his plastic bag and gets on his way. He doesn’t actually now where he has to go, but there’s bound to be some kinda street signs, so he ain’t too worried.

And as always, he’s fucking right. There’s a subway station a few blocks away and a really fucking run down and vandalised map shows a sign for Gotham City Library half an hour away.

Time to add fare dodging to his record.

Maybe he’s lucky the city is so damn seedy, at least it’s improbable that anyone’s gonna catch him and send him to juvie or some shit.

He waits maybe five minutes for the train and boards the compartment he deems empty enough, only populated by two homeless men who are very unlikely to snitch and a very obviously sleep deprived teenager who probably won’t even remember the ride.

They are joined by two bulky women halfway through, but Katsuki can tell they’re armed, so he isn’t worried. Damn, this shit is so fucking illegal, but also the first stroke of luck he’s had here, so he can’t even be too mad about it.

He gets out at the right stop, Gotham City Centre or some shit like that, and is greeted by marginally less fucked up platforms and streets that still reek of crime and misery anyways. Not a single cop or security officer in sight. Fucking bitches.

But right now, this is working in Katsuki's favour, especially because he still has to get some other clothes. The homeless people and the bulky women were giving him weird looks on the train and Katsuki’s pretty sure they weren’t racist.

There’s a store a few metres down the street that looks easy and like it has what he’s looking for, so he stakes out the entrance for a grand total of three minutes before deciding that it’s well within his skill area and slinking in.

Even though stealth isn’t usually his area, for obvious reasons, he’s good at it, good enough for only Invisibitch to actually surpass him in the class ratings, also for obvious reasons.

The inside of the store is decked out with an array of random shit that doesn’t really fit together in this setting, like the owner had just started hoarding random amounts of random items, from pants over rice cookers to burner phones, like an ‘everything the average criminal needs for an almost luxurious lifestyle’ shop.

Just what he needs. Not that he’s a criminal. No. That’d be crazy.

He browses a bit. Always hidden from the register by some kind of shelf or mannequin or freezer. Never in full sight.

He grabs cargo pants with many pockets, two shirts and a hoodie and finally, fucking finally, boots. Good, sturdy, steel toed boots. And socks because he’s not an animal. Everyone who wears shoes without socks should burn in hell, really, who the fuck does that.

And then. The shelf. The shelf full of canisters upon canisters filled to the brim with gasoline.

His quirk needs fuel. Something flammable. Gasoline is really fucking flammable. Like, so flammable Katsuki is lucky his family never owned a car fueled by it that he could've accidentally blown up.

He’s violently thrown back to Middle School and a classmate who’d taken to calling him Molotov. Katsuki’s good at chemistry, has to be. Why not? He needs a way to defend himself from crazies, and he’s still not fully convinced people are quirkless here.

So he grabs a canister of gasoline and the things available that he knows a real molotov cocktail needs. He’s not paying, so ain’t no-one’s gonna be suspicious of his borderline terrorist shopping trip.

He’s almost at the entrance again when his eyes land on a weird twisty-turny thing full of bandanas. There’s a black and orange one that’s practically smiling at him and Katsuki knows the importance of a good old secret identity when dealing with really dangerous shit.

So he stuffs one into the bagpack he’d also liberated and makes a run for it. The person at the register doesn’t even notice until they spot the still slightly crinkly bagpack sprinting down the street and Katsuki’s way too fucking fast for anyone to catch him now.

He runs until he’s fairly sure he’ll be fine, stumbling into an alley and catching his breath. Or rather, trying to calm down the pain spreading over his ribs. This is so fucking annoying.

He drops his bags and presses himself behind a dumpster, rifling through them to pull out the clothes and his medkit. He unzips the onesie and checks all the stitches, which are luckily still intact, before stripping it off. And fucking dammit, the universe is a bitch and completely skipped boxers. He’s buttass naked in a random alley easily accessible to every fucking person in the city and he’s gonna have to go commando for however-the-fuck-long he’s staying here.

Katsuki’s pretty fucking sure all his fucking anger issues are completely justified.

But he sucks it up anyways and briefly scrubs his body with the already ruined onesie. It doesn’t really do shit, anyways, so he just slips into the clothes and bathes in the serotonin of finally being fucking warm.

He stuffs the onesie into the bagpack, together with the contents of the plastic bag and throws that one into the dumpster. It’s not absolutely soaked in his DNA, as opposed to the overall, so he figures he’s safe.

Satisfied with the outcome of his first task, he gets on his way to the library.

.-.

The library, as it turns out, takes security significantly more seriously than the shops he.. liberated items from, so he’s gonna have to get more creative. Or sociable. Which, fuck no. Creativity it is.

There are multiple receptionists watching the entrance like a swarm of harpies ready to descend on any even mildly confused visitor like prey.

This’ll suck. ‘Cause Katsuki is really fucking confused and also not a native English speaker, but he’ll have to look like he belongs there, which is kinda hard with blood still crusted in his hair.

But wait. He’s like, a dark haired person now, it probably looks like he just hasn’t showered in a bit too long, right? And he honestly couldn’t care less about shit like that right now.

So he sucks it up, squares his shoulders and lifts his chin and walks in like he was born on the fucking steps. Like he belongs here just as much as the perpetual dirt covering every available surface of this goddamned city.

He doesn’t even look at the receptionists, just briskly walks into the nearest section with computers. They are old, even by the standards set by the fucking ancient phones here. Like, still fucking square and bulky kinda old.

And they only offer access to people with an account and a password. People with a library card.

Fucking dammit. Fuck this shit. Fuck everything.

He could scream. He’s almost tempted to try his molotov skills, but mass murder is a line he won't cross, even if his record is already fucked. Instead, he studies the other people here.

Mostly college students, judging by the eye bags and the amount of coffee cups.

Fuck. No-one Katsuki could possibly intimidate enough to gain access.

He chances a glance at the receptionists over the edge of his alibi copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and almost flinches at the eyes already staring into his. Almost. ‘Cause he’s not a pussy who’s scared of library workers.

Even if they look like they could kill him.

This particular one is ginger, with glasses and a wheelchair, staring at him like she wants to see his insides and maybe also touch them. Violently. With a blade.

Maybe he has respect for library workers. Yes, definitely. Nothing but respect. A healthy dose of respect that definitely isn’t sparked by fear. Because Katsuki doesn’t get scared.

She tilts her head with a wry look on her face, practically screaming ‘I know what the fuck you’re doing, you might as well just give up’. And because he ain’t stupid, he does as told and abandons the novel in favour of the woman.

Contrary to popular belief, he does not have a problem with authority, authority just has a problem with him and therefore authority can go fuck itself. Except for when the authority is good at its job.

She obviously is, if she noticed how incredibly fucking lost Katsuki is despite his definitely insanely good acting.

“Hello, Mr…?”

He just stares at her. He’s here to have his questions answered, not to do small talk.

“Okay, kid then. I’m guessing you aren’t from here?”

God, what is it about Katsuki that’s so obviously not Gotham? Or is she actually a racist?

“No, I’m not. How do I get access to your computers?”

Her eyes narrow. “You’ll need a library card.”

“How do I get a library card?”

“I’ll need your ID and something confirming your address.”

Fuck. Fuck, wait, no, this is not how this was supposed to go. This was supposed to be easy. He just needs a few answers, come on.

It’s just… he doesn’t even know if he exists here. And even if he does, how does he explain his address being in fucking Musutafu. Or the fact that he’s a minor without a present guardian.

“Is there no other way?”

Even to his ears it sounds pathetic. A bit too gruff, well past the territory of ‘don’t fuck with me’ towards ‘if you fuck with me I’ll probably cry’. Like a bitchass nerd.

Fuck.

He scrubs a hand through his hair and avoids eye contact, contemplating a quick getaway, when he hears a sigh in front of him.

“I can give you my access for a few minutes. Just don’t do anything stupid, ok?”

That… is incredibly nice and therefore also very suspicious. He tries to find some sign of dishonesty but her eyes are stuck on his forehead with a weird kinda focus and he almost tries to feel for something unusual when it hits him.

She’s probably seen the blood. Or the stitches. Fuck.

Normal people probably would’ve used gauze, right?

But he can’t turn her down. He’s not in any position to, he’ll just have to suck it up and let her be suspicious while he mooches off her access, which he really fucking needs, ok?

“Thank you. What’s your access?”

See, he can be polite. Just not to bitches who tackle him and pull guns on him.

She scribbles something on a piece of paper and slides it over the counter, keeping her hand on it with an eyebrow raised in a way that screams ‘now you listen here, bitch’.

“The access in exchange for your name.”

Is she?

Is she for real? Like, is she actually that stupid?

“Odysseus”, he spits, ripping the paper out from under her palm and turning on his heel. Librarians should get that reference and the implied ‘fuck you’, no?

Finally, fucking finally, he drops down in front of the computer in the last fucking corner, fully shielded from view, and types in the access.

‘Welcome, Barbara Gordon.’

Hm. A Barbara.

Whatever.

He pulls up Google and types in ‘today’ because this fuckass thing ain’t showing him the time or the date and he’s really at the end of his fucking patience. He ain’t searching Windows fucking minus 69 for its functions, nuh-uh.

‘January 21st 20xx’

Fuck. Fuck, why, why did he have to be right? Really, time travel? Decades? He’s fucking decades away from where he’s needed.

No, his hands don’t shake typing in ‘quirks’, what are you talking about.

And there it is. The fucking PONS entry about the word ‘quirks’. An odd habit.

Yes, Katsuki picked up the odd habit of arson today, wanna find out about it?

Fuck.

FUCK.

This is it. They should’ve known by now, noticed by now, it’s a fresh fucking sensation, the origin of quirks. It was all over the news back then.

It doesn’t exist here.

His eyes wander to the crinkled paper with Barbara Gordon’s access.

He checks the search history. Apart from his shit, it’s clean. Empty. So it’s wipeable. He’ll be fine.

‘Body swapping’

Nothing, only weird esoteric bullshit.

‘Body transformation’

Also nothing.

‘Accelerated healing’

The Flash. The fuck is The Flash.

‘The Flash’

A superhero. Four eyes, but overpowered as fuck.

But there’s superheroes. There’s heroes. There’s still something he’s familiar with, a concept he can count on to always be the same.

The Flash is part of some kinda Justice League.

‘Justice League’

Earth’s first line of defence against threats to humanity at large.

So basically, some randos if this were his dimension.

None of their quirks, or ‘superpowers’ (weirdos) are actually crazy or special. Some of them don’t even have any. See Batman, some kinda furry everyone’s scared of who doesn’t even look half as intimidating as the shit in his dimension. Fucking pussies.

But he has to get practical here. He’s already been here for way too long, Barbara Gordon is probably getting suspicious and he hasn’t even gotten to any kind of alibi yet.

Just one last thing.

‘Musutafu’

Nothing.

He wipes the history and types in ‘trains out of Gotham’ as an alibi before shoving the paper into his bag, logging out, and going for the doors as sneakily as possible.

Somehow, she doesn’t call for him. Doesn’t come to him. Just lets him leave the building like she hadn’t been suspicious at all. Like she hadn’t been giving him the most supreme side eyes possible the whole fucking time.

It’s unsettling. Or at least it should be, should alert some kind of bells in his stupid fucking head that shit like that, that kinda luck, doesn’t usually happen to him, but his head is still screwed, still bleeding, and also filled up with a good old existential spiral about how the actual fuck he ended up in another dimension, time and body while still retaining so much of his old self, which won’t be born for a few decades.

Fuck.

Maybe brick house bitch is right. Maybe the alley he woke up in is relevant, maybe there’ll be a nice machine to take him back, maybe he’ll get there and someone will stab him and he’ll magically end up back home, maybe he’ll die and reappear in his actual fucking coffin, maybe he’ll get another chance over there.

He’s grasping at straws, he knows, struggles with the way it’s so unfamiliar, but he can’t lose hope here, needs a goal to work towards ‘cause otherwise he might actually take that swan dive and hope for the best.

‘Just pray that you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof.’

It’s so ironic.

All of this is.

He died fighting a villain. He’s alive committing crimes.

He died with the fucking best form of his quirk. He’s alive with half his quirk.

He died with a hole in his chest. He’s alive with a jagged cut decorating his torso.

He died for his friends, his family, the people. He’s alive, alone.

He died on a field in the grass. He’s alive, standing in the entrance of the alley he woke up in, with no idea how he got there.

He died so others wouldn’t. He’s alive, staring at the corpse of a girl clad in a black overall.

She has eleven hands and a large hole where her other arm used to be.

There are dried tear tracks on her face.

Chapter Text

When Katsuki came here, he wanted answers, a solution, not more questions.

Well, colour him fucking confused because he just fucking read that quirks don’t exist here and that right there is a textbook mutation quirk.

But something’s off about it all. Not just that she’s dead, but something else too.

He avoids stepping into the puddle of blood next to her arm... hole... thing… Next to her shoulder and crouches over her head.

There. Her roots. She’s Asian, but her roots are pink, like Raccoon Eyes’ but darker.

Fuck. She’s from his universe. Quirk, the looks, it’s just logical. They have, like, a limited set of haircolours here, boring shit.

Why the fuck did she get to keep her old hair colour though?

And her full quirk. Or wait. Does this count as half the quirk? With, like, the missing arm and shit…

Fuck, no, don’t look at it, don’t think about it, just get up and walk away and pray to fucking God that no-one saw you in the murder alley.

“Hey!”

Fuck.

A guy drops down at the end of the alley. Not as crazy as brick house bitch, but also in a suit and in the same way, all swoopy and shit.

Katsuki always lands (landed?) like a bomb. Pun intended. Fuck, these nerds have rubbed off on him. But it's like, power wise, they swoop softly and shit and he always either dropped (drops?) in full sprint or hard enough to crack either the floor or jostle his luckily reinforced joints.

He kinda wants to learn. Would help in stealth. How do they move like that anyways? Do they fly?

Fuck, he should’ve done more research at the library, not let Barbara fucking Gordon get to him. In a respectful way. Of course.

He’s pretty sure the dude’s been talking for the past minute, but Katsuki has a headache again and he’s also two milliseconds and a sit-down away from a nervous breakdown, so the guy’ll just have to wait ‘til he has his shit together.

That shit being, well, this. The fucking mockery that is his life. Being discovered in the alley he woke up in after his death, crouched over the corpse of someone from the same universe, in another universe, but significantly more dead than he is, even though he was dead there…

His headache spikes and he makes a big mental swerve around the topic. This is so fucked, really, how is he supposed to cope with this. Not at all, it seems.

The swerve, however, kicks him back into real life and out of his head, which greets him with the- the shoulder of the corpse he’d apparently been staring at for the past few minutes. There’s still bone there, glinting out of the mess of blood and flesh like the sun is trying to catch it just for him, like it’s throwing a fucked up spotlight at the mess of a stump. As if to say ‘see here, that’s what you should look like right now!’

A hand closes on his shoulder, a finger brushes his neck, and the next thing he sees is blood splattering his knuckles and the surprised face of the vigilante whose nose he just broke.

Fuck.

He whirls around and makes a run for it, out of the alley again and down the street like fucking Four Eyes is after him.

And he may as well be because there are steps right fucking behind him, like the broken nose didn’t do shit to slow the guy down.

Fuck. Why are these fuckwits all so fucking fast?

And why do they always follow him? Do they just not get the fucking hint?

.-.

Tim Drake prides himself on many things, including his intelligence and his reflexes.

Which makes it really fucking embarrassing that this random Asian kid just broke his nose and then ran off without telling him squat.

He’s kinda starting to get why Jason was so fucking pissed.

And why he got away ‘cause damn the kid is fast. Like, Tim doesn’t dare try to grapple because he’d for sure lose him. Right now, he’s maybe a meter or two behind, he can’t fuck this up.

The kid (is it a kid? He looks young, but not that young. Definitely older than Damian, but older than Tim? No. It’s hard to tell in the dark though, maybe it’s just because he’s short enough?) is the only clue they have.

It’s bad luck in the end. Coincidence. Too many things happening at once for Tim to power through. Not at all the lack of sleep and overcaffeination accumulated over four days, no, definitely luck.

In the span of seconds, Tim’s hands close on air, the guy skids around a corner and someone startles him over comms. It’s embarrassing, the way it makes him run into the corner, face first, probably re-breaking his nose.

When he can actually see again, the street is empty and Tim wants to hit himself.

For multiple reasons. For losing the little shit, but also for being so fucking blind about the case, really.

It’s so obvious now. How did he not put it together before? He should’ve seen it at the start, it’s so clear.

Obviously, obviously it’s human experimentation. Of course. It all makes sense! The weird DNA, the wounds and missing limbs, the mutation today was just the last puzzle piece!

And that guy, he survived it. He got out, somehow. But what was tested on him? His DNA can’t be it, he wouldn’t be alive then, but he’s also not obviously injured or has some kind of mutation.

It’s annoying, is what it is. He has the fucking puzzle now, but the last piece got lost in the fucking couch cushions and now it’s frustratingly incomplete for however long it takes for the bastard to turn up again.

He returns to the alley while resetting his nose and starts investigating the body.

“Hey O, we got another one.”

“Red Robin, please confirm, another body?”

“Yeah. Your Odysseus lead me right to it. But it’s different, it has some kind of mutation. Still dismembered and dead, but definitely meta.”

“So I was right. Odysseus is Hood’s kid.”

“Yeah, probably. Well, what did he search for?”

“He wiped the history, wanted me to think he was looking for trains out of Gotham. I’m almost finished recovering his searches, give me like two seconds.”

Tim will bet a fucking shit ton of money and a month supply of coffee beans that it’s something with human experimentation. It has to be. Maybe there’s a good clue about the person behind it, too?

But that would be too good. The universe isn’t that nice to Tim Drake. With his luck, it’s probably really the best way out of Gotham. And additionally, the guy took it and is already in, like, Finland right now. (Improbable, but actually possible, shit like that has happened to his cases often enough that he is not dismissing the possibility anymore.)

“Body swapping and body transformation are the first two.”

Fuck yes. That’s practically it. He’s always fucking right, he’s the motherfucking detective!

“Accelerated healing, too. The rest is weird.”

Maybe that explains the lack of obvious injuries? God, he’s so fucking smart. Suck it, Damian, the coffein is not fucking damaging his brain cells!

“Weird how?”

Body swapping is plenty weird to google for ‘normal’ people, what could beat that?

“He googled the Flash and the Justice League. Spent a lot of time reading about it, too.”

Ok yeah, that’s weird. Who doesn’t know about the Justice League? Where did he spend his whole life, in a cave? (He’ll just ignore the fact that he has, in fact, done just that because his cave is fitted with the most advanced technology in the world and it’s also only half his life, so it doesn’t count.)

“RR, does ‘Musutafu’ tell you anything?”

“What?”

“Musutafu. His last search.”

Musutafu. The fuck’s a Musutafu?

“Is that a food?”

“It’s not anything. The search didn’t show anything.”

“Maybe it’s a name?”

“Not a known one. I’ll take a look at criminal records.”

“Thanks, O.”

Musutafu.

There’s a very fucking small piece of the missing one sticking out of the couch cushions.

Back at the Cave, he drops down at the Batcomputer and starts his research.

.-.

This is bad. This is so bad. This is up there with, like, Kamino and shit.

His body autopilots back to the abandoned building he burnt down, while his mind clings onto the image of the corpse like a fucked up centrifuge, round and round, the blood, the stump, the bone, the tears, the blood, the stump, the bone, the tears all over again.

She’s dead and she died in pain. Katsuki should be dead. Katsuki is here.

She’s here too.

But she’s dead.

He blindly pushes through a random door nailed shut and stumbles up a staircase. He manages two flights before he has to sit down and tuck his head between his knees.

In for four, hold for nine, out for eight. He presses his palms into the cold concrete of the floor and grounds himself in the sensation, tunes out everything else, doesn’t spare a single thought to the creeping feeling of sludge and hands and blood and bone and-

No. Not a single thought. Just cold concrete and red hair and a hard palm.

He tips his head back into the grimy wall and follows the staircase with his eyes, counts the steps.

They’re broken a few floors up. Crumbled. Fallen away, covering the steps below.

Feels a bit like he does right now. Floor taken out under him, no way forward and no way back.

He’s a whole dimension away from his- his everything. And this world is even worse than his. For fuck’s sake, they have alien invasions here. In no way is he safe, especially if people with quirks are killed here.

How did she get here? How did he get here? And why, why is she dead?

(Why isn’t he?)

A rat scuttles over the rubble on the steps. Abruptly, he pushes himself back on unstable legs and picks up the bag pack he’d dropped sometime during his panic attack.

The bottom floor is just as fucked as the rest of the building, but it has a bathroom with a tub. He slips into it and curls around his bag again. A few painkillers and a protein bar later, he’s drifting towards sleep again, frustratingly exhausted after his little trip.

It isn’t even light out yet, but he’s fast asleep.

.-.

How. How did fucking Replacement fuck that up. How did some random Asian kid escape one of Gotham’s vigilantes. How does said random Asian kid not know about the Justice League.

How are there still so many fucking questions? How have they gotten even more, really?

Fucking Odysseus. At least the kid’s smart. Jason can appreciate a good classic literature reference.

Replacement obviously less so. He’s pacing, coffee in hand, muttering to himself like Jason can understand fuck all like that. He’s about to scruff him and tie him to a fucking chair, when he finally gets it together and comes to a standstill.

“I think it’s human experiments.”

“What?”

“The case. The corpses. They’re obviously results of human experimentation. God, how was I so blind?”

Human experimentation.

On some level, it makes sense. They were all kinda mutilated, all decidedly not whole. But it doesn’t feel right. The dump site is so messy each time, the corpses too. No scientist would treat their subjects like that, especially regarding the untreated wounds.

At least, none of the ones Jason has ever met. This could be a whole new psycho.

But it still doesn’t seem right.

“But what is the goal? Gruesome dismemberment doesn’t exactly scream scientific experiments.”

“The DNA. The DNA is wrong, maybe that’s the real goal, it was like that with all of them, and the first ones weren’t mutilated! Think about it, it makes sense! And your Odysseus survived. Maybe it worked on him and he escaped?”

A manic glint takes over his eyes.

“Oh, it’s all coming together! It worked on her too, but she couldn’t escape and got killed! It has to be meta experiments, right? Manipulation of the DNA to get the meta gene! It’s perfect, Jason, see?”

He starts pacing and muttering again. His coffee cup is shaking.

With a sigh, Jason takes a step to the left, pushes away the chair, and catches the replacement when he inevitably crashes, chucking the cup in the trash and dropping him in the chair.

The bags under his eyes and shaking hands say everything.

He’ll ask Alfred to take care of it.

But the hypothesis isn’t that bad. Some things don’t line up, and Jason will have to take another look at the DNA samples, but those kinds of experiments are unfortunately not exactly uncommon, so the possibility is there.

Only why are they dead? And why is ‘Odysseus’ not?

It would all be so fucking easy if he wasn’t running from them. Is he a criminal or something? He knows the Justice League is good, why the fuck is he running?

.-.

Molotov cocktails are a great distraction. Katsuki managed to manipulate the recipe to work with his fuck ass quirk so the little shits don’t randomly blow up in his bag pack and is currently twelve bottles in. It’s meditative, in a batshit crazy way.

He’ll just ignore the way this goes decidedly into evil territory and strongly distances itself from simple self defence. He’s injured, he’s allowed to take up more drastic measures.

The running and punching opened up some stitches in his arm he had to fix when he woke up sometime during noon, in a fucking puddle of his own blood and with numb legs.

God, he misses his bed. He’s no stranger to uncomfortable sleeping spaces but he usually doesn’t have fucked up ribs and also doesn’t spend days in those spaces.

He doesn’t want to spend more time here. He wants to go home. He doesn’t know how.

He doesn’t know shit, really.

But he knows how to make Molotov cocktails, so everything’s fine.

All fine.

He’ll concentrate on the problem at hand. The body. He doesn’t know who investigates shit like that here, but the alley guy was too fucking busy with chasing Katsuki to be the one responsible.

Do they have police here? They should. But can he even do that? He has to exist to report something, no?

Skip.

Maybe he can go to the library again when Barbara Gordon isn’t on shift. Look that shit up there. Maybe some guy from that Justice whatever is based here? They could maybe even help if they already deal with alien invasions. Dimensional travelers shouldn’t be a problem to people who take care of shit like that.

Hopefully they’re as good as, like, All Might. Or about as good. Those fuckers can never compare to All Might in his prime. If they have shit names like Superman they’re probably, like, Endeavor level bullshit.

Seriously, why is their naming so bad here? All basic or downright embarrassing, like, Batman? Really? Is he a fucking furry or something? And brick house bitch. Red Hood, but he wears a helmet. Katsuki is reasonably sure after a lot of thinking that those are not, in fact, synonymous. The guy’s just stupid.

The alley guy’s name is probably even worse. Maybe something like Black Hat. The costumes honestly a bit embarrassing with the cowl.

They should ask Katsuki for help. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight is a fucking work of art, he could teach classes on naming.

On second thought, he’s seen what that shit does to people, exhibit A: Aizawa-Sensei. He wouldn’t touch teaching with a ten foot pole if it was actively dying if it does that to a person.

Tutoring maybe. He’s good at that. His idiots usually get better grades after a tutoring session with him.

They’ll have to look for a new tutor.

No.

No, he’ll make it back and they better have studied while he was gone or he’s gonna blow their fucking brains out. Wouldn’t make much of a difference, really.

His hand reaches for air. He doesn’t have any bottles left. Twenty five Molotov cocktails stand in a neat row on the tub’s edge.

He has those and a plan.

Library trip, part two: without Barbara Gordon and instead with more fucking information.

Last time, he went in the evening. This time, he’ll go by day. Maybe noon? Then he still has enough time to wash his hair and shit, maybe slip on the bandana.

He won’t let some library employee ruin his plans again.

Chapter Text

Katsuki would like for the record to state that he did his best. This is not his fault. This is so fucking far from being his fault it may as well be in his own fucking dimension. But he’s getting ahead of himself.

See, he went to the library at a reasonable time. Like, daytime. And what do you know, Barbara Gordon wasn’t there. But, fucking surprise, she’d also changed her access and Katsuki was once again without the fucking internet. So he had to improvise.

Improvising meant sucking it up and asking for help.

So he chose a reasonably happy looking person, a girl clutching three thick as fuck tomes that could very well stem from the last century, and asked her if he could use her access for five minutes to look up something incredibly important.

She gave him a scathing side eye and proceeded to verbally wipe the floor with him in a language that was not fucking English. Could’ve been Italian, actually. Not that that’s important. He just didn’t understand shit, so he had to go searching for someone else.

Actually, he’s fucking glad it wasn’t English because no one understood shit and hopefully just thought she was the psycho between the two. Because if he had understood anything at all he’d probably have tried to kill her. He’s pretty sure she was talking about his bloodline at some point.

Maybe that incident actually helped because this older woman took pity on him and let him use her access, talking about the ‘terribly impolite youth’ like he wasn’t one of them. Then he logged in and was greeted by font size 3000 and figured she thought he was more her age.

‘Gotham hero’ pulled up Batman. Great. They have the fucking furry. And he isn’t even a hero, no, he’s a vigilante.

And then, the fateful Wikipedia page. ‘The Batclan’.

Turns out, these bitches are a fucking club. They are all associated. And alley guy is called ‘Red Robin’. Interesting in the sense that it doesn’t fucking make any. Sense, that is. Because another clubmember is called just Robin. And the alley guy was not wearing enough red to justify that name.

But there’s also a fucking tonne of conspiracy theories surrounding the furry club, including Red Hood being a former Robin because apparently they treat hero aliases as hand-me-down personas to play hot potato with here.

Mostly, the theories are about their real identities. Most of them are weird as fuck. Katsuki could actually not give less of a fuck.

He spent some time reading up on the furry club in hopes of finding a way to contact them and was fucking floored when one article mentioned a Gotham Police Department. This trash pile of a city has a fucking police force.

It all made sense again when another article mentioned the corruption. Yeah. Cities don’t have insane people like Batman when they’re stable.

So he’ll have to talk to the insane furry club if he wants that murder to be investigated. Actually, ‘Red Robin’ was in the alley, he saw the corpse. Katsuki doesn’t have to do shit.

Maybe make sure that they actually do something though.

Or maybe, just maybe, ask them for help with his dimensional displacement problem.

Because despite the dude being crazy, most articles were pretty positive about the furry. All passionate and shit. Saying how he’s, like, smart or whatever.

And he’s part of that Fairness League thingy. So he has to have something, anything, going for him, no?

Fuck, Katsuki should give up the optimism Shitty Hair trained into him.

But because feelings unfortunately don’t work that way, he left the library with hope.

Which was crushed, like, three steps from the stairs.

This is where Katsuki wants to assure you that he is, in fact, blame free. No guilt here. The bullshit currently happening is not a bed of his own making. He’s lying in it anyways because the bedsheets sure as fuck seem familiar.

Some-fucking-how, a Nomu is here.

It’s tall and ugly, so nothing new there, but it has these weird-ass tentacles sprouting from its back and no arms. Also, it’s currently holding one of the furry club members, as demonstrated by the domino mask. And fucking Batman himself, throwing… something at the fugly.

Obviously, this does nothing. There’s definitely a Regeneration quirk in the mix.

So, tentacles, Regeneration, and Katsuki would bet his ass that there’s at least two other quirks in there.

This’ll be fun.

He opens his bag, pulls his bandana out to cover his face, and grabs two Molotov cocktails.

He’ll have to get the furry club member away from it first, but then it’s fucking on for the bitch. Why is everything that comes here from his dimension dead? Like, why not give him help. Or a weapon. Or his fucking quirk, for fuck’s sake.

He misses flying. Misses the height and the speed and the weightlessness every time he reached the apex of his blast.

A car lands a meter away from him and he’s abruptly reminded that he’s currently standing on a fucking battlefield and cannot afford to daydream.

So he closes the distance between himself and the fugly and aims a good ol’ spin kick at its knees. It folds, the bitch kneels, and Katsuki pulls at the furry’s ankle like a dog with a bone.

The Nomu pulls away and he stands there, with a boot in his hand and a freshly renewed hatred for the universe.

Ok. Ok, new plan. Complete destruction. Pain. Murder. Death. Katsuki wants his fucking head on a silver platter. And he’ll get it there, come hell or high water.

Or motherfucking Batman, apparently. The bitch just scoops him up and sets him down behind a car like he’s a fucking feather pillow. He consists of muscle, how the fuck is the furry swinging him around like a fucking satin ribbon.

“Stay here”, he growls, with a voice changer so painfully gritty Katsuki wants to punch him in the balls just to get a different octave out of him.

And then he sweeps away, back into the fray like he has any fucking idea on how to handle the problem.

Katsuki swears on his secret stash of Jane Austen novels that he’ll kick the furry in the balls someday. He’ll get that octave. He’ll see him curled into Fetal position at his feet, crying for his mommy.

A spark zings through his hand and almost sets the Molotovs off.

Fuck. Deep breaths. Wrong target for the rage, take out the Nomu first.

He peeks over the car and almost sparks again.

Because honestly, how fucking stupid do you have to be?

Batman joined furry 2.0 in the tentacle club. Both thouroughly wrapped up in the appendages like the dumbasses they are.

“O, we need backup.”

O? Is furry 2.0 O? Or is the idiot talking to the air now?

No, he’s tilting his head in that special way that says he’s on comms with someone.

O, presumably. Whoever the fuck that is.

But backup, that Katsuki can do. He may not be stronger than the Nomu, as demonstrated by the now visible white sock on Number #2’s left foot, but he’s faster. And smarter, definitely. Seeing as the fugly doesn’t even notice him.

Well, that’s its problem. It ain’t gonna know what hit it when Katsuki’s done here.

He ignores the scathing glare Batfurry’s aura is emitting and gets in close again, careful to stay out of its sight, aiming for the back.

Another swift kick to its knee, but instead of grabbing one of the idiots, he grabs one of the tentacles one handed and swings himself onto its back, up on its shoulder, there’s the head, come on, just get that fucking brain, yes, just one more centimetre, please-

Something rips him off by the knee, brutally, leaving him hanging headfirst in the air with a perfect view of its ass.

Wow.

Katsuki feels harassed. Does having to see this count as some form of sexual assault?

Well, at least he’s not hanging in front of that thing, he can’t imagine that being more comfortable to look at.

Also because like this, the furries can’t see what he does next.

Can’t hurt to try, right?

He reaches up, places his free palm on the tentacle and concentrates on the spark, on feeling it only in that palm.

Heat zips through his arm and the Nomu howls, dropping him in a bush headfirst.

He should probably be glad that it’s a bush ‘cause he’d be really fucking dead if it wasn’t, but it’s fucking annoying because now he can’t see shit and is also kinda stuck for the foreseeable future, which is inconvenient when involved in battle.

Then someone shouts “the fuck’s that?!” and he figures it’ll be fine, backup has arrived.

He struggles onto his back and mourns his knee for a very fucking small second, sue him, it’s throbbing and he’ll miss not feeling pain in at least one part of his body, then he half crawls half wiggles out of the bush in a very dignified manner, thank you very much, just to be greeted by another one of those fuckass furries caught in the fugly’s clutches.

It’s kinda running outta limbs at this point.

But his quirk worked. The tentacle is healing up already, but fire works.

He’s slightly aware that he looks like a maniac right now, grinning and bloody, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to finally fucking do something, something familiar, something he’s good at, dammit.

The newest furry is purple. And a woman. Girl? Katsuki can’t really tell right now. Though, now that he’s thinking about it, Number #2 looks fucking tiny. Is that a kid? That’s a kid, that’s a literal baby right there. The fuck’s Batfurry doing, letting Middle Schoolers on the battlefield like that?

The kid sure as fuck can’t have his license yet.

Wait. Do they even have those here? Heroism isn’t a business here, right? What with quirks not existing. But at the same time, there are people with ‘superpowers’, so maybe they do have the business?

Damn, this shit’s so confusing.

Whatever. Not his problem.

No, his problem is the fugly. And the way it actually does notice him right now. Which is not ideal for his sneak attack plan.

Fugly goes for it, sending way too many fucking limbs in his direction at the same time, which leaves him dodging like a madman in a manner that’s more similar to a dog on zoomies than a dignified and capable hero.

Fucking bitch. Fuck dodging.

He follows its lead instead, going for a head on encounter by just shoving his palm at the nearest tentacle and firing full throttle. It works, Fugly flinches back and Katsuki has a few valuable seconds to go for the first tentacle.

He decides on Number #2 because the kid hasn’t visibly disappointed him yet and also because it’s, well, a kid. He’s been in the kid’s place and it was not fucking pleasant.

The kid drops in a crouch and then, because Katsuki is always fucking right, pulls a literal katana from who-knows-where-the-fuck and slashes at the offending limb. This is Katsuki’s kind of people, the capable kind, the prepared kind.

And then he opens his mouth. And Katsuki is reminded of the visceral hatred the universe has for him that he reciprocates in a violent manner.

“Civilian, leave the battlefield at once! You will only hurt yourself!”

Civilian? Hurt yourself? At once?

Who the fuck talks like that? And especially when he just saved the little bitch’s ass?

“Fuck off, you’d be fucked if I wasn’t here, you gnome!”

He sparks at another tentacle coming for him and pulls the gnome out of its way. With a scoff, Gnome rips his arm out of his grip and pulls out one of the throw things Batfurry was chucking around earlier.

“Such foul language would only come from such an arrogant creature. Now leave!”

The fuck? Is he, like, from the last fucking eon?

“Who the fuck talks like that, dumbass? Now get outta here, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He completely ignores the outraged screech to his right and weaves around Fugly instead, aiming for Batfurry to free next so the idiot can get the kid in check. And away from the battlefield, preferably.

He almost eats shit when the Nomu swipes at his legs, but manages to transition into a roll instead, popping up in the perfect position to free the next vigilante. He has to jump a bit though because the Nomu is learning that Katsuki’s hand = bad and to be avoided at all costs.

Embarrassing. Usually he’s fast enough that they don’t figure that out until it’s too late.

But usually he also has his whole quirk instead of this fuckass half-and-half knockoff. Still. Embarrassing.

Batman drops next to him like a fucking stone and his aura is already projecting the same ‘fuck off, civilian’ vibe that Gnome’s did, so he ain’t even gonna listen to that.

Instead, he swings himself up on one tentacle, hops to the next and then just fucking flings himself at Purple’s hoping for the best. But because hope has abandoned him and fate has named him Public Enemy #1, he drops, like, three centimetres too early and only just so manages to catch himself on Purple’s ankle.

Praying to Satan — since everyone else has fucked him over at least twice now — that her boot and sock game is more stable than Gnome’s, he gains some momentum and swings over to the next one, still one handed, which he’s kinda starting to regret, but he’s not in the mood to waste two perfectly good Molotov cocktails, so his shoulder will just have to suck it up for now.

Satan seems to be his only ally now because he actually does manage the jump and slings a leg around the tentacle just before his grip falters. He’s starting to get headrush with the amount of time he’s spending upside down right now.

Then Satan lives up to his name and the Nomu starts helicoptering its tentacle like it’s tryna fly or some shit, which naturally grants Katsuki the ability to do just that for about two seconds before he’s snatched out of the air again, this time by the Batfurry.

“What do you think you’re doing.”

“Saving your bitchass, seriously, how haven’t you noticed it has a Regeneration Quirk yet?”

“A what.”

Ugh. He’s not doing this right now. He has a Purple to save.

Dodging the literal giant of a man, he rushes in again, mindful of the Gnome who at least has not gotten himself caught, but is still not faring too well, only just managing to stay out of its grasp.

He has good form with that katana. He’s also fucking tiny. Katsuki would like to know how a literal baby has acquired mastery of a deadly weapon that is more than half as big as he is.

Then he notices that that’s kinda hypocritical of him, seeing as he’s a walking bomb. Or was. Not really by choice, too. He’s not a hypocrite, he decides, he just has common sense.

Which he proves by running straight at the large monster with tentacles and murderous intent. See, he’s totally sane.

But unfortunately the Nomu now has more limbs unoccupied, obviously, which immediately fucks him over.

He feels immensely stupid up here, right in its face, very fucking close to its teeth. Is it a cannibal? That’d be very unfortunate for him, with the way he’s in biting range. Does it even count as cannibalism? It’s not really human anymore so that kinda defeats the logic.

He really doesn’t want to find out though. But it’s squeezing and Katsuki’s hands are pressed to his sides and he can feel the Molotovs digging into his palm and it’d be really fucking bad if they exploded right now, with him taking the brunt of it.

He hasn’t had time to test his own fireproofing yet. Burning alive or exploding is not how he wants to go out the second time, he’d be glad to postpone that indefinitely.

Then another tentacle goes for his neck.

Panic shoots through him and so does heat and then he’s airborne.

He’s flung into the air straight upwards, like a literal rocket ship, the floor rapidly distancing itself. He can see Purple being flung into a building, slumping against the wall, unmoving, dead?

No, she can’t be dead, he can’t have ending the career of not only one, but two fucking heroes on his record, he refuses, please-

He starts dropping.

Buildings woosh past, wind batters at the bandana on his face and the clothes on his body and he reflexively braces for impact, for broken bones and concussions and pain and maybe even death since he doesn’t know if he’s reinforced here.

Something slings around his waist, jostling his ribs in a way that suggests he won’t be breathing right for a month, and suddenly he’s swinging instead of free falling, pressed against something solid.

For a short, horrifying second he’s sure the Nomu has survived and he’s gonna be, like, eaten in a second, but then his eyes finally open and he’s greeted by a red bat symbol. Brick house bitch. And the fucker’s late.

They drop and Katsuki rips away from him, takes one look at the screeching, burning Nomu being sliced into submission by Gnome, and then he makes the fatal fucking mistake of breathing in.

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The absolutely rancid smell of burnt flesh or the agonising pain in his ribs.

Doesn’t get much time to contemplate that though, he just fucking hurls, puking out the small amount of substance in his stomach together with what feels like a litre of stomach acid.

He sees the blood in the mix, feels the way his lungs contract in a decidedly bad way and has maybe two seconds to curse the universe before his body gives up on him and the floor greets him enthusiastically.

Chapter Text

Jason is not attached. Or obsessed. Or any of the other slightly demeaning adjectives his family has come up with to describe his completely understandable, thank you very much, decision to stay with Odysseus until he wakes up.

He’s justified in his worry, honestly. If Replacement is right and the case is really about human experimentation then Jason would much rather be there when the kid wakes up in a clinical environment. Shit like that leaves trauma and he’d much rather stop their medical equipment from being destroyed, really, that’s the only reason he’s been sitting here for hours instead of getting out of his gear.

It’s not at all about the panic in the kid’s eyes when he realised it was Jason who caught him. Or the blood he vomited. Or the way he felt so light in his arms. Or the way he looks so small in the bed, the way his face is completely relaxed, has lost the seemingly permanent scowl.

No, it’s not about that. It’s about the money it would cost to replace the Cave’s medical equipment that would most definitely not leave any kind of dent in Bruce’s bank account. Maybe IVs have gotten more expensive over night, what does he know. He’s just here to make sure they won’t have to find out.

He looks up from his copy of the Iliad to check on the kid for the twelfth time in five minutes and spends a single second thinking if maybe it’s weird for him to watch him sleep when he decides that no, it’s not, this is totally normal behaviour in caring for a patient, and drops any kind of pretense together with the book.

Odysseus looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks are slightly sunken in. Did the fucker who experimented on him starve him? He certainly doesn’t look well fed.

He’s also too built for a normal kid. He’d been there when Alfred wrapped his ribs and then put him on some kinda unholy cocktail that would’ve knocked even Bruce out for at least twelve hours. He’d seen both the muscles and the bad and very obviously DIY stitches.

And the bruises. Those ribs are fucked. Badly.

Alfred had also treated the stitches in his head at Babs’ request. The head wound could explain the absolute batshit behaviour.

Seriously, what had the kid been thinking, rushing into a fight with that weirdass monster? And where the fuck did he get Molotov cocktails of all things?

And even better, how did he know that would work?

When they’d come back to the Cave and B had started on a DNA sample from the thing it had taken five minutes tops for him to declare that it has the same genetic weirdness as the girl with the hand mutation.

Stands to reason the same experiments had been done on them. One ended up with multiple hands, the other with tentacles and a shitton of other things that looked incredibly inhuman.

Right now, B is testing Odysseus’ blood.

Jason kinda doesn’t want to know what’s wrong with him.

.-.

[ A tape recorder clicks, starts recording. A person steps into view, clad in surgical gear and a visor, obscuring their face and stature. Behind them, the room looks clinical, with steel walls and various tools scattered over metal shelves. ]

“Project Intra Astras, Tape 57. Recorded by Dux.”

[ The person, Dux, drops down on a stool and turns on a bright light. They are covered in blood and gore, a small piece of tissue clings to their shoulder, unnoticed. ]

“Subject 14 was a waste of resources. It was missing its whole lower body and while it was alive, it was obviously not intelligent. But it also wouldn’t die. That is a success, albeit a small one.”

“I killed it anyways. It was useless and it wouldn’t stop wailing, it was disturbing the workspace. But this means that the formula is almost perfect. Subject 13 was dead, I have no use for unintelligent not-life. The Bats took care of it. But that means I will have to overthink my deposition plan.”

[ They glance at something out of frame and their body tenses. ]

“I obviously did not leave any trace that Subject 14 was killed by me, but until now the human involvement was… not as evident. I wonder… maybe I will stick to the usual plan. It will have to make do.”

“Now I will have to tweak the formula. The frequency is good and the machine is even better, but something about the formula still only produces dysfunctional subjects. Subject 11 would have been perfect if it hadn’t been dead, I will see whether I can combine the formulas for 11 and 14 to get something more satisfactory.”

[ Their stare wanders out of frame again and they rise. ]

“Conclusion: combine formula 11 and 14 for better results. Work on deposition plan and start on surveillance sub-project. Develop more efficient way of elimination of subjects.”

[ They flick the piece of tissue off their shoulder and advance on the recorder. ]

“End tape 57. Recorded by Dux.”

[ A click. The recording ends. ]

.-.

There’s someone in the room. They know Katsuki knows. The heart monitor doing its best to imitate a tinnitus would do that.

Their presence is heavy. They are either large as fuck or really fucking intense. This does not help Katsuki’s heartbeat.

This has to be a hospital. Katsuki hopes it’s a hospital.

He’s also tired. So tired. Maybe he should be worried about how tired, it feels unnatural, like it did with the Granny sometimes when he ‘overdid it with the training’.

But he’s too tired for thinking.

He’ll just sleep. When his heartbeat’s done with going crazy.

Is it his heartbeat? Maybe he just has a tinnitus. He tries moving his head to check, but it’s too heavy.

Makes everything go fuzzy.

Nothing is beeping anymore. Nothing is.

.-.

Katsuki feels floaty. His head is light and heavy at the same time, like he’s doing a dead man’s float. Everything feels like that.

He likes it. All nice and effortless.

But there’s this persistent beeping in his ear. It’s disturbing his float.

How dare it. It sounds like a severely out of tune organ.

“T’rn ‘ff th’organ, wanna dead fl’at.”

There. His mouth tastes like the organ sounds, but he said it. Now make it go away.

“What?”

Who is that? Are they stupid? Katsuki just said what he wants.

Maybe they can’t see. Katsuki can’t see. Everything’s dark. Or red. It’s both. It’s dark red. Yeah.

“Izz’t red?”

Maybe they can help each other with the dark red. Like wine. But lighter. Maybe light wine? White wine? No, that was yellow. It is a bit yellow here. And red.

Orange? He likes orange. Orange is good. It can stay orange.

“Nah, c’n stay. ‘s good.”

Now they know it’s fine. Like Katsuki.

“Um, ok? How did you know? You feeling alright?”

“Saw’t. Y’don’?”

Something shuffles, but not like paper. Like not-paper. Katsuki doesn’t know what that’s called right now, so it’s not-paper. He’s surrounded by not-paper. Like a paper house but in reverse. No, no, those are called houses of cards. And he’s not in one.

Card houses always fall quickly. He’s glad he’s not in one. That’d be dangerous.

“Should I get someone to look you over?”

So they really can’t see, if they need someone else to look. Or maybe they’re really small, if they can’t look over him? Maybe that’s why they don’t see the orange. Maybe it’s some different colour down there. Like purple.

“Y’purple?”

“Not who I was thinking of, but sure.”

Sure. So it’s purple down there. Funny.

The cards shuffle and then something whooshes, like wind. Maybe the wind blew over the cards. But it’s not-paper? So the wind blew over the not-paper. So it’s not small. Big wind. Big wind blows over. They probably don’t feel the wind.

“Fee’ th’ind?”

“Kid, I can’t understand shit. Do you need, like, water or something?”

Hm. Water. So it’s water down there. And wind up here.

Katsuki’s warm. And he feels uncomfortable. He’d kinda like some water.

“S’cold?”

“What? Fuck, that’s probably not good. I’ll get you someone.”

The wind whooshes again. They’re gone. Maybe they made space so Katsuki could get the water for a bit. They’re nice. Even if they’re small and can’t see. Katsuki can’t see either.

He wriggles towards where they were. Towards the water. His body gets kinda tight. Weird. Uncomfortable. But water usually makes uncomfortable things go away, so he wriggles anyways.

He wriggles until his head meets air. Wind. He’s still at wind height. So he has to go under. To the water.

He wriggles again and his body glides off the wind. The organ becomes very loud. And it holds its beeps. Maybe that signals he’s getting closer. Like with cars.

Katsuki is not a car. He shouldn’t hear beeping like that. But water usually makes uncomfortable things go away, so he lets his body glide further.

His head meets something hard. Hard and not water. Did they lie? Is there no water? But there’s no wind either. Maybe it’s not-paper.

Something whooshes again. So it’s paper. A house of cards.

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?”

That’s someone else. They are higher than the other. Like wind. But if the other wasn’t water, maybe that’s not wind. He wants to know.

“Water?”

“Ja- Hood was like, right here, just ask him?”

He just did? And they’re not answering.

The door opens again and someone completely new comes in.

“Sir, what, pray tell, do you think you’re doing?”

They sound lower again. Maybe they’re actually water.

“Water?”

“That does not warrant disturbing your monitors. Please sit up again.”

Another not-answer. Katsuki doesn’t like these people. They’re all useless. No one can tell him anything.

Then he feels something on his arm and abruptly, the world has colours again. Not only orange and dark red and yellow, but white and purple and brown and black, too. The colours are moving.

Katsuki wants to move too. He has to. He has to move and get away from those hands because if they touch him, bad things will happen. He’ll lose control again, one way or another, and that can’t happen.

But everything’s still fuzzy and he can’t actually see and he misjudges some shit and suddenly he’s fully on the floor, haphazardly curled up and weakly batting at the hands still reaching for him.

“Sir, I won’t harm you, I merely want to help you get back to bed.”

That is a man. An old man. Like in those old American movies.

“M’vie man.”

The purple person cackles. They seem vaguely familiar. Many things here seem familiar. But there’s a weird layer of nothing between him and everything. Everything comes towards him but falls into nothing on the way.

And there’s definitely nothing in his head right now. And nothing that could go to the everything. He should probably go to nothing. So he can come to the everything. That sounds reasonable.

He goes back to the orange dark red.

.-.

The kid is, like, high as a fucking kite right now. Jason doesn’t know what the hell Alfred was thinking giving him the same dose as Bruce, but the effect is pretty obvious in the pile of human and machine and blankets half under the bed.

“Master Jason, would you please help me get him back in the bed and hooked up to the monitor again?”

“Sure. Alfred, he said something about being cold, what’s with that?”

He picks the kid up together with the blankets and deposits him back on the pillows, all the while daring Steph to say anything about the care with which he does not do it, thank you very much.

“He shouldn’t be cold. But he is inebriated, so I’d rather we just wait until he’s more coherent before giving him something else.”

Inebriated is good. The kid was on a whole other material plane, he was that high. Stupid B with his paranoia.

“Hood, B wants us all for a meeting. He analysed his DNA.”

Fucking finally.

Jason takes, like, two steps out of the room when something slams into his side at what feels like 300 mph and sends them both flying into the wall.

He takes a second to thank the universe for his helmet before yeeting the Replacement off his legs.

“Watch where you’re going and please, for the love of fuck, throw away those godawful pyjamas. They consist of holes and coffee stains at this point, just give it up.”

“I will never and you know it. Now get out of my way, B said he has the results.”

And with that, the Garfield themed fuzz monstrosity disappears around the corner.

“Jay, he’s a lost case. You have to do it yourself or you have to give up.”

Do it yourself it is. He’ll probably need, like, a hazmat suit and a rebreather, but he will see that disgusting thing in the trash.

“Let’s go. I wanna know how fucked your kid is.”

“He’s not my kid, I’m not Bruce.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They have Babs in a video call and most of the others are already in the cave when Jason and Steph join them, only the Demon Brat is missing.

“Where’s Damian?”

“He has Algebra homework to do. He’ll get the debrief later.”

Ha. Loser.

“Odysseus has the same DNA mutations as the meta and the woman. There are small things that vary to the other bodies, which I have managed to part into four categories, so four different kinds of mutated genetic markers.”

“I’m telling you, it’s human experimentation! It all-“

“Tim. No jumping to conclusions.”

“No! I’ve jumped, I’ve landed, this is the hill I’ll die on! It’s human experimentation.”

B does the Ominous Chair Swivel™ that tells you you’ve fucked up tremendously, when Tim is saved by the bell. The bell being Demon Brat entering the room in a similar fashion to Replacement earlier. At high speeds and ending it in Jason’s rib area.

“I am done with those pathetic formulas, please father, what did you conclude.”

“Oh my god, I’m not a fucking air cushion, stop fucking brutalising my ribs.”

The brat doesn’t even acknowledge him. He’ll regret that. So hard.

“Stop it. Everyone. This is important. Now listen.”

And then he doesn’t talk. Jason’s about to politely mention this when he gets the Eyes of Death™ treatment and wisely, as he is, decides against it.

“There are four categories of mutated genetics that should not work among our victims. The meta and the last body both share those markers with Odysseus. The woman and him additionally share another genetic marker that varies only slightly, while the meta’s look sick. We can assume that they all underwent the same process with different results.”

“That process being experiments!”

Duke elbows him. The idiot does not shut up. He’s about to start ranting again, when Babs speaks up.

“Hey, how come Odysseus is fine, then? What’s different between him and the woman?”

“That’s where I am confused. There is not much difference. Apart from the obvious, their genetics are weird in other parts too, for example regarding visuals. I have never seen DNA like the woman’s before.”

“Let me do it, B. I’ll prove to you that-“

“No. You’re biased.”

“But-!”

“No. Hood, how is Odysseus doing on the dose?”

Steph snorts next to him.

“He’s high as a kite. The dose was so unnecessary, I couldn’t understand shit. But I’m pretty sure he recognised me and wanted me there.”

Now Duke is smirking. “You sure that’s not wishful thinking? Have you even showered since?”

Jason has not. Jason will not mention this detail and also hope to god that Duke’s nose is still congested with the flu. Steph’s isn’t though and she promptly throws him under the bus by sniffing the air and grimacing.

“Oh my god, please tell me you did. I touched you. You haven’t showered in days and I touched you!”

“Who said I haven’t showered in days? I sho-“

“No you fucking didn’t, you were too busy with-“

“You shut the fuck up, you wouldn’t even sleep if we didn’t remind you.”

“You don’t remind me of anything, you just knock me out and-“

“Because that’s the only thing that works, you psycho, I-“

“Who the fuck are you calling a psycho? You tried to-“

“Oh my god, I apologised for that and you know I wasn’t-“

“SHUT UP.”

“B, if you don’t send him away right now, I will rip off both his legs and strangle him with them.”

“Try me, bitch, I dare you. You-“

“No chicken nuggets for two weeks.”

“What?! No, you can’t-“

“No! No, that’s cruel and unfair punishment, the Geneva Convention states very clearly that that’s a war crime! You can’t take away the chicken nuggets!”

“I can and I will. Stop fighting.”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault?! You were the one who-“

“Three weeks it is.”

“No! No, please B, we’ll listen and we’ll shut up and we won’t fight at all, come on.”

The debrief goes off without a hitch. Alfred promises chicken nuggets for dinner.

Life is good.

Chapter Text

Waking up is embarrassing. ‘Cause like, Katsuki might not remember everything, but he sure as fuck remembers literally wriggling himself off the bed like a demented caterpillar.

Also, there’s a puddle of drool next to him on the pillow and he really doesn’t want to know how many people had the privilege of watching that come into existence.

Apart from the obvious: a large ass dude wearing sweats and a domino mask like that does shit when he has a literal whole ass white stripe in his hair like a skunk. His identity is pretty much free real estate with hair like that. The body type tells him this should be brick house bitch.

“The fuck you doing here.” His voice crackles like he gurgled on razor blades and suddenly he has vivid flashbacks to something about water that make him incredibly uncomfortable for some reason.

“Oh, are you not high as fuck anymore?”

He was right, it’s brick house bitch. That’d be future-corpse-whose-cause-of-death-has-never-been-found Number One. No one who saw that can stay alive. And it won’t land on his record, so it doesn’t count. No one will be able to proof shit.

“Fuck off. Gimme some water.”

A snort. “Sure that’s what you want?”

Flashbacks, he’s getting flashbacks. Abort. Flight mode on.

“I said fuck off.” He’s, like, half a sit-up into an upright position when his body tells him that no, he’s most definitely not high as a fucking kite anymore. And also, fuck yourself, breathing is a privilege now.

So now he’s here, wheezing, with a really fucking panicked built-as-fuck skunk fluttering his hands over the heart monitor like that’ll do shit. Spoiler alert, it does not.

Katsuki gets his breath back anyways because he ain’t ever been beat by some simple shit like oxygen. He also gets blessed with the knowledge that his ribs are even more fucked now than they were when he spawned here like a fucking mob in Minecraft.

“Don’t move, idiot. You’re, like, fucked, why would you move?” He sounds genuinely distressed about it too, like it’s hurting him more than Katsuki. Stupid, if you ask him and also impossible because that was some of the worst shit he’s ever felt and he’s a fucking hero student.

“Why the fuck do you care? Been pretty happy laughing at me up until now, haven’t you? Just gonna get that water myself, don’t need some stupid fuck to do it for me.”

He kinda expected a clap back to that. Some witty retort. But the guy stays silent long enough Katsuki takes a glance at his face, catching the last drags of a kinda constipated looking expression before a weirdly creepy calm settles on his face, like he literally just dragged whatever emotion he was feeling behind some mental shed and clubbed it dead with a stone to the head.

His movements are kinda mechanical when he gets up and leaves. It’s weird. He’d been so expressive, a smug little bitch, and all that got swished away by one singular comment. It wasn’t even that bad. Not that he cares. He’s used to people thinking he’s an asshole, either for speaking his mind or not phrasing it the way they want him to. But the guy is obviously an asshole too, so he shouldn’t be making that bitch move now.

Don’t dish out what you can’t take and all that. Bit hypocritical.

Well, whatever. His problem. As long as he gets that water, Katsuki couldn’t care less about his little feelings. He’s got better shit to worry about. Like the elephant in the room.

You know, the room. The room he doesn’t know. The room he’s never been in before that sure as hell isn’t anywhere he should be. Like say, six feet under. The last thing he remembers clearly is vomiting blood, it’s not much of a reach to presume that would be it.

Maybe the grim reaper is, like, scared of him. At this point, that’s not unreasonable. If he fucking traveled between dimensions there might as well be a grim reaper that is so fucking scared of him it wouldn’t touch him with the end of a ten feet pole while he was unconscious.

This is as close to immortality as it gets. This is, like, the 69th time he almost died but miraculously survived due to weirdass circumstances he can’t explain for the life of him.

He’d actually like to know how though. Did the furry club perform some kinda emergency surgery on him to pull what felt like half his ribcage out of his lungs or what?

Actually, that is the most likely option. Not that they did it, but that someone performed surgery on him. Which, ew. That’s so outdated. People touching other people’s organs is so last century. There’s a reason healing quirks are almost always sent to work in hospitals. It’s more, like, hygienic and shit.

Katsuki doesn’t even want to imagine this shit. Someone poking around inside of him while he’s asleep just casually rearranging his organs like fucking Tetris.

He starts analysing the room instead and is disappointed to find, like, negative distractions. This might as well be an insane asylum cell with the amount of stimulation it provides. Zero. None.

White walls, his monitor, an IV, a ton of other weird machines, his bed, the door. It feels impossible to make the room more boring.

Actually, the guy left a book behind on his chair. Not even a bookmark, the psycho, but it’s the most interesting thing in the room so he’ll take it.

Katsuki carefully twists towards it, trying not to jostle his ribs again. Just a milimetre more and- the fuck. That’s the Iliad. Homer.

Fuck. Katsuki doesn’t usually turn to conspiracy theories, that’s more Icy-Hot’s forte, but in this case…

Okay. Either the guy is a nerd. Possible. The good kind of assholes usually are. Katsuki is, in a sense. He could just randomly be reading an old ass book of Greek mythology.

Or. Or, Barbara Gordon somehow is involved in this. Katsuki gave her that name. Odysseus. And she told these people. Maybe she’s one of them. Also a possibility. Katsuki isn’t ruling out shit in this place.

The thing is, he doesn’t know. Barbara Gordon is in a wheelchair. Probably isn’t hopping around on rooftops and fighting Nomus like that. So it’s kinda unlikely. On the other hand, why not? Maybe it’s an alibi or something. To protect her identity. These vigilante types like to do that.

Hell, Katsuki likes to do that these days. There’s a reason he went in with the bandana. Which is gone now. Actually, many things are. Like, all of them. He’s wearing one of these humiliating hospital gowns that hide fuck all and his bag pack is not here.

Nothing of his is here. They took every little thing he’s amassed for himself in this fucked situation and put it somewhere he can’t reach, which they fucking know. Probably banked on, really. There’s no fucking way they’re not aware of his train wreck of a body.

Well, they don’t know that he’s very much not unarmed. And it’s time they notice. Or don’t, actually. Maybe he can sneak out of here without them noticing. And get his stuff. He needs those Molotovs, they worked well enough. Not what he wants, but close enough so he’ll take it.

But first. Injury assessment.

He carefully shimmies the gown off his shoulders and has to suppress a wince when it twinges his ribs. This is bad. He hasn’t even tried raising his arms yet and he can already feel shit tightening. Ugh, this is gonna suck so bad.

Looks it, too. Someone wrapped them for him, but his chest looks swollen and the bruises peek out under the bandage like dark ass clouds. The stitches are new too. Like the person who did this just methodically worked their way down his body to start repairing any kind of damage they could find.

A person he doesn’t know. That’s… uncomfortable. Not a reason to panic, but also not a reason to make him feel especially good being in this room.

The question of all questions though: can he stand? Or walk? Hell, even sit up?

‘Cause he’ll kinda have to. Not like he has much experience with long-lasting injuries, but he’s pretty sure you have to stay active to not get, like, pneumonia. Or necrosis. He read about that somewhere, that if you don’t move you’ll body just start to fall apart. Sounds fake, but pneumonia sure as fuck isn’t and he also really doesn’t want to find out, no thank you.

Fuck. He’ll need to ask someone. And until then, he needs some really fucking good painkillers.

Ugh, this is so inconvenient.

Whatever. He has to try either way. No time like the present and all that shit.

He shoves his legs over the edge of the bed and starts manoeuvring his torso in line to start the process of standing up. It twinges. He takes a deep breath, mentally curses when it twinges again, and starts sitting up.

Doing it slowly hurts less. And once he’s upright, the pain isn’t even that bad. He rips off the monitor and the IV, ignoring the immediate blaring beeping, and sways onto his feet.

Takes a careful step. Makes a mental note to never, ever, under any circumstances raise his pace above a measured stroll.

The door slams open and brick house bitch storms in, a bottle of water in one hand and frantically gesturing at someone with the other.

That someone is an old man coming in after him, wearing a weird ass posh butler costume and a domino that has to be an alibi at this point. Like, in no world would Katsuki not recognise him.

“Ah. I would encourage you to get back to bed, Sir. You should need another dose of painkillers right about now.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Who are you? The butler?”

He raises an eyebrow and Katsuki is vividly reminded of Aizawa-Sensei. “Quite, Sir. As of now, please address me as Agent A. And now, dear Watson, get back to bed.”

Oh damn. The literature references are strong in this furry club. Agent A wasn’t mentioned anywhere in those articles, but maybe he’s a bit too boring for them. A fucking butler. Seriously, give Katsuki two minutes and a good computer and he’ll have, like, all their identities and any alter egos. These costumes are embarrassing.

“The fuck you doing out of bed again? Do you have a death wish?”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you, I am not suicidal! You’re just stupid! Now gimme that.”

He makes a grab for the battle, miscalculates the force, winces at the stab in his side and reaches the bottle with a brush of his fingers instead of the steady grip he’d aimed for.

Brick house bitch pointedly pushes it the rest of the way into his hand and points a finger in his face.

“Get back to bed. Now.”

Katsuki would imagine that this is the way normal parents would send their child to their room. The Dad Vibes™ wafting through the air kinda don’t fit their originator.

“You’re really bad at this. Should probably take, like, a few classes on parenting.”

Seems like his filter is shot. Exhaustion would do that.

“I- what. Parenting?”, he splutters, looking like Katsuki just suggested crowning him king of fucking England or some shit.

“You ain’t doing too hot, you know. Like, I don’t feel compelled to listen to you.”

“Alf- Agent A, are you sure he’s not high anymore?”

“Quite, Sir. He’s swaying.”

Katsuki wants to protest and then he notices that yes, the room is actually not a ship and he is in fact just swaying like a drunk. There isn’t even, like, headrush or something, he’s just seemingly weak as fuck.

The option of flight is launching into the horizon faster than Katsuki could take a fucking step right now. Which isn’t saying much, but the point still stands. He’s not going anywhere.

He’s in a room of strangers that have potentially seen him naked and high and he cannot escape. This is a new low, even for him.

He carefully sits back down and gestures at his own body. “Who did this?”

“I did, Sir. I presume you stitched yourself up? They weren’t bad, but some of them opened up and you were not… hygienic, so I took the liberty of redoing them all.”

“So what’s all fucked up, huh? How many ribs, anything new, the works?”

“Two ribs are broken, three more are cracked, you have a bruised knee and your old injuries. Now I’d like to know, how the fuck are you not burnt to a crisp right now? A Molotov exploded in your fucking hands, why are you fine?”

“At least that, thank fuck. Would’a been real shitty if that was gone too.”

Fireproof, let’s go. Definitely still reinforced. Why the fuck is it this touch-and-go? Some of it came with him, some of it didn’t, but how is it decided? Why the sparks, but not the nitroglycerin? Why the fireproofing, but not the eyes? Why is he not hard of hearing right now? What makes some of it stick, dammit?

“What the fuck do you mean? We’ve been at this for fucking weeks and still don’t know shit, just fucking tell us what’s going on!”

The fuck’s he screaming for. And why does everyone assume he just knows this shit, dammit, he’s supposed to be dead right now, he’s even more fucking confused than they are!

“How the fuck should I know? I’m supposed to be dead right now, I know fuck all! And what do you mean weeks, I’ve been here for a few days at most?!”

Both men stock. Two disbelieving stares are directed at him and he wants to run again. He just wants to go home. He wants to be everywhere that isn’t here, isn’t this fucked dimension, isn’t this situation.

“Sirs, I feel this conversation is better held with the whole team present. Neither party seems to know all the facts and it won’t do to fight here, especially not while one of you is in pain.”

“What facts? What the hell is going on? I don’t give a fuck that I’m in pain, I want to know what you’re talking about!”

They’re hiding something. Something important. Something detrimental to his situation and they’re hiding it because he has a few broken ribs.

Brick house bitch looks like he’ll talk, but Agent Butler gives him a Look™ and gestures for him to bring over all the machines again. And like a fucking dog, he obeys, just shuts his mouth and grabs them with maybe a bit more force than necessary.

“I will give you a smaller dose so that you won’t be quite as… inebriated, but I do advise you to try to get some sleep. It’s important for the healing process.”

The fucking healing process. Yeah, sure, a bit of sleep and suddenly, magically, the old granny’ll fall from the sky and pucker up. That’d be the fucking dream.

Instead, he’ll spend the next few weeks in pain. Yay.

Agent Butler takes his arm and inserts a needle for the IV, clips on the heart monitor and then pulls a bag of something from who-the-fuck-knows-where to hook up to the stand.

Brick house bitch drops the bottle in his lap, picks up his Iliad and slams the door on his way out hard enough to splinter the wood of it. Agent Butler just sighs like that’s a normal fucking Monday instead of a crazy show of strength paired with an obvious willingness to commit violence.

Katsuki is both of these things, but he’s not that volatile. He’d like to say he’s rational. He definitely wouldn’t hurt anyone innocent. He doesn’t know if the same can be said about him. It’s disquieting.

He noticed that. Those random mood swings that the guy can’t seem to express healthily. While Katsuki is always angry, always keyed up to one thousand, the guy seems to just… fluctuate. Randomly. Volatile.

It’s like comparing standing next to a volcano to standing next to a ticking time bomb with a fucked up timer. Both is bad, but one is definitely more scary. At least to Katsuki. There’s a reason he doesn’t like liars. He likes to know what he’s up against.

He’s ripped from his musings by Agent Butler taking a step back, seemingly done fiddling with the IV fluid.

“Do you think you could eat something soon?”

Hm. Not really. He’s not exactly about to throw up, but even the thought of having to swallow something makes his stomach roll.

“No.”

Then the man moves to leave and it occurs to Katsuki that now’s the only time he’ll get to ask.

“Where’s my stuff?”

“Your belongings are in the Cave. I didn’t feel it would be appropriate to have Molotov cocktails in our infirmary.”

Pussy.

“I want them back.”

Katsuki’s beginning to think the guy only has two expressions. Unimpressed and Unimpressed-with-eyebrow-raised, which he is currently using. Well, unfortunately for him Katsuki ain’t here to impress, so he just raises his eyebrow back.

A sigh. “Sleep. You will get them back after.”

He kinda wants to protest, but the painkillers are hitting fast and his head’s getting heavy. He’ll just fight him on it after a nap. It’s fine.

The last thing he sees before he’s out is Agent Butler pulling his blanket up to his chin like he’s tucking in a kid.

Katsuki ain’t a kid, he’ll show that fucker. Later. Sleep now.

Chapter Text

Katsuki doesn’t usually dream. Where other people wake up with snippets or even whole stories, he wakes up well rested and ready for the day. Usually.

Rare exceptions include: traumatic memories processed through LSD trip like fever dreams, flat out nightmares, and that one time he dreamed of a concert where his point of view switched around so often he couldn’t tell whether he was the singer, himself, a random body guard or the rat in the crowd trying not to get trampled.

So his past experiences are limited and also not very representative of the average dream experience. That being said, he’d like to know why in the fresh hell he dreamed of losing a pair of pants in the Gotham sewers that his subconscious was so fucking attached to he literally swam through it to look for them.

He doesn’t even want to try understanding what his mind wants to tell him. That can remain a mystery, please and thank you.

But now he’s awake and thinking about it and also pleasantly not in pain so he needs a distraction as soon as possible. Like say, the rundown on what-the-ever-loving-fuck is going on.

The problem is, no one is watching him sleep, which he would be grateful for under any other circumstances, but right now he wants answers and he has no fucking idea how to get someone into the room to give them.

Actually, no, he does have an idea. Carefully, he sits up and then rips off the heart monitor, covering his ears from the godawful blaring. That should do the job. And if it doesn’t, maybe he can give his sneaking abilities another try.

Because the people here are incredibly predictable, the door slams open and something small barrels through the room so fast Katsuki’s neck gives an audible crack trying to follow it.

“What are you doing, you imbecile? This machine is supposed to warn us of your imminent death, not to be used as a personal service call.”

That would have to be the gnome. Seriously, why even bother with the domino masks. This is bordering on true psychological instability.

“Then give me a fucking device supposed to call you. Or even better, let me go. Just dump me on some street, I don’t care. I have shit to do.”

He kinda doesn’t. Sure, it would be cool to find out what the fuck a Nomu was doing here, but in the end he is without a real mission apart from returning home. Still, better to have a good reason for why he wants to leave instead of ‘yeah my gut instincts find this shit real creepy, I’m not scared though, just feel like running every time brick house bitch enters the room you know’. Nah, that’d be pussy shit.

“We cannot do that. You have information vital to a case at hand, we will not just let our only witness go.”

Witness? What the fuck did Katsuki witness that they didn’t? Nothing. They actually know more than him if brick house bitch is to be believed. They can shove their case right up their fucking ass if they’ll just not tell him shit.

“I didn’t witness shit, ok? Had my eyes closed the whole time. You happy now?”

Somehow, this doesn’t make him happy. Shocker. Sarcasm may not be Katsuki’s favourite weapon, but it’s pretty obvious this one’s not getting it and Katsuki is nothing if not an asshole.

“So Drake was right.” He sounds real mad about it. And a bit constipated. Like there’re more feelings there. The fuck is it with this club and their inability to express feelings? Katsuki may not be a prime example of healthy expression, but at least he doesn’t bottle his shit up? At least not all of it. Just some. A little.

Yeah, no, he doesn’t really have room to talk. What with the rage in Gnome’s posture, they seem to express all their feelings the same as Katsuki. Through anger. Possibly violence, what with the way Gnome’s hands are twitching.

“Who in the fuck is Drake?”

His eyes widen and a blush Katsuki really does not want to call adorable appears on his face before being brutally shut down into a downright murderous expression.

“You will not mention any of this to anyone if you value your life, imbecile. Is that understood?”

Katsuki knows his grin right now must look fucking feral.

“I’ll do whatever I want, bitch, you ain’t telling me nothing.”

Gnome launches himself at the bed and probably would’ve done permanent damage to Katsuki’s ribs and ego if a new person hadn’t fucking swooshed into the room like his personal guardian angel and picked the kid up like an unruly kitten.

“What did I tell you about maiming innocent people?”

The guy is also wearing one of those cursed dominoes, directing a blinding smile at Katsuki before sending the kid a disapproving stare. Pure outrage is written into every single muscle currently held a foot above the floor like it’s fucking nothing, seriously, these people are crazy.

“He started it!”

“I didn’t start shit, your kid’s just an asshole.”

“We know, we’re working on it. Would you like some water? Painkillers? You should probably put the monitor back on, Agent A said not to take it off until the debrief. Have you eaten anything yet? Robin, go talk to B, see if he’s done, yeah?”

The flood of words and the grin and the general vibes tell Katsuki that this has to be the most unhinged club member yet. Whichever one it is. Not Red Hood, not Red Robin, not Robin, not Batman. The body type is new, so not one he met already. Obviously not a girl.

He kinda hates that that doesn’t narrow it down. That there are still what feels like sixty club adjacent people he could be. Ugh. Fucking vigilantes.

“Who are you?” He can’t even be arsed with the slightly annoyed look at the interruption if he could finally get one fucking straight answer.

“I’m Nightwing. You?”

Oh. Oh damn. He pulled that UNO Reverse straight out of his ass. Now Katsuki has a problem. Since somehow, until now, he’d escaped having to answer that particular question since no one had bothered to ask. Should he tell them? Can he even? What would that tell them about him? What do they know?

It’s so annoying, not knowing how much they know ’cause he can’t plan for their reactions.

… It’s only a name? Surely that wouldn’t be too much information?

He’s just about to tell him when Nightwing opens his mouth again. “Surely it’s not actually Odysseus.”

And that. Yeah. No. Fuck that actually. Katsuki ain’t telling them shit. So now it’s for sure. Barbara Gordon is involved. She’s part of this. Who else is? What do they know?

“None of your business. Now let me go. Or at least tell me what you know.”

Disappointment flickers over Nightwing’s face, soon replaced by that smile Katsuki would like to punch off him. He’s too happy, no one is that happy.

“Aw, man. But you do know you’re not a prisoner, right? We’re not holding you hostage or anything, we just want you to heal a bit first, you know?”

Somehow, Katsuki doesn’t believe him. Somehow, this whole situation doesn’t make them very trustworthy. Somehow, knowing that someone who once pointed a gun at him watched him sleep here and saw him high doesn’t make Katsuki very comfortable.

“So I could just go now?”

“Ah no, sorry, we need a couple answers first.”

There it is. The catch. Information.

“Answers to what? I don’t know shit, pretty sure I told you that.”

Nightwing’s posture straightens and the playful, slightly manic looking demeanour gives way to an edge that raises Katsuki’s hackles faster than you could say ‘trauma response’.

“We better talk about that in the debrief, when everyone is present.”

Ugh, again with the debrief and everyone. What are they going to ask that’s so important?

“Well, when’s the fucking debrief gonna happen, I don’t have all day,” he hisses. Sue him, he’s fed up with the fucking secrecy.

And just as fast as the edge appeared, it vanishes again, leaving behind that creepy ass grin Katsuki would fucking hate to see in some alley at night. This guy is for sure the one between them all that Gothamites are the most afraid of. No one’s that happy and right in the head, especially not in this shitpile of a city.

“Patience, kiddo, just-“

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been patient enough. I want my fucking answers.”

“Yes and we want answers too, okay, you just have to-“

“I don’t have to do shit, ok? I could just blow you all sky high and be done with it so fuck off.”

“Well, then it’s lucky we got your Molotov cocktails away from you, hm?”

Oh that’s it, he’s done for. He doesn’t even care his ribs are protesting, he just shoots up and goes for the jugular. This fucking psycho won’t make it out of this room without at least a litre of blood less.

Or he would, if he wasn’t so fucking fast. Suddenly, his wrists are pinned together and he’s sitting down again faster than he can really comprehend and he’s almost taken by surprise by the zing of panic shooting up his spine and settling in his shoulders.

As fast as the hands got him they release him again and the look on Nightwing’s face could almost be called apologetic if Katsuki didn’t know better.

“Why don’t we both calm down? Robin should be back soon and then you’ll get your answers.”

It’s probably meant to be reassuring, but it comes out so fucking condescending, like he’s just a spooked animal, like he’s not capable of higher fucking brain function and the panic tension morphs into anger tension. Turns into a kinda defensive hate Katsuki hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Just fuck off, ok? Leave me alone, you freak.”

The shock on the other’s face only pisses him off more, like he was really expecting that to work. Like he’s used to people just doing what he wants, bending to his every whim as soon as he flashes that fucking smile.

“GET OUT.”

He gets. Leaves Katsuki alone, sitting on the bed, monitor still blaring next to him, and he registers that he’s shaking. His hands, and it kinda feels like his bones are too, feels unstable and wrong and panicky and so much worse now that he’s aware of it.

Even better, the pain is back. Not a single part of his body is thanking him and he hasn’t even fully come down from the adrenaline yet. He probably won’t for a while. Not here. Not in this white room, on this bed, with the monitor beeping and the light so clinical.

A well placed spark ends one of those problems. The monitor now smells burned, but Katsuki is used to that smell. It even covers up the disquieting hospital smell.

He grabs his blanket and pillow, taps the light switch next to the door and then drops in the corner farthest from the door, curling up and completely ignoring the pain. Starts counting breaths to finally get on the right side of the edge of panic he’s been balancing on since Nightwing entered the room.

It’s slow. His breathing evens out, but the panic is slower to recede, takes more focus not to let it affect his breathing, or be affected by it. At least it exhausts him. Lets him get back to that blessed state of unconsciousness. Where there’s no pain and no panic and no questions and answers.

Nothing.

.-.

Katsuki wakes up because the burning smell is gone. And because he feels like his ribs tried to play Tetris by themselves. Shouldn’t have disconnected that IV. Or slept on the floor. Yeah, yesterday’s (?) decisions were pretty stupid in hindsight.

But it’s not his fault if the people here are crazy. They should take the blame. Actually, if he hadn’t done their fucking dirty work, he wouldn’t have a gazillion fucked up body parts right now. So there.

While the pain is fucking annoying, he does feel better, like, emotionally. He’s not as close to crawling up the walls anymore, doesn’t feel like ripping off his own skin.

For some crazy reason, there’s a bit of excitement in the mix. Because on some level, this is a challenge. A way to help people. Hero work. It sounds delusional, but it works on him, he gaslighted himself into hope and he will now gatekeep and girlboss his way back home.

Starting with this place.

The monitor is gone. And the door is open. It’s like a bright neon sign of ‘you can go, but only as far as we want you to’.

Well, Katsuki has never done what anyone wanted him to and he ain’t about to start now. Fuck them and their neon signs.

He’d like to be more consequent with that but that door is actually the only way out so he’ll have to suck it up.

Clutching at the blanket like a lifeline he grits his teeth through the pain and gets up, throwing a mournful look at the IV. He deposits his pillow and the sheets on the bed and carefully studies the door and the adjacent hallway.

It’s short. On one side it goes up some stairs, on the other it opens into something that can only be described as a cave. He can see the wide void of darkness and a glimpse of a table and his radar for crazy people actually just blows up.

What. In. The fuck. Why do these people live in a fucking cave? What in the world possessed them to make a literal fucking hole in the floor their headquarters? Even the literal League of Villains was more civilised than that. And they were literal murderers.

Actually. How can he be sure that they aren’t? He can vaguely remember something about the Batman having a no-killing-policy, but he’s also pretty sure one of the Red Somethings had a whole ass kill count that could not be determined for sure, so a tendency to hypocrisy is definitely also among the Batfurry’s policies.

He has to go. Get out. Somehow. Now, what’s more likely to be the exit? Stairs or the cave? Somehow he doubts that normal architecture and house design really fit these morons.

The decision is taken from his hands by a blonde girl with an alibi domino.

“Oh, you’re awake? Great, B is already getting impatient. Come on.” And she gestures for him to follow like he’s stupid enough to actually just do that. Impatience is not a good precursor to a talk.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Um, no? Like, that’s your thing, I just wanna know how the fuck you didn’t blow up.”

Oh. Actually, she looks familiar. When she turns around and he gets a good look at the mask, it clicks.

“Oh, Purple. Wait, how are you standing? You got thrown into a literal wall? You should be dead.”

“Dude, I was wearing padding, I got a minor concussion at most. You on the other hand, you were actually half dead. Pretty sure you shouldn’t be standing right now.”

He scoffs. That’s not how this shit works and she knows it.

“Also, Purple? Do you not know who I am?” She actually looks a bit affronted at that.

“Are you stupid? That’s the literal point of the mask, though you guys are really bad at that, so maybe I shouldn’t be expecting you morons to get that.”

“Hey! Not a moron. Also, I was talking about me as Spoiler, not my civilian identity,” she says, as if that was obvious, which it wasn’t.

“Spoiler? The fuck’s that supposed to be? Can you, like, see the future or some shit?” That would be kinda cool and also the first name that would fit.

“No? I’m not meta. Batman has a whole rule against that, do you know anything at all?”

Ah. So the names are still shit. And also, meta?

“Fuck off. The fuck’s a meta?”

She is starting to look more and more incredulous the more questions he asks. “You know, a meta human? Someone with some kind of mutation or superpower?”

Oh fuck. Batman doesn’t like metas. Katsuki is a meta by their standards. As if he wasn’t already fucked enough.

“Why is he against metas?”

“Doesn’t want them in his business or something, it’s a bit stupid ‘cause Du- Signal is one, but I guess it’s more so that the Justice League doesn’t meddle?”

Ah. The hypocrisy thing. So if Katsuki just flies under the radar and doesn’t, like, meddle or whatever, he should be fine.

“You do know what the Justice League is, right?” she probes.

“Yeah yeah, the big guys, I know. Now, how do I get out of here?”

Now it’s her turn to look confused. “Why? Do you want to? ‘Cause you’re kinda fucked up, don’t think that would be very smart.”

“No shit I want to leave, you’re all psychopaths. I’ll get my answers somewhere else, I don’t need you.”

“Psychopaths? Sure, some are not the most mentally stable, but we are actually the good guys, you know. We do our best. We help. We can help you.”

“I don’t need any fucking help! I’m doing just fine myself, you can fuck off!”

“Well obviously you’re not? But anyways, we need your help too, so maybe you can get off your high horse and answer a few questions or is that too hard for you?”

She’s annoyed now, but not as much as Katsuki would have expected. She looks like she’s used to that kind of language. Like she knows what he’s actually saying. And he kinda owes her some help, what with having thrown her into a brick wall and everything. He doesn’t like owing people.

It’s the only reason he’s giving in. Nothing else.

“Whatever. I don’t even know what you want from me.”

Her face softens and she smiles at him, not even a hint of the smugness he would have expected. “Answers. That’s all. If you still want to go after, you’re free. We won’t hold you against your will. Even if Al- Agent A will probably only let you go after eating something.”

That’s the second time she’s almost slipped up. Almost told him someone’s name. She’s comfortable here, not used to having to hide shit in this cave.

Katsuki’s under no illusions that he’s the one making her comfortable. He doesn’t have that effect on people, they always feel threatened. Or scared. Or really fucking angry, but that’s just a mask for their fear.

Katsuki won’t examine how that reflects on him. He’s quite happy where he is, thanks.

He follows her into the cave.

Chapter Text

Jason wants to strangle B. This is nothing new, but right now, seeing the kid limp in with pain etched into every crevice of his posture, he’d like to take his time. Would like to do it with sandpaper. Wants it to hurt. Wants him to scream, he wants him to cry, he wants-

No. No, he needs to calm down. He can’t crash out in front of the kid. He’s already scared of him, a pit rage episode won’t help him change that.

It’s so obvious that he’s scared, too. So tense, so paranoid, watching every movement and flinching at every single laugh as the whole family filters in, some fresh from patrol and therefore fully decked out, some just in a domino.

The chatter dies down when they notice him. He obviously doesn’t like that.

“The fuck you looking at, extras?”

“Ah, another one of those,” Duke remarks, not unkindly, but it’s definitely not taken that way.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” The kid’s practically growling, hands up in that weirdass fighting stance again, the one that doesn’t make any sense, the one he also used on that rooftop.

He’s ignored. Looks upset about it for all of three seconds before he realises that B is here. His stance shifts into a protective one. Still weird, but very obviously meant to shield him from harm.

Jason kinda wants to laugh at that ‘cause B is definitely not the most dangerous person in the room right now. Ranks comfortably out of the top three, if he’s being honest.

“Is everyone here?” He asks, studying their small army.

Dickwing pipes up, “O isn’t online yet, but everyone else is there.”

B huffs. Sits down in the chair and stares at the screen like that’ll magically get Babs online. Surprise surprise, it doesn’t.

“In the meantime, care to introduce us?” Duke gestures at the kid, who immediately tenses up again.

It doesn’t help that B just stares at him, probably forgetting that he’s not fluent in Grunts™ and therefore can’t tell what he wants for shit.

Jason sighs and butts in before this turns into a bloodbath, “Kid, we won’t try to hurt you. We just want a name to address you by.”

He scoffs. “Odysseus works just fine for that. By the way, what are you guys doing with Barbara Gordon?”

Jason stiffens. Who told? Who slipped up? He eyes the others and the absolutely blank mask on Dick’s face tells him enough.

“Goldie, how stupid do you have to be? How the fuck did you fuck that up, you’ve been in this business for two fucking decades?!”

But Goldie ignores him and stares at the kid instead, like that’ll save him from Jason’s wrath. “What do you think you’re doing with that information?”

He has that tone, the one he only gets about family. The same tone that gets people beaten to a pulp and eating through a straw for the rest of their lives.

The kid isn’t stupid. Anything but. Which is why he backs up and looks about two seconds away from bolting.

“What. I won’t tell on her. Why would I? Just answer my fucking questions, for fuck’s sake, this was supposed to be a talk.”

It’s that moment O chooses to join the conversation, voice ringing out clear over the computer’s speakers. “Hey, what’d I miss?”

Odysseus’ eyes get real big and he stares at the screen. “Barbara Gordon?”

“Oh fuck, is he already there?” Babs doesn’t sound too panicked about it, but she does turn on the voice changer.

This is not going the way they wanted it to. Additionally, how in the fuck does the kid recognise a voice he heard once through fucking speakers. Jason sometimes struggles to identify Replacement and Goldie and he’s known them for years, had to listen to them yap too.

“So, everyone’s here, you won’t tell us your name. But what happened to you? You were wearing the black overall,” Drake butts in, excitement coming off him in waves, very obviously not at all getting that he’s being tactless as fuck.

Fortunately the kid seems to have about the same EQ because he doesn’t seem bothered, like, at all. “What’s the overall got to do with it? I just woke up here.”

“Wait, so you don’t remember?” Replacement prods.

“I told you, Dra- Red Robin, he does not know,” Demon Brat scoffs, arms crossed.

The kid’s head whips around. A glint sneaks into his eyes. But he just asks, “Don’t know what?”

“Who experimented on you,” Drake says in passing, eyes flitting over his form like he has fucking X-Ray vision, once again proving that he has the emotional range of a teaspoon.

And instead of some kind of rational response to a crazy statement like that, the kid starts laughing. Like, full on cackles that probably hurt like hell with the ribs, head thrown back, exposing… something on his throat. A patch of skin just a bit off colour. Jason can’t tell for shit what it is. Some kind of skin condition? A sunburn? Fuck, please let it not be a scar.

“Experimented? The fuck kinda drugs are you on?” He grits out between bouts of laughter, voice wobbly with something that could potentially be hysterical tears.

Jason is… yeah, he’s confused. Sure, he’d doubted Replacement’s theory from the start, but this is… a bit excessive. And also, what the fuck else could be happening then?

Drake looks put out. “I’m not. It’s the only thing that makes sense! All the other bodies were mutilated and the last two were weird and you are alive! And the DNA was weird. Yours is too. It has to be that!”

The laughter has stopped, making way for something else. Something weird. His face looks wrong. All twisted and shocked but also not. Just weird. How is he unreadable when he obviously doesn’t bother to hide what he thinks?

“Other bodies? Was there more than one?”

B butts in, “Yes, there have been eleven bodies. Not including you and the meta monster.”

Odysseus scoffs, “Meta monster? That’s a fucking Nomu. I-“

“Wait, you know it? Is that why you knew how to kill it?” Steph chimes in, curiosity all over her face.

“I didn’t exactly kill it. They’re dead. Just walking corpses pumped up with quirks,” he responds, like that actually explains anything.

“Are you saying there‘s more of them?”

He seems to ponder that for a bit. “Where I come from, yes. It shouldn’t be here. Just like me.”

Demon Brat’s patience has come to an end. “What does that mean? Stop speaking in riddles at once and answer satisfactorily!”

“Oh my god, stop with that fuckass vocabulary, seriously. And I mean that I’m not from here.” For the first time since he came in, he looks at Jason, scathingly. “And I don’t mean that I’m Japanese, I’m saying that this is not my dimension or my time.”

The room is silent. Gobsmacked. Sure, they’d had timeline hoppers before, but usually those are alternate versions and not fully new people, from different countries no less. It makes no sense.

“Now it’s my turn. What do you mean, other bodies? What’s with my DNA? What do you want from me? Who did this to me and can you get me back?”

Every question hits like a slap to the face. He really doesn’t know shit. But what he does know doesn’t line up at all with their theories.

“Wait. Are you from the future?” Steph pipes up with an excited glint in her eyes that should inspire fear in every sane person.

“Yes. But also a different universe. Very different,” the kid answers, a weird emphasis on the difference. Like there’s a story there.

“Who will be the next president?”

“Why the fuck should I know? I’m Japanese, I couldn’t give a fuck less. I didn’t fucking memorise all American presidents of the last few fucking decades?”

“Decades?! What the fuck?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?! Now answer my goddamn questions, for fuck’s sake, before I fucking end you!”

“Ok, stop it with the unnecessary threats of violence, kid, we get it,” Jason jumps in. He’s really not in the mood for a bloodbath. Judging by the bared teeth, the kid very much is.

“I’ll just start with what we know,” Tim begins. “About a month ago, three bodies turned up in Crime Alley. We-“

“No fucking way,” the kid snorts. “Please tell me you don’t really have a street called Crime Alley.”

Replacement gives him a withering look. “It’s a region. Anyways, three bodies, we were confused, more bodies, we were even more confused. Cut to you. Ja- Hood finds you in Crime Alley about to jump off a roof, you’re wearing the same overall the bodies were found in, we conclude you’re the first survivor. You run. Naturally, we’re even more confused, because we’re the only fucking people in the city who can help you, like, at all and also don’t want to kill you.”

“Well, if you had fucking said so instead of pointing fucking guns at me maybe I would’ve noticed that a bit earlier!” the kid shouts and suddenly Jason is the one getting the stinkeye from everyone, which… yeah ok, that’s actually kinda his fault.

“Hood, you’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that,” Dickwing says, still salty.

“You all are. Fucking stupid, really. And that doesn’t answer my question about the DNA. Spill, bitch,” Odysseus interrupts.

“Basically, you shouldn’t be alive right now. I-“

“No shit, Sherlock, I knew that. My-“

“That’s great. Let me explain.” Replacement looks like he’s about to have an aneurism.

“You’re genetically not compatible with our world. Your DNA is fucked, just like all the other bodies’. I came to the conclusion someone experimented with the meta gene and tried to give you superpowers-“

“That’s so stupid, why would you think that? And why do you call it superpowers, that’s so embarrassing,” Odysseus chimes in again, judgement oozing off him like a cloud of poisonous gas. Absolutely devastating.

Replacement’s eyelid twitches.

“It made sense at the time. Especially because the next corpse had multiple hands. I was sure when the, what did you call it? The Nomu, I was sure when the Nomu appeared. So-“

“Bit presumptuous of you, that could’ve been an alien. Read you guys have those.”

Drake’s hand is twitching too now. Jason kinda wishes he had popcorn.

“SO. Now we need to know whether you actually don’t remember what they did to you or-“

“No one did anything to me, how fucking often do I need to tell you tha-“

“WILL YOU LET ME TALK? SHUT UP, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.”

Jason is already getting ready for a generational crash out and the ultimate bloodbath when the kid just leans back and smirks.

“Relax, Drake.”

B is standing before Jason can even blink, but somehow Demon Brat is even faster.

“You imbecilic moron, you said you would not make mention of this!”

The kid fends off the brat’s hands like a pro and has a dagger pulled from his utility belt and at his neck before the Brat can get it together. But the hand on the dagger is shaking.

“Now. This is happening on my terms. Let. Me. Go,” he pronounces, “You obviously don’t know shit and until now the only one who hasn’t fully disappointed me is Purple. And Purple is pretty damn close to it. Where is the fucking exit to your stupid ass cave?”

“Don’t do this, kid, come on,” Goldie speaks up with his hands raised, trying to defuse the situation. “You can barely even walk. Just let us-“

“Shut the fuck up, you psycho. I’m done letting anyone do anything, ok? You, asshole-” he points at Duke for some reason- “show me the way. Now.”

Duke sends a helpless look to B, who’s still standing a metre away from Odysseus with what he probably thinks is an unreadable look on his face that obviously means he’s really fucking worried. The question is, for who? Are his Dad Instincts™ kicking in or is he scared the Brat will get hurt?

Before B can say anything though, the Demon Brat rams his elbow into Odysseus’ torso.

He crumbles with a choked sound. The dagger falls from his hand and he staggers backwards, getting dangerously close to one of those really unnecessary drops B insists need a railing.

Jason is suddenly inclined to agree as he jumps forward and just so manages to grab the kid by his hospital gown. In hindsight, the power imbalance that thing instated probably didn’t help their case.

“You fucking idiot, why would you do that? We’re not trying to kill him, for fuck’s sake,” he spits, practically cradling the kid trying not to jostle his injuries.

“He had a dagger to my throat, Todd! I will not be killed by a preposterous traitor!”

The kid’s eyes open just a sliver. “Todd? No f’ckn w’y.” It comes out slurred and Jason just knows the Brat won’t be on patrol for a week

“Great going, dumbass, now he has three names,” Duke remarks, speaking out of Jason’s soul.

“Robin, leave. Spoiler and Hood, stay with Odysseus. Signal, get Agent A. Nightwing, take care of Robin. Orphan and Red Robin, get the infirmary equipment here,” B fires off orders like a drill seargeant.

They scatter with minimal protests to take care of their assigned tasks. Steph approaches them both like a spooked animal, but Jason is pretty sure the kid is already out.

He’s immediately proven wrong when he opens his eyes again and chokes out a small chuckle between pained gasps. “Damn, y’all’s names are really that stupid.”

Steph gasps in mock outrage. “Well, what would you call us?”

“Stupid #1, #2, #3, #4- I lost count, y’all are way too fucking many.”

“So creative. Why not keep with the Greek theme?” Jason joins in, hoping to keep the kid awake as long as possible.

“Hm. Nah. You’d be Ares though. You’re mad. And stupid.”

Jason feels… slightly called out and very offended, especially at Steph’s hysterical laughter.

He’s saved from having to find any kind of retort to that though by Alfred. Fucking finally. It hasn’t been that long, but the kid looks, like, bad. He’s pale and shaking and also pliant in Jason’s arms even though he’d probably like to be anywhere but here.

“You cannot be left alone for five minutes, can you?” Alfred asks, sounding so incredibly exhausted and defeated Jason feels bad even though he didn’t do shit.

“Ooh, Agent Butler. Your kids are fucking stupid. Are they yours? This feels like a cult. But y’all talk like a family. Like mine, but pussy-version, ya know?”

Pussy-version? The fuck? Jason cannot imagine a family where this would be a ‘pussy-version’ that is even marginally healthy. Actually, judging by the kid’s actions and words until now, his family is probably anything but. He acts way too much like a trauma victim and unless he’s some kind of child soldier, it has to be childhood trauma.

Green haze rises again. It’s so obvious now. Also explains why this escalated so quickly. A big group of threatening people in a position of power trying to make him do something he doesn’t want to or simply can’t. Jason feels stupid.

Alfred helps him lay the kid down on the floor and pulls open the hospital gown. Before Jason get a good look Alfred lets out a relieved sigh.

“Thankfully Robin missed the real injury. He didn’t aggravate anything and the recovery will commence as thought. You should rest though. Preferably somewhere with sunlight.”

“So I can leave?”

“That is not recommended. I will give you painkillers and then we will transport you somewhere with a window.”

The kid tries to scramble into an upright position. “No. Fuck that, I want to see where you take me.”

“We need to maintain our identities. We can’t j-“

“Fuck your identities, I already know three names. Either you kill me for that alone right now or you let me see where I’m going. I can’t- fuck, I can’t-“

He’s having a panic attack about this, Jason realises. This is so scary to him he’s panicking. That’s… worrying. Crazy. It solidifies his beliefs about his childhood. There has to be some kind of traumatic background here.

He lets him go and offers his palm in his peripheral vision. “Kid, listen. You’ll be ok, but I need you to breathe. Do you use 555 or 498? Nod for 555, shake for 498.”

Odysseus shakes his head. Jason starts counting with a calm he doesn’t feel. Steady and monotone, but in a soothing voice, letting his palm hover.

And surprisingly, the kid takes it. His grip is like iron and his hand feels clammy with sweat, but when Jason starts slightly squeezing in time with his counting, he seems to calm down a bit.

Jason keeps going until his hand is fully relaxed, limp in his palm.

When he looks up Steph has a knowing glint in her eyes and Alfred looks nauseatingly proud. Jason is tempted to let go, but Odysseus looks so incredibly pathetic he can’t bring himself to.

He looks to Alfred for guidance.

“Well enough. You will sleep in the infirmary one last time, but after that we will have to move you.”

The kid slumps and Jason feels a crushing sense of responsibility settle on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Katsuki hates everything. Why. Why did he have to panic in front of these bitches. That was so embarrassing. He just doesn’t do embarrassment because usually he doesn’t do stupid, but that whole fucking shitshow was one of the stupidest things he’s ever been involved in and he’s friends with Dunce Face so that’s saying something.

On the other hand, he got a few answers. Not nearly as many as he would have liked and he’s honestly just got even more questions now, but he’s not completely in the dark anymore.

As opposed to these… morons, really, just how stupid do you have to be? Fucking human experiments, honestly. Who shit in their brains? How are they called ‘The World’s Greatest Detectives’?

The fact that they have no idea who did this shit alone tells Katsuki enough about their abilities. 12 bodies, a wholeass Nomu and him and these fuckers haven’t figured out shit. As always, if he wants shit done right he’ll have to do it himself.

And he’ll get right to that as soon as he’s not a walking train wreck anymore. And for that, as fucked as it is, he’ll have to let them do their thing. Let them… help him. He doesn’t want to call it that, doesn’t want to admit that he’s out of his depth but in the end he’s done enough lying to himself for a lifetime, he doesn’t want to spend what’s basically his second one of those neck deep in denial and borderline suicidal independence.

Because going out in this condition would be suicide. The gnome has proven that with his fuckass elbow. One little nudge from a literal kid’s arm and he’s on the floor halfway to unconsciousness, he doesn’t even want to begin imagining what a fist would do.

He should probably be grateful to the universe that his captors at least care for his physical health this time. Be thankful and all that so it doesn’t fuck him over that badly again. But fuck them. He’ll start being grateful when they give him his freedom and don’t talk about him like an unruly dog that doesn’t understand them.

Fucking Agent Butler. Little bitch, that one.

Katsuki wiggles on his back a bit and curses the fact that he can’t sleep on his side these days. Now he’s stuck thinking about shit and also uncomfortable. And he can’t even walk around or some shit because he doesn’t know where the fuck he is and which rooms have no fucking railing on 50 feet drops.

A literal cliff in the middle of the room and these fuckers let kids walk around there. OSHA would have a conniption. Hell, Katsuki is having one and safety has never made it into his top 100 priorities a day in his life.

Almost falling to his death because of a deranged middle schooler with the sharpest elbows on this earth and ego issues the size of fucking Jupiter somehow made it one. Seriously, the kid is worse than Katsuki and Katsuki spent his middle school years as someone he’d happily kill today. No, that does not constitute as evidence of suicidal tendencies, Mr Skunk Ass Bitch.

Maybe Katsuki can kickstart his character development? Tell him he’ll hate himself in a few years if he keeps going like that? Or show him that having friends is significantly more helpful in life-or-death situations than not showing a single weakness to anyone at any time to seem perfect enough?

Yeah no, that’s well into the territory of emotional honesty and Katsuki will not fucking do that. Especially not for someone part of the group keeping him captured right now. They all insist he’s free to go at any time but then they kick up a fuss when he wants something as simple as seeing where he’s going.

Like, yeah, sure, secret identities and shit, but the number of times they’ve slipped up by now and the way he doesn’t even have to google anymore to tell who at least one of them is make it so fucking redundant it’s not even funny anymore.

Todd. He can’t believe it’s actually that conspiracy that was proven right.

Jason Wayne-Todd, the dead adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, one of the stupidest, wildest theories Katsuki read at the library, and that one is right. The picture next to the article, the name Drake, it all fits.

The furry club is actually a furry family of insane millionaires. The most ridiculous conspiracy and that one’s the truth.

This dimension is a literal fever dream and Katsuki wants to fucking wake up, please and thank you.

The stupid thing is, he read maybe 25% of the article before writing it off as stupid bullshit, so he doesn’t know the rest of them for shit. He’d just make a wild guess and say Batfurry is Wayne, but apart from that, Todd and Drake, he only knows about Barbara Gordon and he can’t tell for shit how she got involved in all this.

He needs a fucking phone since they are obviously not inclined to answer his fucking questions like normal people.

So, the plan:
-Find a phone
-Get well enough to survive on his own
-Get as much intel as possible
-Escape these fuckwits
-Find out who in the fresh fuck did this to him and to the other bodies
-Blow them fucking sky high
-Get home

He really doesn’t care about any particular order here. Preferably the first two should happen before the rest, but he’s actually not all that picky if the last point gets done sooner than the others.

First things first though.

Or rather, sleep first. Sleep and then he can deal with all this again. Yeah, this is a problem for future-Katsuki to deal with. A Katsuki that’s not tired enough to sleep for 48 hours straight.

.-.

Katsuki opens his eyes to someone knocking on the door. He’d usually kill them about it, but he’s been barely drifting for the last hour so he’ll forgive them this time, especially if it means he can get out of this fuckass room that provides less stimulation than a fucking sensory deprivation tank.

“Sir? May I come in?” comes a voice through the door, definitely the fucking butler judging by the weirdass honorific. Katsuki always thought the Americans were less strict about that shit than the Japanese, but this guy’s British so maybe that’s different over there?

Nah, he’s seen videos of them Scots, those people use ‘cunt’ as a way of address, the British aren’t any better, they just hide it behind those posh accents.

Actually, it would be so fucking funny to hear the man swear. Like, that British accent and that Hollywood demeanour paired with a good old ‘son of a bitch’ could probably break Katsuki’s streak of 365 days without serotonin.

Yeah, that’s a new optional target for this mission. Get the old man to say ‘fuck’.

“So now you care about my privacy, hm? Fucking hypocrites, y’all,” he calls. He has not forgotten about the last days just because of a bit of sleep.

Agent Butler comes in with a bowl of soup. The smell is so fucking bland Katsuki is thrown back to eating with Icy-Hot. It probably tastes like cardboard.

Logically, he knows he’s not really fit to eat things that have, like, a taste, but that right there is probably more likely to make him throw up out of sheer disgust than anything with spices could.

“Are you feeling up to eating something?”

“Depends, are there roofies in there?” Katsuki knows how this shit works. Drugs and then he’ll wake up in a different room with no memories of how he got there. He’s not stupid.

“No, Sir. This is a simple chicken broth,” Agent Butler answers, looking like he just developed a facial tick with the way his eyebrow is twitching. Katsuki would bet his ass on that being a tell.

“Prove it.” A sure-fire way to get him to leave him alone. He’ll need a new way to fuck him over, the bitch. Ha.

He’s all the more befuddled when the guy pulls out a spoon and actually does so, with the air of someone regularly accused of poisoning people, which you can imagine does not reassure Katsuki.

“Now, Sir. Please eat. You need the strength.”

Yeah, no shit. Bitch.

Katsuki reluctantly takes the bowl and sniffs at it. He swirls it a bit to see if there are any weird stains. He’s only ever read up on the most basic methods of detecting shit like that and he doesn’t know what kind of weirdass poisons the people in this dimension have cooked up so he’ll just have to suck it up ‘cause he is actually kinda hungry.

In the end, if they wanted to kill him, they would’ve already and anything else he can deal with. They probably can’t be that much worse than the LOV, right? Katsuki’s done it all, he can manage this. He’s the fucking best, of course he can.

He takes a small sip to see if it tastes weird and when he predictably tastes cardboard, he says a mental ‘fuck it’ and just starts shovelling it down as fast as possible without overwhelming his stomach to minimise the time he has to taste this absolute bullshit.

All the while, Agent Butler keeps watching him with an unreadable look in his eyes. He manages half the bowl with that blank domino staring right at his fucking face before he genuinely can’t take it anymore.

“Will you stop fucking staring like a fucking creep?!”

The man’s already impossibly straight fucking posture straightens even more and his lip twitches.

“Apologies, Sir. I did not intend to make you uncomfortable,” he excuses with actual fucking remorse in his voice. Katsuki starts a mental list of evidence for why the man has to be some kind of robot.

“Yeah well, been doing a great fucking job at that, moron.”

The man shifts and stays quiet so Katsuki goes back to eating. Agent Butler makes a genuine effort not to stare the whole time, but he’s still fucking there so the creepiness lightens only marginally.

He only speaks up again when Katsuki is done.

“Now, I’d like for you to move to a different room.” Katsuki tenses. If the fucker asks again, he swears to fuck-. “Would you be willing to wear a blindfold during?”

Motherfucker.

“Look, extra, you can try every fucking method under the sun, I know who you are. You fuckers slipped up on your fucking own often enough that I have enough names to put it together with a singular fucking minute on a phone. Your identities are free real fucking estate to me. So fuck off with that bullshit, either kill me now or let me see where I’m going.”

The volume of that last sentenced feels wrong in the room. The white walls don’t fit with screaming. Something should change, should happen. Nothing does.

Not even Agent Butler’s expression. He just nods.

“I see,” he says. And then he leaves the room, without the bowl.

Katsuki slumps back into the pillows with a huff.

Fucking emotionless psychopath.

.-.

Katsuki lets his fingertips wander over the edges of the porcelain shard in his hands. It’s the biggest one he got out of the bowl and it’s sharp enough to break skin with just a little pressure. More effort than an actual knife, but it’ll do for his plans.

If any of these fuckers try drugs or blindfolds, they’ll fucking bleed.

Like clockwork, the door opens again, this time to reveal Skunk Ass Bitch’s back, which gives Katsuki enough time to hide the shard before he turns around.

“Yo kid, you’re movin’ today.” He yawns. “Gotta get some sunlight in this bitch, yakno?”

His domino is undoubtedly hiding eyes so heavy he might as well be blind.

“You gonna give me roofies or some shit?” Katsuki’s hand tightens on the shard.

“Nahh, Alf got B to drop it,” he slurs out. He’s probably mentally still in bed. “Now come on, I don’t got all day.”

Katsuki scrambles up, making sure to hide the absolute carnage of porcelain under the blanket from sight.

“I want my stuff back,” he demands. He’s not leaving this place without it.

“It’s already in your room,” Todd waves him off. “Alf even washed your clothes for you. Was fucking filthy, that shit.”

Yeah no shit, try being homeless for a bit, see how it works out for you. Bitch.

“Fuck off,” he huffs, making his way over to the door at an embarrassingly slow pace. Fucking ribs.

The moron’s eyes sweep his hunched posture and a frown takes over his face.

“Ya think ya can do stairs?” Katsuki could almost mistake his tone for worry. He doesn’t though, ‘cause he’s not stupid.

“Of course I can, extra,” he growls, resolutely ignoring the bolt of pain the mere thought shoots up his spine. He’s already handed these guys too much ammunition, he’s not about to look even weaker in front of this weirdo.

“Hm,” Todd just hums, “Suit yourself then.”

And with that he turns around and starts out of the door in long strides Katsuki for the fucking life of him cannot fucking match. The guy seems to notice that one corner in, too, and waits at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed. Only gotta tap his fucking foot, then he’d look just like the old hag when she’s waiting for him to finish his food.

Katsuki curses his wreck of a body and slouches over to him while making intense eye contact with his shoes.

“Are ya sure?” he asks. “Ye’re walkin’ slower than a fuckin’ gran.”

“Just cause you’re weirdo legs are freakishly long, doesn’t mean I’m fucking slow,” Katsuki complains, very reasonably he might add.

“Kid, I’m not even that tall. Just admit you’re a fuckin’ dwarf,” Todd shoots back, grinning all smug and shit. Katsuki wants to punch it off his face.

“Fuck off, bitch. I have fuckin’ broken ribs, if you haven’t noticed,” he glowers. “Which is your fucking fault. Can’t fucking catch right and now they’re fully broken.”

The grin is wiped clean off. It’s weirdly unsatisfactory.

“You blew yourself up. Not my fucking fault.” He turns around and walks away, but a bit slower this time, making sure he’s never too far ahead.

The silence is stifling. Usually, Katsuki is a big fan of silence, loves that shit, best sound apart from explosions in the whole fucking world. Right now, he feels the never before felt urge to fill it. Maybe wipe the blank expression off the guy’s face. He did save Katsuki from imminent death after all. Few broken bones are worth that.

“Wanna know how?” Fuck. It just slips out. Fuck no.

Skunk Ass Bitch looks up. “What?”

“How I did it. Blow myself up.” It’s out now.

“With a Molotov. We know how,” Todd says, eyebrow raised.

He scoffs. “That was not a Molotov. Throw it on the floor, see what happens. Won’t blow, I can tell you that.”

Todd turns fully to him, walking backwards like some weirdo trying to impress. Katsuki is half tempted to shove him. He doesn’t, just waits for the inevitable scepticism.

“Yeah sure. What’s your secret, oh wizard of the weapons?” he asks, dripping sarcasm all over the floor.

“Oh fuck off. I made it myself, only works for me. Adapted the formula so it doesn’t self-ignite anymore,” he explains.

“Doesn’t that kinda defeat the purpose?” Todd crosses his arms. “Like, that’s just a bomb now. Not a Molotov cocktail.”

“So what? It fucking worked.”

“How then? Why can only you set them off?”

Ah fuck. Yeah, that was a classic own goal. There’s a fucking reason Katsuki usually thinks before talking. At least with important stuff. Like his quirk and it’s limitations.

“None of your business,” he scowls and tries to pick up a bit of pace. It predictably doesn’t do shit. Todd just speeds up too.

“You said you’d tell me how, you can’t back out now,” he protests. And yeah, Katsuki kinda fucking did, dumb as he was.

“Changed my mind. I’m not telling you shit.”

Todd is silent for a moment, stopping at the bottom of a staircase, presumably the one Katsuki will now suffer his way up.

“You know my name, right?” is what he settles on. It’s so out of left field he kinda just nods.

“Then you know I died.”

“What.” Katsuki did not, in fact, know that. He’d have thought it was a fake death. Like, people don’t just come back from death. That’s not a thing. Katsuki is an outlier because he travelled fucking universes.

“Oh yeah, right. You’re not from here, I forgot. Shit like that happens here. Well, I died and came back wrong. It fucked me up mentally, fucking obviously, and I’m still working on getting better, but I’m saying… I guess I know how you feel? A bit, at least. And my trust issues didn’t help me and they sure as fuck won’t help you. I can though. I can help you, but you’ll need to give me something for that. Your name, your age, your worst nightmare, the name of your first plushie, I don’t care, but we have to start somewhere.”

He takes a deep breath and then he starts up the stairs. “Think about it? Whatever you tell me, I won’t tell the others. We still have some issues.”

Katsuki doesn’t know why he does it. It just slips, like the dumb stupid fucking question that got him here.

“My name is Katsuki.”

Chapter Text

The Furry Club is rich as fuck. Like, the house looks like one of those manors from American movies with spiral staircases and chandeliers and drapes and shit. Katsuki would bet his ass they have a whole ass forest as a garden.

He’s seen maybe three corridors and one bigger room on his way to his new room, but it’s enough to really confirm that this Bruce Wayne guy is filthy fucking rich. Not just a millionaire but a billionaire for sure.

And clinically insane to boot because what the fuck is this. What the fuck.

Like, Katsuki’s new room has a fucking ensuite bathroom. With a bathtub and a shower. His parents are by no means poor, but this is a whole other level. This is insanity.

It’s also fucking heaven after sleeping in abandoned buildings. The infirmary bed has nothing on this literal fucking cloud. He could almost forget about the whole ass person watching him from the door. He doesn’t though because he’s not stupid.

Star fishing on the bed he keeps his eyes on Todd leaning against the doorframe.

“What.”

“Comfortable?” he asks with a weirdass smile Katsuki can’t interpret.

“Would be more comfortable without you fucking staring like a creep,” he retorts.

“Yeah, yeah.” He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back from the door. “Chill, I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Well what’s fucking keeping you?”

“Nothing, nothing. Your stuff is in the closet, by the way.” A smug grin spreads on his face. “Just a tip. I’d shower before I changed if I was you.”

And he’s gone, closing the door behind him. But Katsuki can hear him cackle through it so he shouts a “Fuck you!” after him.

He does take a sniff of himself though. He hadn’t noticed any bad smells, but that’s probably just saying he got used to it. There is a bit of sweat in the mix but he honestly can’t determine anything except a slight whiff of antiseptic.

Whatever. Even if he did want to shower, it’s kinda hard to do with broken ribs and a small tonne of bandages all over his body, so Todd will just have to suck it up. Or even better, not even come close enough to enter smelling distance, that’d be a dream.
Apropos dream. Clothes, specifically pants. This hospital gown is getting really fucking old and uncomfortable. Not a surprise no one takes him seriously here when he’s running around like this.

He opens the literal fucking walk-in closet next to the bathroom and snatches the backpack from the floor. Agent Butler seems to have taken the liberty of collecting a bunch of clothes and dropping them here for him because one side of shelves is full of shirts, hoodies and pants of different colours and sizes, like the fucker doesn’t know exactly how tall Katsuki is. Like, he sewed him together like a voodoo doll, he definitely knows Katsuki’s measurements.

The backpack is thankfully untouched, which gains them a mental point. Additionally, he now has his Molotov cocktails back so it actually doesn’t matter how well they’re doing if he can just blow them up.

So, he has weapons and food. Time for information.

He pulls on the pants and a hoodie, both actually washed and smelling surprisingly pleasant, considering that rich people usually have no taste. And also considering that the black overall is also still in there, unwashed and crusted with dried blood. Why the guy didn’t wash that thing is the question.

Now finally in actual fucking clothes, Katsuki slips into the corridor and makes his way towards the bigger room he’d seen on the way that looked like one of those fancy sitting rooms that are never used. If they didn’t want him snooping around they shouldn’t have left the door open.

Katsuki’s not a complete moron though – looking at you, Drake – so he won’t leave the house. He’s not in shape for that and he also kinda doesn’t want to break that miniscule piece of trus- no, mutual understanding him and Todd have built up.

He finds a large entrance hall. It has a real grand staircase and another corridor leading away from it opposite from Katsuki. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling is missing a few crystals. He can see the door. There’s a wardrobe next to it and a shoe rack practically overflowing with shoes and boots and sandals and slippers and a pair of truly horrendous clawed shoes that look like they’ve been dragged through hell.

Katsuki turns away from the door and walks towards the rooms on the left of the staircase.

It’s another sitting room, this one smaller and leading off to what looks like a kitchen and a living room. He doesn’t check because there are voices coming from both and he really doesn’t fancy conversation right now. Better vanish before they notice him.

He turns around and stares up the staircase. Does he want to do this to himself right now? His ribs say no. His thirst for knowledge says fuck yes. Unfortunately, the decision is made for him.

“Dude, what are you doing walking around? Pretty sure that’s not healthy,” says a voice behind him. Katsuki has to fucking concentrate on not sparking. He whirls around and is met with Asshole. Signal, if he heard correctly, although there’s no way in hell Katsuki’s calling him that.

He’s not wearing a domino. Seems to notice that too, with the way he turns around and claps his hands before his face.

“Chill, extra,” he snorts. “I’ll have your identity after three minutes with a phone, tops. Waste of time trying to hide your face now.”

“Dude, what?”

“Don’t call me dude, fucker. And I know Todd, Drake and Barbara Gordon. Not hard to guess after that. Y’all aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Um, yes we are? Prove it. Who are we?” Asshole demands.

“Batfurry is Wayne. Red Robin’s gonna have to be Drake, Todd is that Skunk Fuck and I’ll bet my ass Agent Butler is y’all’s literal butler,” Katsuki counts off. “Oh yeah and Barbara Gordon is the Oracle.”

Asshole slowly turns around. “Fuck.”

Ha. Loser.

“Why do you actually live together? Are you a cult?”

Asshole’s eyebrow climbs with every word. “The fuck? Don’t tell me you figured out our identities, but this is where you struggle.”

“I’m not fucking struggling, y’all are just weirdos,” Katsuki scoffs. Fucking condescending bitch.

“What do you think? Jason is Wayne’s adoptive son, Tim is too. Everyone lives in the same house. Ring any bells?” He’s actively trying not to laugh now.

Wait. No. No, that’d be insanity. The kid. His kid? Wayne’s kid? His own fucking child on the battlefield?

“No. No, y’all are not a fucking family, I refuse.” But Asshole is fucking nodding. “Fuck. You’re even more insane than I thought. What the fuck kinda psychopath is Wayne?”

“Psychopath? What?”

Is he? Not aware? That that’s fucked up?

Adopting children to make them into child soldiers is… borderline what the LOV wanted from him. Pretty fucking similar. A child, in their case a defenceless one, taken by an adult who wants to use them as a weapon.

A man, physically intimidating, with a child dependant on him.

Katsuki wants to throw up. He wants to punch something. He wants to run, he wants to fight, he wants to punt that fucker into oblivion.

“Where is he.”

“I don’t know? Why?” Signal seems confused, like he really can’t grasp why this could upset someone.

“Because he needs to die. Now.”

Alarm spreads on his face and he shifts into a fighting stance. “What? Why? I thought Jason talked to you.”

“Yeah well, Todd didn’t fucking mention that y’all are being groomed by a fucking psycho.”

The guy freezes, gobsmacked. Katsuki turns around and starts for his room. He needs his Molotov cocktails and a few painkillers if he wants to survive this. His speedwalking is not nearly fast enough for the full-blown brawl he’s planning to win today.

Signal follows him. “Groomed? What? No, listen, you misunderstood, no one is grooming anyone, ok? He’s just-“

“Yeah sure. People don’t usually notice when they’re being manipulated, you know? I’m not trusting a fucking word you’re saying. I know how this shit works, I was trained for this,” he spits, dodging Asshole’s attempts to block his way.

“Trained? You’re what, fourteen?”

“First off, I’m fucking sixteen, moron. Second, do you honestly not see how fucking hypocritical that is?”

They take the last corner and Katsuki throws open the door to his room only to be greeted by Purple sans domino and Todd in full gear.

“Duke, what the fuck is going on?” Purple inquires.

“He wants to kill B.”

Todd snorts. “We’ve all been there. Good fucking riddance.”

At least one person here is sane. An ally.

Katsuki goes for the closet and grabs his backpack. “Where is he?”

Silence spreads behind him and when he turns around he’s met with a whole silent conversation consisting mostly of accusatory looks thrown at random. Todd sighs and turns to him.

“You’re serious about this.” It’s not a question. But there’s none of the enthusiasm Katsuki would’ve expected after that comment.

He stiffens. “I don’t do well with groomers. Or child soldiers.”

Purple’s jaw drops, Asshole sighs dejectedly and Todd stares at him for a good few seconds before folding. His shoulders are shaking and Katsuki is honestly a bit concerned for a second that he’s having a mental break when mechanic cackles start filtering through the voice changer on his helmet.

“Oh my god, this is gold, no!” He descends back into laughter, collapsing onto Katsuki’s bed like a house of cards.

“Dude, you’re not helping,” Purple complains, but she’s smiling too and Katsuki feels sparks run through his hands.

“No, I know, it’s just- oh my god, the idea, I-“ Todd stutters out between bouts of laughter.

Purple turns to Katsuki. “B isn’t grooming us. We all chose this. Hell, half of us actively blackmailed him into letting us help him. He has no other choice.”

Bullshit. That sounds like absolute bullshit. “That brat can’t be any older than ten. No way in hell is that not a fucking child soldier.”

“He’s twelve. And he was an actual child soldier before B took him in. He was raised by assassins. Without B, he’d be killing innocent people right now,” Signal explains.

Katsuki is… yeah, no. This is fucking crazy. What the fuck. “But-“

“The rest of us are similar. Cass- or um, Orphan, I guess? Anyways, she was also a weapon before she got to be a child. B gives us that. He’s not a groomer. Yes, he’s damaged, but we all are. We’re family, not victims.”

Todd snorts. “Nice speech.”

Duke nods. “Thanks, I improvised.”

Family. ‘B gives us that.’

Fuck.

He drops the backpack.

“Why? Why does he do it?” Katsuki knows his own reasons. It’s his passion, his life’s goal, the one thing he’s working towards, what he wants to be the best at.

But some have other motivations. Round Cheeks, Four Eyes, Shitty Hair, fucking Deku. They all had different reasons.

What’s his?

“Has he unlocked the tragic backstory level yet?” Todd takes off the helmet, seemingly settling in for a Talk™.

Purple snorts. “Obviously.”

Duke takes over. “His parents were shot in front of him. Some other shit happened. He started and then he made enemies and then he couldn’t stop and now his whole theme is ‘Vengeance’ and ‘Justice’. He’s like, a cliché vigilante.”

“Vigilante? Not Hero?” Katsuki can’t help but ask. What makes him different? What laws does he not follow?

“No, vigilante. Leave that whole hero thing to Superman and so on,” Purple answers.

“Why?”

Todd sits up. “What’s with your obsession with heroes and villains and vigilantes? You talk about that like it’s, I don’t know, a thing.”

A thing. Ha.

“Ok. Just to clarify. You don’t have the business here, right? Like, the fucking HPSC and shit?”

“The what?”

Ok. Yeah. No wonder they all talk about that shit so weirdly.

“Heroism is a business in my dimension. It’s supervised by the HPSC, the Hero Public Safety Commission, and if you’re not registered you count as a vigilante,” he explains, trying to avoid mentioning the minor detail of quirks.

He doesn’t know if he wants them to know about that. He can’t exactly say he trusts them yet. He wants to, but he needs to give that whole thing more thought before he actually tells them shit.

“Wait. Do you get, like, paid for that? Business as in jobs?” Purple prods.

Katsuki nods.

“Why? The hell kinda criminals do ya have to warrant a whole ass business? And what about police?” Todd chimes in.

Fuck, okay, how does he…? Ah yes, that could work.

“Y’all have your weird meta thing, we have the same. All crimes committed with qui- superpowers or whatever are handled by Pro Heroes, the rest is standard police stuff.”

“Pro Heroes? Like, you actually call them heroes?” Purple prods.

“What fucking else? You do too, the fuck you trying to say?”

“No, I know. It’s just… is villain a job, too?” she asks, suppressing laughter like just imagining that is the fucking funniest shit she’s ever heard.

“Fuck off, no it’s not. You don’t get paid. But they do call themselves villains, have a whole ass League and all that. Fucking losers.”

Asshole pipes up, “So what about you?”

“I’m a Hero in training. I have-“

“Woah, wait,” Todd interrupts him, “In training? What does that mean?”

“Ugh, you fuckers really don’t know shit, it’s crazy. We have schools to prepare people for the job. I go to UA, it’s the best one in Japan. It’s like high school, but you actually learn important shit.”

“What the fuck? And you were lecturing us about child soldiers? A fucking school?” Asshole sounds incredulous.

Getting all fucking high and mighty now, like he knows shit. That shit isn’t fucking comparable. Katsuki chose this. As did all the other students. They weren’t emotionally manipulated into it, they want it, from start to finish, all of it. That doesn’t make them child soldiers, it makes them Heroes.

“Fuck you. You don’t know shit. We aren’t even supposed to get into contact with any high-profile villains during school. They only actually let us do shit when we have our provisional license, okay? And we choose this. I always wanted to be a Hero and I’m gonna be the motherfucking best. So shut the fuck up about shit you don’t understand.”

Asshole backs off, but Todd gets this really particular look. His fingers tighten on his helmet. “You said ‘supposed to’. That implies you did anyways.”

Katsuki’s hands spark again. It feels stronger than before. More. Almost hurts. His nails dig into his palms. “Yeah well, the villains don’t care about the rules.”

They were supposed to drop it. Just move on, maybe move out of the fucking room. They don’t. Fucking hooked, like Katsuki’s dangling the hottest piece of gossip ever right in front of their noses.

“So they attacked the school? Was anyone hurt? Did your heroes get them?”

“Not the school. A location our school trip visited. They were defeated, obviously, by All Might. Fuckers got punted into the ground.”

“All Might?”

“The best fucking Hero ever. He- he retired.” He’s pretty sure his fingernails are drawing blood.

“Why? Wait, is that a euphemism for ‘died’? In that case, sorry, ignore me,” Purple rambles.

“Fuck no, he’s not dead. Just a fucking wreck. Teaches at my school too. He- whatever. You done now?”

“Wreck as in hurt?”

“Wreck as in a fucking walking skeleton that coughs blood. Now fuck off.”

“Oh… were you, like, close?”

“What about fuck off do you not fucking get?! It was my fucking fault that he retired, okay?! If I hadn’t been so fucking weak, we wouldn’t be fighting a fucking war without our strongest Hero, that what you want me to say?! Fuck off!”

Todd blanches. And pity, fucking pity spreads on Asshole’s face and Katsuki can’t fucking stand this shit, these fuckers coming in and getting all up in his fucking business and judging like they have any fucking idea about anything at all, like they have the fucking right. Cause they fucking don’t, they just don’t, any of it, they-

Sparks fly. Actual sparks, bright and burning, dissolving in the air above his palms. They hurt, but don’t burn him, just explode out of him and disappear, like a mirage.

But they aren’t. They’re real. They’re fucking real, his quirk is… getting stronger? Evolving? Becoming visible?

He tries again, consciously this time, audience temporarily forgotten. And it works. Sparks fly. Only sparks, not explosions, but actual fire nonetheless. Visible, not just a feeling in his hands anymore.

A feral grin spreads on his face. This means it’s not gone. He could get his quirk back. Whatever he’s been doing these past few days, it made his quirk heal. He’s not lost, not fucked. He just has to wait a bit. Just a bit and he’ll be fine, please.

Not gone, just healing. Like him. He’s not dead, just healing. He can get back. For fuck’s sake, if his quirk can come back then so can he. He will. He has to.

When he looks up again, his eyes catch on his reflection in the window.

It’s… it’s fucking bizarre. What the fuck is happening?

His hair. It was black at the abandoned building. He had a whole ass panic attack about it, he didn’t fucking imagine that, no fucking way.

But now? His roots are blond. Like he grew out his hair for three month and then cut it. A whole ass transition between black and ash blond. When did that happen? And how did he not notice?

Wait.

He turns on his heel and runs to the bathroom, to the mirror.

And there.

His eyes have a red tint now.

His body is coming back.

Chapter Text

Katsuki looks like he saw a ghost. Like, Jason can relate because he just saw literal sparks fly out of the kid’s hands, but he seems to be more disturbed by his own reflection.

Which is actually also understandable because not many people can say that their hair loses colour faster than they can walk.

Jason thought the kid dyed his hair when he first saw the roots. It’s a bit weird, ‘cause he’s Asian and Asians aren’t usually blond, but maybe that’s one of those dimension or gene things? But now the kid seems just as freaked out as they are, so Jason is beginning to doubt that theory.

When Duke texted an emergency into the family group chat, he really didn’t expect this.

Sure, it’s great to finally get some backstory, but it doesn’t sound like a nice one – which was to be expected, really, with the way the kid’s been acting – and now this is happening and Jason has no idea how to deal with it.

“Kid? The fuck’s going on?”

He turns around and Jason has half a mind to put some distance between them because the feral grin splitting his face is uncomfortably reminiscent of Harley Quinn.

“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki breathes and then the sparks start up again.

“No, seriously, what the fuck?!” Duke demands, hands up like he can somehow catch the sparks before they light anything up. It looks stupid, and Jason would be a bad big brother if he didn’t laugh at him.

Katsuki laughs too, but definitely for a different reason. He’s eyeing the sparks like they’re the best thing that ever happened to him and not something most likely the result of those meta experiments Replacement was so convinced of.

“Fuck yes! Do you know what this means?” he borderline shouts, a manic kind of euphoria cracking his voice. “Do you know what this fucking means?”

“Um, no? That’s why we’re asking?” Steph deadpans and Katsuki turns to her.

“My quirk’s coming back. My quirk and my body are coming back, for fuck’s sake, it’s coming back!”

It’s not as helpful as he thinks it is.

“Ok, what? What’s a quirk? And what do you mean your body’s coming back? What?” Duke is speaking out of Jason’s heart.

But now Katsuki seems to register his own words and he obviously doesn’t like it. “Fuck.”

He starts pacing, hands still sparking, the frown the realization gave him getting eaten by another smile. Jason for the life of him cannot figure out if he’s having a psychotic break, has a personality disorder, or took drugs. Because that right there does not look emotionally healthy.

“Fuck, I don’t even care ‘cause this means I can leave. This means I can come back, for fuck’s sake, this means there’s still a connection! There has to be,” he rambles, and he sounds hopeful. Happy in a way Jason hasn’t seen him before.

He can’t say he likes it.

That sounds bad, but he knows that kind of happiness. It’s the highest high that will always, inevitably, crash into the lowest low. It’s hope. Jason doesn’t do hope.

Every time hope enters the game, he loses. Miserably. He doesn’t want Katsuki to lose. He has a feeling he’s not good at it.

“Could you, like, explain a bit? ‘Cause I don’t understand shit, dude,” Duke requests. He doesn’t seem to like the mania emanating from the kid either.

“Fuck it,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, still grinning, and turns towards them. “Almost everyone in my universe has a quirk. Or, like, a superpower. Some are weak and useless, but mine for example is really fucking strong. Explosions, basically. There’s more to it, but you have to be good at chemistry for that and I’m not explaining that to a bunch of morons like you.”

“Wait, you’re meta?” Duke chimes in. He’s rewarded with a scathing glare.

“Fucking obviously,” Katsuki scoffs. “Been this way since I was four. If y’all want to throw me out for it, go for it, I don’t care anymore.”

Steph winces. “No no, you’re fine. Pretty sure B would make another exception for you.”

“Whatever. I already said I don’t care. I don’t need you. ‘Cause if my quirk and my body are coming back then that means I can too. I can go home. There’s a connection.”

“Hold up, wait. You still haven’t explained the whole body thing,” Jason interrupts, partly because he wants to know and partly because he can’t stand hearing the hopeful ramblings. The kid always seems so jaded, so disillusioned, that hearing him like this feels wrong somehow.

“Ugh. This isn’t my body. I look different, I have some biological changes in my body for my quirk, you know, all of that. But it’s coming back, like, my hair and shit. You can see the roots,” he explains.

Jason… yeah, no. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. What does that mean? Is it really the good sign Katsuki is taking it for? ‘Cause from where Jason is standing, that looks like more of the kid is in this universe and less of him is over there.

“Wait, so you don’t have black hair?” Steph asks, a grin spreading on her face.

“No? I’m blond,” Katsuki replies, bemused.

Steph fist pumps. “Fuck yes! That means you’re joining me! A club of not-really-family-but-still-somehow-family blonds. You know, I’m not adopted. Dated Tim for a while, would be kinda weird, you know. Don’t even really live here.”

Katsuki stares at her for a good few seconds, processing. “Ok? I don’t care? I mean, bad taste on your side, there, but I guess you make mistakes?”

Jason has to give it to him. His burns hit hard. He needs a few seconds to compose himself and vows to mention this to Replacement at earliest convenience.

“You know that won’t save him, right? As soon as Bruce hears about the war and everything, he’ll probably try to drown him in bubble wrap,” Duke laughs.

He’s not wrong, is the thing. Jason himself would actually like to do the same and he’s not usually prone to giving more than two fucks.

Child soldiers. A fucking war. And the kid’s blaming himself for… something. He’s not really getting all of that. All Might or whatever his name was, he blames himself for his retirement. And subsequent inability to help in a war. Jason doesn’t want to know what a war in a universe of metas would look like.

“Actually, yeah, what was that about a war?” Steph questions. The mood immediately plummets.

“A war is a war, what’s so hard to understand about that? The villains are going all crazy and we have to stop them. I- I was fighting one of them, before I came here. Don’t know how that went,” he trails off, pacing abandoned in favour of a weird sombre mood that doesn’t fit him at all.

Jason is almost afraid to ask. “Is that why you said you should be dead?”

Katsuki tenses. “Yeah. Don’t think that shit was survivable.”

Fuck. Sounds really fucking familiar, doesn’t it?

He remembers it like yesterday. Waking up, crawling out of his own grave. The shit that happened before that. The Joker. He remembers it all and he wishes he didn’t.

So he sees that look in Duke’s eyes and he wants to grab him, shake him, slap a hand over his mouth to prevent those next words that will undoubtedly come, but he’s too late. “So if you’re dead there, can you even come back?”

He can see Katsuki shut down in real time. First, his shoulders tense, draw up to his ears. Then his jaw tightens, lets the feral grin vanish like it was never there. His hands spark, then form fists, and then an ice-cold sheen falls over his eyes. “Get out.”

Somehow, the frigid rage in his tone is more intimidating than his fire ever managed to be.

Jason knows that rage. Intimately. Succumbed to it one too many times to be stupid enough to stay. He knows what happens now, has done it so many times before.

He grabs his helmet off the bed, snatches Duke by the arm and jerks his chin towards the door with a Look at Steph. She follows without protest, gently closing the door behind her.

They collectively wait in the hallway for a second. Nothing, not even a sound. It doesn’t fit. Jason would be three bodies deep into a pit rage by now.

Then, a bang. Duke flinches.

Another bang, louder. And then, a loud “FUCK!”.

Jason breathes out. Beckons the others down the hall.

He turns to his younger brother. “In what world was that the smart thing to say?”

Duke winces. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Didn’t really think about it in the moment.”

“I can tell,” Jason sighs. It really looked like progress there for a second. Katsuki was opening up, telling them about his life, his dimension.

If that was Jason in there? There’d be bodies. Here’s to hoping the kid has better coping mechanisms than him. With what they’ve seen so far, the probability of that is pathetically low, though.

“Let’s go to the living room,” Steph says to Duke, and then turns to Jason. “You should probably get out of your gear. You fucking stink, man.”

“Oh fuck off,” he grumbles and takes a surreptitious sniff. Unsurprisingly, she’s right. Sighing, he gets on his way, raising his middle finger when he hears them cackle behind him. Fucking children, no respect for their elders.

He makes his way to the Cave and tries not to think about what’s probably going on in Katsuki’s room right now.

He’d been so euphoric. So fucking happy, so hopeful. The crash should be fucking horrendous.

Jason just prays he won’t do anything stupid.

Fuck, who is he kidding. If that was him? Yeah, no. He’d be rubbing together two braincells max.

He doesn’t even want to think about it. No, he wants to punch something. Hard.

Fuck that shower for now. He needs a bit of training right now, some boxing.

He gets out of the outer layer of his gear in the Cave, just drops his helmet, guns, leather jacket and utility belt next to the mats and picks the heaviest boxing bag there is.

It’s good to just turn off his brain and just… feel for a while. All that rage, that anger, that fucking unwelcome empathy for the fucking child currently living rent free in his thoughts.

Time passes. Rationally, he knows that. Still, it feels like he’s been doing this for ten minutes at most until someone bothers him again. He hears shuffling behind him, quiet enough if the listener wasn’t a Bat.

He turns around to find the ghost haunting his every thought a scant two metres away from him, staring.

How in the fresh fuck Katsuki got down here and why in the even fresher fuck he did it? Jason will never know.

‘Cause to the question “the fuck you doin’ here?” he gets: “Wanna spar?”

Yeah.

So looks like that body happening today will be his. Great.

“You’re injured,” he points out. “Pretty sure Alfred would have my head if I so much as breathed too heavy in your direction.”

Katsuki scoffs. “Does it look like I care about your fucking head?”

“Touché,” Jason says and gives up on the boxing bag for the day.

Katsuki steps onto the mats with squared shoulders that practically scream ‘whoever fights me will be my emotional punching bag in more than one sense’. Or rather ‘I have issues and I’m about to make them your problem’.

Jason squares his own shoulders in turn but for a different reason. What he’s about to ask has a fifty/fifty chance of either being a total disaster or the smallest deal to ever deal.

“Any triggers I should avoid?”

He gets a blank stare for that. At least not a full on crashout, but not really all that reassuring either.

“The fuck?”

Jason sighs. For fuck’s sake. “Do you have a move that I shouldn’t pull? I don’t like blunt objects in sparring. One of my brothers doesn’t do well with swords. I have a friend who can’t stand arm locks. The goal here isn’t to win at any cost, it’s to get better. And triggering a panic attack won’t achieve that.”

The stare doesn’t get any less blank. “That’s pussy shit. Villains won’t avoid your weak spots, they’ll target them. If you don’t confront it, you won’t get better. I need to be the best, I can’t afford you babying me.”

Oh fuck. Oh please no. Jason is not equipped for this. He’s not the person to have the mental health talk with anyone, let alone a repressed teenager with childhood trauma from a literal other dimension.

Dick should be doing this. Dick knows how to do this. For fuck’s sake, Dick managed to make Demon Brat open up, there’s no way in hell this little shit stands a chance against his Puppy Eyes of Devoted Love and Reassurance. Copyright pending.

“I’m not the right person for this at all because I prefer to hit my problems 99% of the time, but I can guarantee you that what you just said is not the right mindset.”

“I don’t give a fuck, just fight me,” Katsuki growls, hands up in his offensive stance.

Jason sighs. “I’m not fighting you like this.”

“Yes the fuck you are. Now. Hit me.”

“No.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and then he lunges. Goes right for Jason’s torso, like he’s fighting some rookie. He isn’t. He’s fighting the fucking Red Hood. Or not because the Red Hood doesn’t want to fight at all.

He dodges. Spends a few minutes leading the kid all over the mats before he deems it enough and tries to catch his breath. The kid’s fucking fast, ok, and he was just out. Cut him some slack.

“FIGHT BACK, FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” Katsuki shouts, rage flittering all over his face, panting like a fucking dog.

“Tell me what you don’t want me to do,” Jason reiterates.

“UGH, FUCK YOU,” the kid shouts, but this time his resolve seems to weaken just a little.

Jason waits. He’s just about to start tapping his foot when the kid slumps.

“Fuck you. I don’t want you anywhere near my neck,” he mutters.

Jason is vividly reminded of the mark on the kid’s neck he’d so desperately hoped wasn’t a scar and feels that hope folding like a wet paper towel. The chances of it being coincidence is basically zero.

Fuck.

“Ok, sure,” he says, voice somehow but also fucking fortunately still steady.

“Fucking finally, pussy,” the kid spits.

They get in position and Jason waits for the other to strike first. Which he does because he’s predictable like that.

He dodges without problem and then takes a swing himself, careful not to go with skull-shattering levels of force.

The kid doesn’t seem to have any reservations like that. If Jason hadn’t still been wearing Kevlar, his ribs would be fine fucking dust right now. He goes for the torso like a rabid animal and he stays that way for the whole fucking spar.

Hits and kicks are traded and you’d think that Jason with his size advantage would somehow have any kind of upper hand here, but no sir, none of that.

The kid is faster, he’s rabid and he’s also horrifyingly flexible. Like, his foot literally grazed Jason’s cheek while they were both standing on the floor kind of flexible. He could probably do the splits.

He’s a fucking freak of nature. Do men in that dimension just not have balls? Or hipbones? Or tendons? Anything at all that prevents Jason from so much as squatting too low?

Like, he’s used to Dick pulling shit like this, but Dick grew up in a fucking circus. That kid grew up in Japan in a fucking Hero School. They are not the same.

In the end, Katsuki loses. He’s still hurt, still not at his best, and also so chock full of rage there’s not really all that much space for actual braincells to enter the fight.

He ends up pinned to the floor, on his back with Jason’s hand placed as far from his throat as possible while still keeping him still. His face is a grimace of conflicting emotions.

There’s pain, there’s obviously rage, there’s a feral grin that looks just a tad too twisted to express any happiness at all and there’s fear.

Jason doesn’t like any of those.

He lets up and grabs himself a water bottle. Throws one in the kid’s direction and winces when he hears it hit skin.

“Ow, fucker,” Katsuki complains. “Can’t fucking aim at all. You reek, by the way.”

Fucking children, seriously. “You do too, bitch.”

“I have a fucking excuse. You don’t,” the kid shoots back and then Jason can only hear the gulping of someone absolutely demolishing a drink in five seconds flat.

“You also have injuries. Should probably check your stitches after this.” It’s not switching the topic, shhhh.

“Fuck off, they’re fine.”

Silence spreads. There’s a fucking reason Jason isn’t working in a fucking daycare, for fuck’s sake. Actually, there are multiple, most of them better reasons than his point, which is that he’s not good with kids.

That’s actually maybe a bit of a lie, possibly. He’s… fine with kids. You know, the cute, young kind that doesn’t know shit yet. He hates teenagers. His own family has turned him off teenagers for a fucking lifetime.

That right there is the worst kind of teenager. Sixteen, traumatised as fuck, anger issues the size of fucking Jupiter, trust issues even bigger than that, and blond.

Jason hates to say that he’s growing on him.

Chapter Text

Katsuki flops down on his bed and tries to ignore the pit in his stomach. The shower helped. For maybe a minute.

Then everything went cold and numb again.

He hates it. He wants the white-hot rage back, he wants the sparks, the explosions. Not this. This empty void where his anger is supposed to be.

The sparring helped. Made him concentrate on something else, lit up the rage again.

But now? Yeah no. Nothing. Empty void, endless space to let his doubts have a real nice merry-go-round.

What if Duke is right?

That’s it. It’s that simple.

What if he can’t go back? What if he’s stuck here? What if he’ll never know? Did he do it? Did it work? Will they live?

In the end, if he was dead, he wouldn’t know either. But he’d be dead. He wouldn’t be lying here, like this. He wouldn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t have to not know either. He wouldn’t ‘have to’ anything, that’s the whole fucking point.

All of this felt better when he was mad enough to blow shit up. The room’s walls look like someone whirled around a bucket of black paint. There are soot stains from his sparks all over the white.

Good fucking metaphor for his mind right now. Empty, with a dash of destruction for flavour.

‘Cause it boils down to him not being dead. He wouldn’t be having this problem right now if his little suicide mission actually fulfilled its fucking purpose. Can’t even fucking die right. Fuck, why? Why?

He feels the hot sting of tears in his eyes and curses his inability to turn it into rage. Into anything more productive than crying like a little bitch. And it’s not even silent tears. Not even the numb kind his body could have had the decency to settle on. No, everything is allowed to be numb except for his tears.

The first tears fall and then the first sobs come, and Katsuki buries his face in the sheets. He curls up and tries to breathe. Tries to work his way through the sobs, tries to stifle them into the blanket.

It only makes everything worse. Makes him heave loudly, lets little, pitiful, fucking pathetic sounds escape his throat.

Why?

It’s the only thought on his mind, the root of all problems. Why is this happening? All of it.

The war, the fight, his ‘death’, the transport, the people, the talks, this literal fucking breakdown.

Why is he crying? He’s been keeping it together for so fucking long, he’s been doing fine all this fucking time. So fine, all fine, always fine.

Only fine. Never perfect. Never fucking enough.

Fuck.

“Fuck!”

It breaks in his throat halfway through, painfully. But it’s satisfying, way more satisfying than silently heaving his sobs into the soaked fabric beneath his cheek. So he does it again.

“Fuck! FUCK.FUCK!” The next sob comes out with a growl behind it, too loud, too much, too strong in the silent room, in the empty.

But it’s not numb. It’s almost anger, almost rage, warm, almost hot.

But he needs boiling. He needs something to burn away the cold and empty, something other than this. So fuck too loud, fuck too much, that’s all he’s ever been anyways. This is his breakdown, he might as well put his everything behind it.

He sits up, curls into his own knees and grits his sobs into his knees. Grits out the fucking pathetic sounds with contempt behind them, with rage and pain and everything he has to fill that void.

It scratches in his throat and burns in his lungs and sends spasms through his stomach, but it’s something. It hurts, but that’s better than the hopeless fucking void in his chest cavity. Everything is better than that.

The next sob is a scream. And it has everything behind it. It’s definitely loud enough to be heard outside, but Katsuki couldn’t give a fuck less right now. The only thing on his mind is ‘why?’ and ‘more’ and ‘please’.

Fuck, he’s desperate.

It’s so bitter. Almost bitter enough to make him laugh. He’s fucking crying, screaming and sobbing in this fucking bed like a fucking maniac because, what? He can’t go home? Like a fucking child crying for mommy.

He’s supposed to be the Number One Hero, not this sobbing, desperate weakling. Fucking worthless.

He lets his hands wander to his head, lets them curl into his hair and pull. It’s better than the alternative. Better than risking losing control of his quirk while his fingernails dig into his arms. Better than having to wear long sleeves to avoid weird stares.

His scalp burns, but pain isn’t the problem here. Pain has somehow become the objective and if he was in a different mental state right now, maybe he’d examine that a little closer, but he isn’t.

No, he’s still sobbing, but now his voice is fucked and his screams have died down into cracked groans again.

Now his muscles are tired and his eyelids are heavy.

But the void is gone. So is the rage and the desperation, but at least he’s not numb anymore. Instead, there’s an unnamed feeling. It’s uneasy, in no way calm or satisfied. It’s not comfortable, but neither was the emptiness.

It feels a bit like anxiety. But there’s less of an urgency to it. Maybe it has a tinge of hopelessness.

His face feels sticky. His head hurts. He’s tired and achy and limp and there’s no fire left. No spark. Nothing. It’s all out, gone, not even hovering, just there and gone and not a single trace left.

Just ready to build up again over the course of years.

Fucking pathetic.

It was satisfying in the moment, but it left a bitter aftertaste.

He foregoes his wet, crusty blanket and curls up practically on the pillow. He doesn’t know how long his little bitch episode lasted, but he knows the blinds are drawn and he doesn’t have school tomorrow. Fuck sleep schedules, he should be dead anyways.

.-.

He wakes up pretty much the way he went to sleep. Crusty, heavy, uncomfortable and with an uneasy feeling.

But there’s a sense of determination too. Or maybe not determination, that sounds too… positive. Too nice.

This is a thirst for revenge. He wants, no needs, to make the person who did this to him feel the same. Needs to see if yesterday was justified, if there’s really no way back. And maybe, just maybe, he wants someone else’s blood under his fingernails for a change. Wants someone else to deal with this for a bit.

Yesterday… yesterday can’t happen again. Yesterday was a loss of control so spectacularly pathetic, it’s embarrassing to think about. Yesterday has to be some kind of consequence to him being a teenager because that was in no way a warranted crashout a normal, healthy adult would have had.

Not that he’s delusional enough to think he’s normal or healthy, but he’s in no way damaged enough for… that.

He’s fine.

Yes. He’s fine and ready to find the bastard who did this to him. His body was stable enough to survive a spar with Red Hood, it’ll have to do for the actual fucker responsible for this.

He rolls out of the bed and grabs sturdy-looking clothes out of the closet. He needs to know how far his so-called freedom here reaches and he wants to train. Today will be productive or he’ll explode and use his newly acquired crashout skills on the people around him.

A short shower and a quick check of his healing process later, he pulls open the blinds to reveal the sun. So it is actually the next day. Wow. Seems like he had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Still does, really, if the perpetual fatigue is anything to go off of.

When he reaches the entrance hall again, he hears laughter in the kitchen. One high voice and a cackle that is sharply reminiscent of a dying hyena.

Turns out to be a red-haired woman and Nightwing, who’s in civies, but also really fucking recognisable by that creepy ass grin. If Katsuki’s mood was shit before, it’s worse than the Gotham sewers now. They both turn around when he comes in and it’s a bit suspicious how quick their laughter cuts off.

Katsuki checked after his shower and there shouldn’t be any physical signs of his breakdown anymore, so both of them looking like… that, is highly alarming. He refuses to call it worry.

“Hey kid. Want something to eat?” Nightwing breaks the silence with a grin that would pass if Katsuki didn’t see the slight strain in the corner of his mouth. He knows something. But what?

Still, Katsuki nods. He completely ignores the man’s companion and instead goes for the fridge. If he wants good, nutritious food, he’ll probably have to do this himself, judging by the cereal bowls on the counter.

There’s not much, and it’s all western food, but it’ll have to make do here.

Three drawers and a cabinet later, he’s finally found a knife, a cutting board and some vegetables. He studiously ignores the awkward silence spreading behind him and gets started on an avocado. Let those fuckers stew in it, he’s not here to make anything easier on them.

“My name is Kori,” the woman says. “Who are you?”

He scoffs. “Bet your friend over there already told you all about me.”

“No, he didn’t. Don’t worry, I know about the family business, you don’t need to hide anything,” Kori says, all soft and reassuring and shit.

“Family business? That’s what y’all call it?” Katsuki scoffs. “Fucking dramatic bitches.”

The weird, soft tinkle takes a bit to register as a laugh.

“Oh, he’s like Jason, isn’t he? All that contempt for dramatics, but probably not much better himself,” she giggles, honest to god giggles. The fuck kinda weirdo is that?

“So what’s your shtick? If you know about the family business and all that,” he asks, only half-mocking. She doesn’t look all that real according to the standards of this dimension. A bit too much colour, a bit too bright. Like a fucking clownfish.

“I’m from another planet called Tamaran. I’m technically a meta after this planet’s standards due to my species’ abilities, for example enhanced strength,” she explains.

“So an alien. You’re an alien.” Okay. Yeah, why not? Weirder shit is happening.

Actually, doesn’t he technically count as an alien? He’s from a different earth, he’s obviously genetically different… Fuck, is he an alien?

“I suppose, yes. Although that term has uncomfortable connotations. I prefer not to be labelled as other, especially because I have been passing as human for years now,” Clownfish confirms.

“So nobody knows you’re an alien. Or, like, an extra-terrestrial or whatever.”

“We are called Tamaraneans. And no, they don’t. But what about you? Are you a human?” she asks, even sounding genuinely curious. Like he could be an alien, or extra-terrestrial or something.

“Fucking obviously? The fuck you asking for?”

He shoves his cut up vegetables into a bowl he liberated from the cabinet and grabs a fork. Then he turns around to finally look at them again, only to find them both at the table and staring at him. Like, creepily. With smiles and shit. Fucking psychos.

“Oh, you don’t look like the humans here usually do. Your hair is very interesting,” she comments.

Ah. Fuck. That’s a thing that’s happening. When he looked after the shower, his hair had a solid few inches of blond at the roots. It does not look natural, but it also doesn’t fit this universe’s genetic standards, so she’d obviously assume he’s not… from here. Which is right, in a sense.

“I’m from another universe. I’m blond. It’s growing in,” he explains curtly and drops in the chair furthest from Nightwing.

“Oh! A universe hopper. Is that why your English is so… diverse? Is it different over there?”

“I’m Japanese. My English is basically self-taught,” he mutters into his cucumber slice.

“Oh! You must be very smart. Japanese and English are very different. I’m very glad us Tamaraneans learn languages so easily.”

Katsuki can feel his cheeks heating just the slightest fucking bit. The praise just sounded so genuine? Like, hell yes, some well-deserved appreciation of his skill here, but also, someone here recognises that he’s smart. That there’s thought in here, not just violence.

“Of course I fucking am,” he deflects. If they notice his blush, nobody is leaving this room alive.

“I don’t think it’s a given. I know many people who wouldn’t be able to learn fluent English. Not everybody is as genius as this family,” Clownfish muses, all earnestly and shit.

“Genius? These are all absolute morons,” he scoffs.

“They are some of the smartest people I’ve met in my life. I would have thought someone like you would fit in well.”

“Someone like me? The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Someone smart with an interesting background.”

Oh. Damn, does this woman know how to be mean at all?

“Yeah well, I’m not a psychopath, so there’s the problem.”

“A psychopath? Isn’t that a personality disorder? I don’t think anyone here has a personality disorder. There’s only trauma.”

Nightwing chokes on a glass of water behind her and starts hacking into his elbow.

“I-. Do you have any filter at all?”

“Yes, I do. I just think that honesty would be beneficial here.”

Oh. A smart person with common sense. How rare, but welcome here.

“You’re fucking right. Hear that, creep?” Katsuki says, giving Nightwing a Look™.

“His name is Richard. Has he lied to you?”

“No, I haven’t. He just doesn’t like me for some reason,” Nightwing chimes in.

“For some reason? You’re basically holding me hostage!”

“We told you a million times, you’re free to go whenever you want to.”

“So I could leave right now? Just walk outta that door and not come back?” As fucking if.

“Yeah. If that’s what it takes to get you to understand that we don’t want to harm you, yes.”

Oh. That was… not the expected outcome of that conversation.

Just to make sure, and maybe a little out of principle, he gets up and walks towards the entrance hall, bowl of vegetables still in hand. Miraculously, they don’t stop him. Don’t even follow him. Just stay there and watch him go.

Well, how far does this leash reach?

He opens the front door and steps out into the cold. Still nothing.

He eats a piece of tomato.

Contemplates.

On a scale from one to ten, how embarrassing would it be to turn back right now? ‘Cause it’s really fucking cold out and Katsuki didn’t dress for an excursion through Antarctica this morning.

Fuck it. Even if it’s a ten, those bitches have no room to judge. He’s still injured, he’s allowed to be a pussy for once.

He turns around, closes the door behind him and shuffles back into the kitchen, studiously ignoring the peanut gallery.

“So now that you’ve checked, are we good?” Nightwing asks.

“What’s your name?” Katsuki shoots back. Calling him by his hero name is getting old, especially because it’s actually fucking good. Like, all fancy and shit. May not fit him, but at least it sounds epic.

“I’m Dick,” he grins.

Katsuki blinks. “What.”

“Dick Grayson. Or, like, Richard if you want to be fancy. But I prefer Dick.”

“Are you fucking for real right now? Dick? Like, as in cock, Dick? My English isn’t failing me right now, you willingly go by genitalia?”

Clownfish bursts out laughing and Grayson snorts. “Yes. Dick as in cock. It’s a shortening of Richard, don’t ask me who came up with it. I’ve been using it since before I even knew what it meant.”

An idiot. He’s a fucking idiot.

“How much were you bullied in school?”

Grayson smiles. “A lot. For many different reasons. I’m Romani, for example. And I had an accent when I came here. And my parents died when I was nine. They had a lot of ammunition.”

Oh fuck.

He shouldn’t have asked. What did he fucking expect? Of course the man who reminds him of Deku was bullied. Of course.

“Yeah, sorry or whatever. You got any trauma you want to share with the class?” he asks sardonically, turning to Clownfish.

“My sister enslaved me once in exchange for peace. What about you?”

Filters, for fuck’s sake, filters. Suddenly honesty doesn’t sound all that appealing anymore.

“I’m not sharing that shit with you, fuck that. I ain’t pulling out my whole tragic backstory for you just ‘cause you did,” he scoffs.

“That was in no way my whole backstory, but this is not a competition so I’ll just let that slide. Just… me and my family, we’re multidimensional people. Many of us are traumatised and definitely flawed, so just… please give us chances? We won’t immediately get everything right, but we want to try, ok?”

Damn. That was a fucking setup.

But fuck if he isn’t right. Katsuki of all people knows. He knows what flawed means, he knows what trauma can do to people and he knows about second chances.

And maybe these people deserve them.

Todd turned out to be kind of okay. Purple is. Signal is an asshole, but he seems like a normal asshole at least.

So maybe Grayson can be fine too?

If he’s friends with both Barbara Gordon and this Kori then he can’t be too bad.

Most women have a sense for that shit, if a man is a bastard. Like, Round Cheeks and Ponytail always knew if some creepy looking dude on the subway was an actual creep or just weird as fuck.

So maybe he can give Grayson a try?

Fuck, Deku gave him another chance, and Katsuki was the fucking worst to him. Grayson didn’t do half of what Katsuki did, he doesn’t really have the right to deny him one here, does he.

“Yeah whatever. Just don’t tie me up in some corner and we’re, like, fine, I guess,” he sighs.

Chapter Text

After that talk in the kitchen, the whole fucking family seems to take that as an invitation to bother him all the fucking time. Like, he opened up to them a literal fucking nanometre of the door and now they’re barging through it with explosives, for fuck’s sake.

It starts with Duke and Purple, or Stephanie, as he has now unwillingly learned. They just show up at his door the next day and drag him to the kitchen to have breakfast, all the while chattering and bickering like the natural awkward tension practically emanating from him doesn’t exist.

It was chill, although he won’t admit that even on his deathbed.

Apropos deathbed. Fucking Gnome.

The brat showed up during that breakfast and talked to Duke for a grand total of one minute while steadfastly ignoring Katsuki’s existence and Steph’s hand on his head.

It would be impressive if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.

After that, it was like the floodgates of hell opened. What felt like a million people started filtering in and out of the room, randomly, and so fucking quietly Katsuki had to suppress a heart attack every time. Like the fucking vigilantes they are, none of them make any fucking sound when entering a room and he’s gotten so used to his classmates being literally incapable of silence that this felt like getting jumpscared.

He lasted for a grand total of half an hour before he had enough and made a strategic retreat to his room. At a normal pace. With a normal heart rate. Yes.

But it didn’t get better. He got maybe an hour of blessed alone time and silence before fucking Todd turned up at his door and told him to come down to the Cave for a demonstration and that ‘this is not a request’.

So he went and got to watch a group of children to middle-aged people beat each other up. Surprisingly, the middle-aged people didn’t always win. Turns out, the brat is actually as lethal with his katana as he looked with the Nomu.

Almost all of his mental bets would have lost him money, but Grayson won every single bet in their actual betting pool they discussed about for half an hour before, including the time every spar lasted. It was a bit creepy.

And then came the dreaded question. “Wanna go for a round?”

It was Drake who asked, with a fucking cocky glint in his eyes that practically screamed ‘don’t be a coward’.

Naturally, Katsuki agreed.

And then Agent Butler turned up and told him to not even think about it. Because, like, injuries or whatever. Fucking pussy.

But then the worst of them all, fucking Wayne, asked about his fighting style and why it was so quote-unquote unconventional. Hah.

Then it occurred to Katsuki that he didn’t know who knew what. Like, how much did Duke and Steph share with the others? Or Todd? Or Grayson and Kori?

See, they all have different pieces, some more and some less, but if they all shared, they would have a good percentage of the puzzle. Including his name. But apart from Todd, everyone has yet to call him anything other than ‘kid’, ‘Odysseus’ or ‘dude’.

Does that mean Todd can keep a secret or does that mean all of them can keep a secret?

‘Cause, like, on one hand, they’re vigilantes with secret identities, on the other hand they’ve all slipped up an embarrassing amount of times in his presence already, so it’s really hard to tell whether they’re morons or just way too comfortable around him.

Both would be stupid.

Like, in no way would they feel that comfortable around him, especially because they don’t know him.

On the other hand, most of them seem comfortable around Todd and Todd looks like a walking red flag from the outside. Much like Katsuki.

Fucking dammit.

Naturally, he didn’t tell them shit. Shut down that conversation real quick. But he did drop hints that if they wanted to know a modicum of shit, they should ask Duke or Steph. Since his hair and shit is a bit hard to hide and he also isn’t planning on accidentally setting his room on fire while training his quirk.

Obviously, they took the chance. And didn’t care at all about the implied ‘just don’t bother me about it’. So he spent the next few days fielding questions about his dimension. They ranged from valid shit to ask to batshit stupid things like ‘can you tell me the genetic makeup of your DNA over there?’.

Three guesses as to who asked about that.

After a few days and most of the family, including Katsuki, bothering him about it, Agent Butler finally fucking folded and let Katsuki start up with training again. No sparring, but basic things like running and shit.

Seems like people from his dimension heal just a bit faster than the people here. Or maybe, just fucking maybe, his nitro-glycerine is coming back. Because yesterday, Agent Butler removed most of his stitches. The big shit, like his chest or arm, will stay for a few more days, but for example his head wound is fucking fine now. And AB said that it was fast. So it should be nitroglycerin, right? Right?

Fucking wrong. Because his explosions are still not back. He still stinks like hell when he sweats. He still only sparks like a Walmart Dunce Face. Not Dynamite, just Brighter Light these days. Oh how fucking far he fell.

So yeah. Running. A bit underwhelming in comparison to sparring, but Katsuki will have to take what he can get right now.

Obviously, he’s starting immediately. Currently, he’s letting some introspection happen while running around their huge ass property that does fucking include a whole ass forest because Katsuki is always right. Katsuki 1; Dimension ~69.

It’s fucking cold out, but that is not keeping him because today he, coincidentally, is dressed for an excursion through Antarctica, provided that excursion is happening at a speed of about 20km/h.

Most importantly, the excursion is happening alone. Somehow, none of those bitches are bothering him right now and he’s going to enjoy that as long as he can. Even if that means running a few kilometres more.

Although slowly but surely his ribs are beginning to protest. The numbing coldness can only do so much. It’s probably not all that medically promising to go running with still healing ribs, but Agent Butler said it’s fine, so it’ll have to be fine. His body is robust, it’ll deal.

A few laps later he officially gives up. His ribs are fucked, his stamina is decidedly not what it used to be and the cold is beginning to numb his legs and he really doesn’t need a sprained ankle on top of all the other shit he has to heal these days. He already sleeps too much anyways.

He returns to his room in a comparatively good mood. Exercise and a bit of peace do wonders, oh shocker.

He cranks the shower temperature to plasma and sheds the annoyingly colourful workout gear he’d found in his closet that morning to the floor. His hamper is gone, probably in the wash right now, and isn’t that a thing. His laundry is being done for him. No surprise rich people are so useless when even their fucking laundry is being done for them.

But Katsuki is profiting from it right now and he does actually have better things to worry about than laundry, so he should probably not complain about it.

He showers relatively quickly and dries off even faster before stopping in front of the mirror. Ever since his quirk, like, evolved or some shit, his hair has steadily been going blond. It’s longer than he likes it and there’s no fucking transition, it just looks like a really bad ombré and for a second he contemplates getting a buzzcut and saying fuck it before dismissing that idea firmly. He’ll just look like shit and he does actually like having hair.

Maybe he can cut it himself. He’s not looking for anything fancy, he just needs it to stop brushing his neck, and his non-existent skills should suffice for that, right?

Whatever, he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he wants food. (And maybe company, but that thought comes from the stupid, bad part of his brain that needs dumb things like emotional processing and human connection and fucking hugs and shit. Ugh.)

Unfortunately, there are people downstairs. Not in the kitchen, at least, but in the living room. They’re screaming and laughing and there are the vague sounds of some kind of movie or game in the background. Fucking great.

He sneaks into the kitchen in hopes of not being detected, all quiet and ninja-like the way they do it. He’s been getting better at that, sometimes they can’t distinguish his sneak from Duke’s.

There are cut carrot sticks and a dip in the fridge, with the specific ingredients and a note to please eat it taped to the container. Agent Butler does that. Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s because of him or if he’s always done it. He kinda doesn’t want to know.

He has just liberated his new snack when Steph pops into the kitchen. “Oh, Oreo, you’re alive.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

These bitches have taken to calling him random shit because he’s still refusing to give them his name. It ranges from actual, albeit wrong names, to random objects that sometimes don’t even have an actual resemblance to him. Unfortunately, Oreos do these days, a state of affairs he’s desperate to bring to an end.

“Ok, Chess boy then. Wanna play with us? We’re having a Mario Kart tournament,” she offers.

“Fuck off. Call me Odysseus or don’t call me at all,” he deflects, watching her grab a few glasses and two bottles of water.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. So? You coming?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and instead drives her elbow into his kidneys like she’s fucking herding a cow. Before he knows it, he’s standing next to the couch watching her deposit her shit on the coffee table.

The couch is taken up by Duke and someone new. A girl, a bit Asian looking. Actually, that has to be the one Wayne called ‘Orphan’. Either in really poor taste or very randomly. But whatever.

The real problem here is Drake, splayed over an armchair and very invested in a pile of papers so messy Katsuki would eat a sock if the guy actually got any coherent information out of it at all.

It’s a problem because Drake is the one guy who hasn’t been bothering him. Not that Katsuki cares, but he probably annoyed him so much down in the Cave he could be planning murder for all he knows. Like, the guy looks the part. Would probably kill someone. Hell, already has, 100%. There’s no way this guy is happy with him here.

He looks up when Steph clears her throat. “Okay, Yin-Yang over there is joining us, I have decided. Speak now or forever hold your peace.” She pauses for maybe a second. “Great. Normal rules apply. Controllers are switched after every round, no maiming, trash talk is encouraged. Whoever wins gains first serve for the next chicken nugget night and bragging rights for a week. Understood?”

Only one thing here strikes Katsuki as odd. He doesn’t even mean to ask, it just kinda slips out, “The fuck you mean, switch controllers?”

Steph hones in on him with an evil grin. “Oh sweet summer child. Our family has murderous tendencies, especially in competitions as dire as this one. This way, no cheating or sabotage will happen because if you’re unlucky, you’re the one who has to drive the next round. Or the last.”

“Long story short, it’s because Damian tried to kill Jason over a nudge during Rainbow Road,” Duke chimes in. “Dick came up with it to prevent fratricide. It works surprisingly well.”

Fucking idiots. Not that Katsuki is any better, he still remembers that one round of Moo Moo Meadows. He was lucky Shitty Hair was the guy next to him, otherwise he definitely would’ve been expelled.

“Morons,” he snorts anyways and drops into the last armchair available, coincidentally the one with the worst view.

The Asian girl produces a TV remote and controllers out of thin air and drops them on the coffee table. Katsuki is not calling her Orphan, no fucking way. That’s weird on so many levels.

Steph grabs the red one and starts the game, choosing Versus mode and putting in the maximum number of races, like a literal psychopath. But to redeem herself, she also puts in random and 200 ccm, so Katsuki can’t be too mad.

After that, a truly inordinate amount of time is spent choosing the right characters and car designs. Duke is Metal Mario, Steph is Lakitu, Drake is Bowser Junior and Asian girl has chosen Toadette. Cars vary from absolutely useless abominations to the most basic fast motorcycles imaginable.

Katsuki hopes that Steph won’t drag him into driving as well. He doesn’t think his anger issues would let him survive that.

The first race is Mario’s Circuit and it’s immediately clear who here has a lot of experience and who just has good reflexes. Duke and Steph fall into the former category, Drake and Asian girl the latter.

Katsuki himself has both. He’d smash them all in a heartbeat. Obviously.

But what they lack in skill they make up with in smack talk. Drake sounds like he’s gambling for money and someone’s life rather than chicken nuggets. Duke drops more f-bombs than Katsuki did in the last two days, which should be impossible, but somehow works for him. Steph mostly screeches incoherently.

Only Asian girl is mostly silent. There are groans of annoyance and some muttered ‘fuck’s here and there, but she’s a bit of a silent killer, sneaking up on Drake with green shells only to lose her advantage a corner later by forgetting to drift.

It honestly hurts a bit to watch.

It ends with Steph in first, Duke in second, Asian girl in third and Drake a very pathetic fifth after being royally fucked by fucking Baby Peach of all things.

Steph pulls out her phone, oblivious to the death stares being exchanged on the couch, and presses a few buttons. “Okay, Duke is out. Tim, Cass, Chess boy and I are switching. Red goes to Cass, white to Tim, pink to Chess boy and black to me.”

“Still not my name and I’m not taking Drake’s fuckass fifth place, that’s fucking pathetic,” Katsuki says, while grabbing the controller. Sue him, he needs some fun and he’s gonna beat them all anyways.

“Whatever you say man,” Duke snorts and leans back on the couch. “Have fun getting your ass beat.”

“I’m fucking winning this shit, y’all are pathetic,” Katsuki retorts, trying to find a position in the chair that doesn’t involve permanent neck damage while still seeing shit.

At least he’s playing as Bowser Junior. And driving a bike. The hellish contraption Steph cooked up should not have won first place.

The new race is Wario’s Arena. Katsuki wants to throw something at the screen.

“Ha, I’m fucking destroying you here, I love this track,” Drake crows, the fucking psychopath.

Asian girl, or Cass, gives him the finger.

“You’re not destroying shit, bitch. You’re landing in the fucking mud where you belong,” Katsuki contributes and promptly shoves the bitch off track. He zooms off with a cackle while Drake threatens physical harm worth ten years of prison.

The race is brutal. Cass falls prey to a blue shell in the third lap, ruthlessly exploited by three NPCs, Steph and Katsuki, while Drake flounders around in the midfield. He took a few nasty bananas and has now reached the sixth stage of grief.

In the end Katsuki wins, which he promptly rubs into everyone’s faces because bragging rights were part of the contract. No other reason. There are still 30 races left to go, but he has the rights now and he’s not afraid to exercise them.

He’s also pretty sure Drake has a problem with Cass now. Loser.

The next round sees Steph in the timeout chair and Drake in first, Bowser Junior back with him. Cass gets the black controller and with it P2, which will probably end in war at the front. Katsuki has to deal with Drake’s fuckass placement again, but at least he gets Duke’s company and subsequent suffering to himself, since he inherits the red controller.

And so it starts again. This time in Haunted Mansion. A nice one.

It doesn’t get better. Only progressively louder and more verbally violent. Katsuki is in no way the worst person in the room on that front and it’s oddly refreshing. Finally people who dish out as well as him and maybe take even better. Not that he’ll admit that.

Unsurprisingly, the tournament takes hours. Breaks are taken to eat and drink, prolonging the whole ordeal even more, and it’s noon when the last race is finally done.

None of them are even on the podium. At some point it just turned into a shitshow of sabotage where everyone tries to make the person they inherited their controller from dead last, completely disregarding the fact that they could inherit that placement again. It’s war, but at no point is anyone hurt, so Katsuki can’t even say that Grayson’s method isn’t working.

Everyone slumps in their chair and has to take a moment of silence. The screen plays the sad ending music of losers and shows them all they have achieved, which is a pathetically large gap to Yoshi, the winner. Fucking figures.

“Chess boy, you can’t tell me that this was not the most fun you’ve ever had,” Steph smugly proclaims in midst of the silence.

Katsuki can’t even really disagree.

Chapter Text

“No. Running and stretching is good enough, there is no need to set back your recovery process through avoidable injuries,” Agent Butler orders with a pointed look. “We can see again in a week, but right now sparring is not advisable.”

Fucking pussy.

Ugh. Katsuki is so fucking bored, it’s unreal. Seriously, he’s one more hour of staring at the ceiling away from actually, willingly asking for another Mario Kart tournament and it’s only been three days since.

Really, it’s that bad.

And now fucking Dinner-For-One-BItchass is telling him he can’t even hit something to get rid of his energy.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, turns around and loudly stomps towards his room.

He flops down on the bed and lets his eyes wander back to the all-too-familiar ceiling.

If he just had, like, a fucking phone. But these bitches all have trust issues and think that him finding out the last three identities would somehow make a difference? Like, come on. Kori literally introduced herself, they didn’t even try to hide Cass’ name, he has most of the others’, honestly what the fuck are they still playing these games for?

It’s fucking pathetic. There’s no fucking reason, not a single one. And they’re not even trying to explain it. Like it’s obvious that he can’t be trusted with shit. Not even his own fucking body it seems. Ugh.

He takes a look at the clock. 20 minutes since Butler Bitch ruined his day. That’s, like, 1% and a bit of a day. He’s gonna fucking lose it in here.

A knock on the door comes as the most welcome sound all day. A fucking distraction, finally.

“What,” he shouts from the bed.

The door opens and Todd peeks in. “Whatcha doin’ today?”

“Fucking nothing. Your bitchass butler is a fucking pussy and won’t allow me to spar,” he complains. “Why?”

Todd snorts. “Yeah, he does that. Probably better that way, he’s usually right. Wanna come out with me? Not really healthy to stay in the house all day, you know.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s not voluntarily. Where you going?”

“Just a small shopping trip through the city. Need a few surveillance cams for the case and Alfred wants some spices from a special store. So? You coming?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Todd snorts again, fucking smug bitch. “You’re getting out of here for a bit? Something to do? Fuck if I know what you want out of it.”

Katsuki puts on a contemplative look, just out of spite. It’s the principle of it, not any actual thought. His decision was made the second Todd spoke the words ‘come out’. “Whatever. I’m not waiting for you though.”

“Unless you want to walk there, you’ll have to. It’s not exactly right out of the door.”

“What, y’all so rich your castle doesn’t fit in the city?”

“Basically. It’s a ten minute drive. A bit longer on foot though. Your choice.”

Ugh. That fucker.

“Tell me the car at least isn’t cringe.”

“Who said anything about cars?”

“What, we taking the bus? Thought you were a rich kid.”

Todd rolls his eyes and steps back into the hallway. “Nah man. We’re taking my bike.”

Okay, that can mean two things. Bike as in bicycle or bike as in motorcycle. Fucking Americans and their weird shortenings. Not that he’s gonna debase himself and ask or some shit. Nah, he’ll wait and see.

He grabs his boots he demonstratively keeps in his room and not down at the entrance and waves Todd away. “Yeah yeah, give me a minute.”

“Meet me in the Cave. And take a beanie and gloves with you. It’s cold out and your hair is fucking ridiculous.” And with those words he vanishes outta the door. Bitch.

Katsuki still does what he said because he’s not stupid. He’s well aware that his hair is a dead give-away and that Gotham’s winter is a fucking bitch.

He pulls on a hoodie and his (tragically borrowed) winter jacket. Tragically because it’s obnoxiously red and a little too big on him, like whoever owned it before him was the broadest motherfucker on earth. (He’s definitely gonna ignore the implication that this was Jason’s once.)

The only beanie he can find is thankfully tasteful and black. He has less luck with the gloves, one pair too thin and the other fucking bright blue, clashing awfully with the jacket.

He chooses the thin ones because when it’s too cold he still has pockets so he won’t die of hypothermia, but the blue ones would definitely make him die of humiliation, especially because they’re also too big and make him look like a fucking toddler.

Gloves stuffed into his pockets and beanie in hand, he stomps down the stairs and makes his way into the Cave. Todd is already there, leaning on a motorcycle with a red helmet in hand and another perched weirdly on his head. He uncrosses his arms when he spots Katsuki and throws the helmet at him with a weirdly soft smile.

“Ever been passenger, kid?”

Katsuki shrugs. He hasn’t, but it can’t be hard.

“I’ll take that as a no. Hope you don’t have a problem with touching me ‘cause you’re gonna have to hold onto me,” Todd says with what could be interpreted as an apologetic wince.

Katsuki won’t interpret shit though. “Fuck. Whatever. Show me.”

Todd nods and swings a leg over the seat, lobbing the helmet to Katsuki. Then he fiddles with something behind him and beckons Katsuki over with a jerk of his head. “Step on this and sit behind me. You can grab my shoulders to get on, but I’d recommend grabbing onto my waist or something during the ride. Unless you want to eat pavement, of course.”

Katsuki slips on the helmet and does as told, perching behind him. He’s tense, sue him. This is weird.

Like, he’s supposed to touch the guy. He hasn’t touched someone else voluntarily and without violent intent in… yeah, he doesn’t even know how long. Can’t even remember it, so that speaks volumes about the current situation.

It just feels weird. Like, the guy is nice and all, bit of a smug asshole but who isn’t, but basically hugging the guy?

Hm.

For fuck’s sake, pull yourself together, you’re making a big deal out of bullshit. It’s for fucking practical purposes, not a fucking cuddle session.

He slots in behind the man and shoves his stiff fingers into the folds of his jacket. His shoulders are at his ears and he’s just a bit too aware of the space between his chest and Todd’s back, but at least he won’t fall off now.

Todd pulls his helmet down and slaps the visor in place. Then he leans forward and starts the bike.

They take off and Katsuki immediately gets why Todd insisted on the touching. The acceleration on this thing is crazy.

Todd aims at a wall and Katsuki is two seconds away from jumping off and hoping for the best when the wall just splits open and reveals a tunnel winding upwards.

Fucking rich people, seriously.

The tunnel winds upwards slowly, covering a suspiciously long distance Katsuki knows serves only identity hiding purposes. Wayne is so fucking paranoid, really. Like, his shit is in a fucking Cave hidden under his house. Normal people would have a nice false wall or something.

Todd shifts in front of him and pulls his attention to the sudden darkness enveloping them. The tunnel was lit by really warm lamps, but now it’s just black and Todd isn’t slowing down. He’s just gunning straight into the nothing like he doesn’t regularly cosplay as the embodiment of trust issues.

Katsuki’s grip tightens involuntarily and he contemplates hopping off for the second time in as many minutes, which really says a lot about the apparent regard for safe driving Todd holds.

And again, the wall in front just fucking opens, revealing a cloudy sky obscured by tall trees and a weird little path that’s obviously designed to not look like one. Katsuki prays that they won’t hit any trees. Especially at the speed they’re at because this bitch didn’t slow one bit when gunning for the wall. If anything, he sped up. Psycho.

But Todd navigates the forest like he’s been doing it for years, which, yeah, he probably did now that Katsuki thinks about it. Dumbass.

Whatever.

He’s actually a bit grateful for his position right now, namely practically hidden behind Todd’s broad ass back, because it means the bitingly cold wind isn’t shaving off layers of his skin but merely ripping at his clothes like it’s trying to assault him.

Somehow, this is fun. Somehow, the wind and the speed and the slight weightlessness remind him of flying. Not even the unfamiliar sensation of someone else can destroy the memory, only serves as that little bit of warmth usually accompanying it.

They make it out of the woods and Katsuki can just so make out Todd’s voice in the wind. “Hold on, kid, we’re going faster now.”

He clutches onto the jacket with white knuckles and leans forward just a little bit and it still feels like he’s going to be ripped off when Todd somehow puts on even more speed.

He has to bite back a whoop. That’d be cringe, he can’t be caught enjoying himself here, he’d never live it down.

They swerve through the small amount of traffic on the streets and possibly run a red light, but in Todd’s defence, braking would’ve been impossible at that point and they didn’t hit anything, so everything’s fine for sure.

A few minutes later, they’re deep into the actual city of Gotham. At least Katsuki would assume so ‘cause it’s not like he actually knows shit about where he is. Whatever. This is Todd’s trip anyways, he’s the one who needs shit. Katsuki is just here for funsies, definitely not because he has any underlying motives or anything. No, that’d be absurd.

They finally slow in some random street Katsuki doesn’t recognise, pulling over at a glass door leading to a really shady looking shop. Todd puts his feet down and motions for Katsuki to get off first, which he does. Gracefully. Because he’s not an idiot who overestimates the length of his legs. Yes.

He pulls off his helmet and waits for Todd. The guy finishes the thousand little things apparently needed to deposit a motorcycle and turns to him with a grin.

“And? Fun, isn’t it?”

Katsuki grumbles out a vague affirmative with a huff and turns towards the shady shop. He’s about to go in when Todd taps his head. “Beanie, kid. Your hair is a one-way ticket to identity problems.”

He huffs, but complies and pulls the beanie over his already spiky hair. He’ll look like a hopped-up hedgehog when he takes it off. Ugh.

“So, no talking from you for this, okay? That guy is dangerous and I really don’t need you on his blacklist, understood?” Todd warns, suddenly serious again.

Katsuki scoffs. “I’ll do what I want, fuck off. I’m not scared of that bitch.”

“Then be scared of his fucking gun, I don’t care. Just shut your face.” And with that, he pushes through the door and strolls up to the counter like he owns the place, leaving Katsuki no choice but to follow like a little kid trying not to lose its mother.

He wants to punch him.

But Todd is already talking to the guy behind the counter. “I need live-feed cameras. Small and easily hidden, with a long life.”

The guy nods and walks off into the depths of his shop. As soon as he’s out of sight, Katsuki plants his elbow between Todd’s ribs. “Bitch.”

“Shut it,” Todd hisses. “Just wait outside, for fuck’s sake.”

Katsuki is about to protest when it hits him that it’d be the perfect opportunity for his… plans. Yes, he just needs to find a fire escape. He can find Todd again later.

So he huffs and puffs a bit for show, turns around, and walks out with a grin. There wasn’t even a plan and everything is still going accordingly, he’s just that good.

Outside, he has to search for a grand total of one minute before finding a good fire escape, which he promptly uses to get on the roof. It’s not particularly high though, so he’ll need a taller one for the view he’s trying to get.

See, he knows that the city hall is in the city centre. And he knows that the library is at the city centre. And he knows that the city hall is tall enough to be seen for miles. So, if he’s in walking distance to the city centre he should be able to see it and get to it.

And thereby get to the library.

Because those bitches still aren’t giving him a fucking phone.

He makes the leap to another roof, a bit higher but close enough, and makes a slow 360 turn. And there it is. It’s not even all that far, it should be ten minutes by roof max. Ah, the plan, it’s plan-ing.

The way to the city centre may not be long, but fuck if it isn’t exhausting. Like, he barely has enough stamina for a bit of running and now he’s doing fucking parkour over Gotham’s rooftops.

Still, it’s better than anything he could’ve cooked up at the manor today. Thank fuck for Todd and his weird whims.

He drops down in an alley near the library and checks his beanie in a nearby puddle. He really doesn’t need anyone to notice him.

Oh wait. Fuck. What if Barbara Gordon is in?

That’d be, like, worst case scenario. Or not the worst, but worse. A worse case scenario. He’s been having to much luck today, that shit doesn’t happen unless karma is about to bitchslap him like John motherfucking Cena.

Maybe the plan won’t be plan-ing much longer.

But anyways, he didn’t parkour through half of Gotham for nothing. He’ll just be stealthy, maybe put on a scarf or something. Hide in his hoodie, anything. Whatever.

But karma seems to still be warming up because Barbara Gordon isn’t in. Now he just needs to find a new victim to mooch off of.

Ugh. Social interaction with strangers.

He resolves to a bit of stalking when a woman gets up and goes looking for a book without logging out.

She’ll probably be back soon, but this is his chance. He drops in her seat and pulls up google.

‘Bruce Wayne children’.

And there it was. A nice list sorted by years.

If these bitches want to get secretive, that’s their fucking problem.

First one, Richard ‘Richie’ Grayson-Wayne. Orphaned and taken in, loved by many. Now a police officer in Bludhaven.

Jason Todd-Wayne. A street kid, taken in after Richie left, died a few years later.

Timothy Drake-Wayne. A neighbour’s kid. Fuck these stories are weird.

But what’s even weirder is that the others aren’t in the article. It mentions more children, but also says that Wayne is very private about them and that neither names nor origins are known.

Which is inconvenient because how the hell is supposed to find out more about them if he knows none of their surnames.

It may not be a bitchslap, but it does make for a pretty good stubbed toe.

He deletes his history and hides between the shelves on the lookout for a new victim. The woman comes back only a minute later and he internally pats himself on the back. Yes, he’s just that good.

A new opportunity arises when he sees the same granny as last time again. The one with font size 3000. Scamming the elderly isn’t very ethical of him, but neither is living with murderers and he’s been doing that pretty successfully for a while now.

So he asks her again and she doesn’t recognise him at all, but she does give him access again so he’ll let it slide.

And then he googles ‘Gotham duke’ for shits and giggles and finds an article on Duke Thomas, pictures included.

And what do you know, it’s his Duke. Or, like, the Duke. Whatever, the point is, it’s about Duke Thomas as one of the faces of the ‘We Are Robin’ movement and also includes the fact that his parents are insane due to some guy called ‘Joker’. It’s very attention-seeking and also really fucking invasive and Katsuki kinda wants to scrub his brain with bleach after reading it and also destroy it because it’s a level of invasion of privacy he wouldn’t have thought normal civilians would be subjected to.

He doesn’t really want to use this against them. This is, like, trauma and shit. Not something he can use to say ‘hey, trust me for fuck’s sake, I already know too much anyways’ without simultaneously saying ‘you can’t trust me because I will invade your privacy and use your trauma against you’.

Wouldn’t work out well for him if he had to hazard a guess. Even for him that’d be too low.

So he once again has nothing. Great.

How does one make a family of paranoid people with a lot of secrets trust them without revealing their own secrets too much?

Because a lot of his own secrets are already out in the open, but by fucking far not all of them.

What can he tell them? What wouldn’t be too much in the grand scheme of things?

Maybe more facts about his dimension? Things that aren’t personal but maybe interesting to them?

Or things that show he’s capable. Things that show he’s not useless, that he can help them with this.

‘This’ being finding who did this, making them return him and then sending them straight to jail. Because he hasn’t heard shit about that since he ‘moved in’. They all refuse to talk about the case, but he can tell by the vibes that it’s not going well and he fucking knows that he could solve it in three seconds flat if they just fucking told him everything.

If they trusted him.

“What are you doing here?” comes the voice of Barbara Gordon behind him, immediately sending him into a PTSD flashback of Aizawa-Sensei catching him in the training room at night.

Chapter Text

“Um, nothing? Ma’am,” Katsuki answers, fumbling so diabolically he has to take a second to reboot.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Barbara Gordon says with a pointed look at the freshly wiped search history still open on the screen. “Which poor senior citizen are you exploiting this time?”

Ah fuck. Yeah, this ain’t looking good on his resumé.

“Dunno, didn’t ask her name. What about it?” A good offense is the best defence. Or however the saying goes.

“See, that’s kind of against the rules of our institution. But, more importantly, how are you even here?”

Ah, there it is. Who gives a fuck about the rules of this institution when they can instead get all up in Katsuki’s business?

“Walked here? How the fuck else? I ain’t flying yet if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Kid, you’re supposed to be with Jason, not walking around alone. It’s not safe,” she admonishes with a tone you’d expect from a teacher warning a child off throwing chairs around the room. Katsuki knows because that, too, is a tone he’s been on the receiving end of. Like he doesn’t know full well and like that isn’t also the fucking reason he’s doing it, thank you very much.

“Do I look like I give a fuck? Todd was being a pussy and I need information because you morons aren’t giving me any. If some bitch tries to mess with me, they ain’t leaving with all their limbs intact, yeah? I don’t need some asshole to protect me,” Katsuki explodes.

He’s sick and tired of these bitches trying to keep him in fucking bubble wrap and the fucking dark just ‘cause he lost a bit of blood and bone integrity. He’s done this shit before and withholding information was never the way. And neither was keeping the best fucking fighter off the battlefield, thank you very much.

But Barbara Gordon just looks at him all blank and then jerks her head towards the reception. “We’re in public. If you want to talk about this, you need to come to the back with me.”

And then she wheels off and Katsuki doesn’t really have any choice but to follow because what the fuck else is he gonna do? Google some more useless shit? Sit and read fucking Twilight. Yeah no, fuck that. ‘Cause that right there almost sounded like answers, he’d gladly take a verbal beatdown a la Sensei if he’s gonna get some fucking information out of it.

They end up in a small office space with a lockable door where Barbara Gordon immediately turns to him and tilts her head in a way Katsuki can’t really interpret.

“So. You ran away from Jason in the city with the highest crime rates in America, which on top of that contains the person who got you and a bunch of corpses here, and ended up in a library to exploit a senior citizen… for what? What did you need to google that bad?”

“You know damn fucking well that I’m not getting any intel from you. Any of you. Y’all are more fucking secretive than the fucking government and it’s about me. It’s about my life and my fucking universe and my goddamn future and I want to have a fucking say in it! I want to know what the fuck is going on, I want to help! I’m a Pro-fucking-Hero, for fuck’s sake, I know what I’m doing! So just fucking drop the act and either prove that you trust me or leave me the fuck alone! I’m not staying in your fucking house if it’s just gonna be a fucking prison!”

His hands are sparking. He wasn’t planning on blowing up like this, but the more he said the more he recognised that he was, in fact, feeling like that. He is mad. Genuinely angry. He’s told them often enough and they’re still pussying around. Still handling him with kid gloves.

“Kid, you’re talking about trust, but I don’t even know your name. You say we should tell you everything, but you ran away from Jason at first opportunity. You’re an absolute wildcard and probably need therapy just as much as we all do, but you would have nothing to lose in outing us because you have a home that isn’t that house. If we made you feel like it was a prison then we’re sorry about that, but you haven’t exactly proven yourself a rational person who can be in charge of their own wellbeing.”

“Because I’m fucking fine! I know what I’m fucking doing! For fuck’s sake, I’ve been training for this since I was four years old! DON’T FUCKING TREAT ME LIKE A FUCKING BABY!”

“But you are a child. A child healing from mortal injuries. We don’t-“

“ARE THOSE INJURIES IN MY FUCKING BRAIN? NO! I CAN STILL FUCKING THINK! JUST FUCKING TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT THE PERSON WHO DID THIS TO ME!”

“Nothing. We know practically nothing. But if we did, you’d just try to go after them. And we can’t have that, so-“

“I. Don’t. Care. I don’t give a flying fuck about what you can or can’t have. I want to-“

“It’s not always about what you want, kid. Sometimes it’s about what’s best for you and right now, that is rest.”

“I don’t need fucking rest! I’ve done nothing else for a fucking eternity, I need to work! I need to fucking do something!”

“Then do something with your s- with the others. Don’t kill yourself and possibly others just because you’re bored.”

“It’s not about boredom! It’s about you pussyfooting around like I’m gonna blow like a fucking timebomb!”

“Aren’t you just that? Plus, you just blew up at me, so I think that debate is settled.”

“I-“

Fuck. Yeah, he practically invited that one.

Still.

“You-“ – he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Babs? Please tell me he’s still with you,” comes the voice of Jason fucking Todd through the door.

“Yeah, he is.” She opens the door and Todd rushes in with a bit of a frantic look.

“For fuck’s sake, what the hell were you thinking?! I told you to stay outside and what do I find there when I come back? Not you, that’s for fucking sure!” he fumes and stalks towards him like he’s about to punch his fucking lights out.

Which, hell yes, no kid gloves, but also fuck no because that guy is a fucking tank and the office is a bit too small for Katsuki’s usual manoeuvres.

And then Todd’s hands land on his shoulders and his brain short-circuits. That is… not the expected outcome. Or the desired one. Or any outcome at all because where the fuck are the consequences? His mother would be three miles deep into a screaming match and a list of chores by now.

“Don’t do that again, okay kid? ‘Cause I’d never live it down if I managed to get you killed,” Todd borderline begs, his grip tightening for just a moment.

“I won’t get myself killed, fuckface. I’m not weak, I don’t need someone else to protect me.”

“Ah, but it sure fucking helps, doesn’t it? You may not need it, but it can’t really hurt either.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop treating me with fucking kid gloves. I’m trained for this, I can help. Just tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Kid-“

“I’m not a fucking kid! I’m sixteen.”

“Yes, sixteen. Not an adult. Therefore, a kid. Or do you want me to call you by name when someone else is there?”

Barbara Gordon butts in with a very strong stinkeye in Todd’s direction. “You know his name?”

Todd rolls his eyes. “Yes, he told me. Because I told him some shit. You know, because trust is a two-way street? He asked me not to tell you all.”

‘Trust is a two-way street.’

Fuck.

The guy’s not wrong. He just really hasn’t been treating it that way, has he? Barbara Gordon did make some good points.

Maybe it’s not about him knowing about them, but more them knowing about him. Less about him proving that them hiding is useless, but more about proving that he won’t hide either.

Fuck, he’s been a hypocrite. He’s been doing the exact fucking thing he despises.

It settles a disgusting feeling in the base of his throat. That annoying wrongwrongwrong he’s uncomfortably familiar with. Guilt. He hates guilt. It means that he fucked up. It means that he isn’t good enough. It means that he did something wrong. And that is the penultimate sin.

This is his fault.

And now he has to do something about it.

“My name is Bakugou Katsuki. Or, like, Katsuki Bakugou by your weird ass Western rules.”

They both freeze, before Barbara Gordon turns to him with one of those half-smiles. “Katsuki. You don’t seem like a Katsuki.”

Um, what the fuck? Bitch?

“Do you know Kanji? No? Then shut the fuck up, it fits perfectly.”

Todd snorts. “Pretty sure it’s the ‘Kat’ in front that doesn’t fit. You have more feral chihuahua vibes.”

“The fuck? No the fuck I don’t. You have stupid ass vibes, mine are perfectly fucking great.”

Barbara Gordon chuckles. “I was going more for the fact that Western tradition usually equates the ‘I’ at the end with cutesy nicknames. Your name basically sounds cute to me. The ‘Kat’ in front is just a bonus.”

Cute? Cute?! He’s gonna fucking show them cute, these bitches won’t fucking dare to call him that again.

“I am not fucking cute, assholes. Or a fucking dog. I’m gonna fucking kill you, for fuck’s sake!”

“Chill, Tsuki. You don’t have to-“

“Don’t you fucking dare. I am not a Tsuki. No nicknames. Either Katsuki or Bakugou. Or Odysseus. But if you fucking try to shorten my name I will blast your fucking head off your neck.”

“Is that, like, a culture thing or more of a you thing?”

“It’s none of your business, is what it is. So shut your face. Just don’t do it. I hate nicknames.”

“Dude, you’ve been calling us nothing but nicknames this whole time. Don’t think you ever referred to anyone by their own name,” Todd points out.

Goddamn fucking hypocrisy here to bite him in the ass forever, for fuck’s fucking sake. Ugh.

“Fuck you. I don’t care. Deal with it.”

Barbara Gordon sends Todd a conspiratory smile. “I’ll look up the Kanji and the culture. I’ll let you know.”

Todd smirks, then turns around and unlocks the door again. “Thanks, Babs. Kiddo, we’re buying the spices now. And if you run away again, I will tell the whole family that your name is Tsuki.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Hey Katsuki. Can I share your name with the others or do you want to do that yourself?” Barbara Gordon pipes up when Katsuki goes to close the door behind him.

“I don’t care, do what you want. I’m not gonna go around introducing myself if that’s what you mean.”

“Then I will inform B. He’ll deal with the rest. Bye, have fun on your shopping trip,” she grins.

“Fuck off, it’s not a shopping trip,” he growls back and follows Todd out of the library.

The motorcycle is parked in an alley nearby and for a second, Katsuki wonders how it hasn’t been stolen yet. Then he decides that he really doesn’t give a flying fuck since it’d be Todd’s problem if it was.

“So, the spice shop is in Crime Alley near your dump site. I want to place the cameras there and-“

“Wait. You’re telling me this shit’s been happening for months and you’re placing cameras now?! Like, that idea hasn’t come up before?!”

Todd sighs. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m telling you. Until now, we’ve been trying to catch him in action, but that obviously isn’t working, so we’ll have to risk tipping him off if that means we get any clues.”

“Y’all are so fucking stupid, seriously.”

“Oh shut it, I don’t see you with any better plans:”

“That’s because you aren’t telling me squat. I’d have this shit solved in three seconds flat if y’all weren’t such pussies.”

“Pft, yeah for sure. Because you’ve been such a poster child for thorough thinking.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Kid, you just ran around alone in Gotham. While injured. You fought that fucking Nomu thing while injured. You-“

“And I won, so who gives a fuck. Pussies, see?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if this is how Dickie felt then I get why he fled to fucking Bludhaven. You and the Demon Brat should be best fucking friends.” He hands Katsuki his helmet and puts on his own, then he fiddles with the bike again. “Hop on.”

Katsuki does. And buries his hands in the folds of Todd’s jacket again.

The drive is significantly shorter this time but still contains a kind of unnecessary amount of traffic violations. Like, that red light did not need to be run. But whatever, Todd’s bike, Todd’s problem.

They reach the spice shop and this time Katsuki is even allowed to talk. Shocker, yeah. He definitely abuses that privilege.

It’s just that some of these spices have really fucking great names. Like, Cumin? How the fuck is he supposed to not comment on that?

But the store does actually have some good shit. At some point he just gives up on being as annoying as possible because he finds a shelf full of Japanese spices.

How long has it been since he had the time and resources to make his own food?

He misses cooking. He misses Japanese food.

Todd finds him like that, comparing Mirin brands. “What’s that?”

“Mirin. It’s used in Katsudon,” he answers absently.

Wait. Okay. Just… deep breath.

“Think you have any in your kitchen?”

But Todd doesn’t laugh. He just shakes his head and then grabs the one Katsuki likes better out of his hand. “But we can buy some. Alf can learn how to make that Katsu-thing for sure.”

“Oh.” Katsuki breathes out. “I cook. I can do it myself.”

“Yeah? Then you have a mile wide advantage over most of us. I don’t think Dick eats anything other than dry cereal when he’s over in Blud,” Todd jokes and drops the Mirin in the basket already filled with small pots. “Need anything else?”

Katsuki turns away so Todd can’t see the disgusting smile on his face and starts going through the shelf methodically. The other doesn’t say a word and pays at the front without a single look at the admittedly outrageous prices.

Outside, Todd switches the box of cameras in his bike compartment with the bag of spices and then tells Katsuki to stay there.

But Katsuki is neither stupid nor a pussy, so he takes a shortcut. He knows the area well enough thanks to his brief stint as a homeless person. No wonder everything is so run down here if the place is called Crime Alley. And obviously he had to be dumped here.

Fucking ironic.

He rounds the last corner and walks into the alley without a second thought. He’s not a fucking pussy.

Maybe he should have been though. Maybe he should have just waited at the bike.

Because then his stomach’s contents would still be… well, contained in his stomach. Not splattered all over the wall next to the dumpster.

The body is… fuck, it’s bad. Bad bad.

It’s a woman. Or a person with long hair, at least. It’s teal and tangled and matted with blood and a substance Katsuki doesn’t want to identify.

He has to anyways because that substance is practically coating the alley floor. The alley floor where her legs are supposed to be. Instead, there are…. Bile rises again.

It’s entrails. Entrails are leaking out of her, shiny and bloody and also coated in the substance. The tissue. Some of them are fully intact and just… sliding out. Others look like they just popped open like a balloon. Like someone poked them with a sharp object.

He doesn’t really want to come closer. He doesn’t need to look inside. For some fucking reason, he does so anyways. Because some part of him wants to know, wants to be sure.

Well, that part can go to hell. Because it’s visible and it looks horrible.

There’s a hole. A seemingly round hole, like someone took a spear and tried to shove it through that woman like a fucking skewer. It must’ve taken effort. And either didn’t work or was never designed to.

Either she died due the… the chopped off lower half. Or because this… this monster took a fucking spear and skewered her.

He can’t avert his eyes. They’re glued to the literal hole in her body, to the small path carved into her entrails that possibly leads up to her heart.

Something blinks inside.

A red light flickers on and off periodically.

A camera.

There’s a camera in her… in her. In this woman. In this woman with tear tracks on her face and little scars in her palms and pain etched into every crevice of her face.

Katsuki turns around and adds more bile to the disgusting soup coating the alley floor.

Chapter Text

[A tape recorder clicks. A wall comes into frame, covered in metal shelves.]

“Tape 63. Recorded by Dux.”

[Their voice is shaking even through the voice changer, a manic energy to them as they sit down in frame. Their surgical gear is clean and they are fiddling with a small vial.]

“You won’t believe it. I can’t even believe it and I saw it with my own eyes. This is huge. Ladies and gentlemen, Subject 11 is alive. The surveillance project was a success, both in its original purpose and by giving me this.”

[The video is interrupted by a short clip of Subject 11 discovering the camera, stopping when the realisation and horror is visible on his face.]

“See? It’s alive! And that frame… oh, it’s delicious, isn’t it? I-“

[They stop and sit up straight again, clearing their throat.]

“I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, Subject 11 is alive and I need it back. I need to know if it was the formula or some weird coincidence caused by this city. God knows nothing stays dead here. Until then, I won’t waste my resources.”

[They get up and present the vial to the recorder.]

“Also, there’s been progress regarding the elimination. This right here is insulin. Provided the subjects all share this gene, there won’t be any evidence and it should be quick. But… well, it’s expensive and rare. The discovery risk is very large, so it’s only a temporary solution.”

[They come to the recorder.]

“Conclusion: Subject 11 is alive, the surveillance project is a success and I need a permanent solution for the elimination problem. End Tape 63, recorded by Dux.”

[A click. The recording ends.]

.-.

Jason is a chill dude. Despite popular belief. He can do, like, rational behaviour and shit. He’s cold as ice. Chill as the arctic winds. Calm as a lake.

And currently pissed as fuck because why in the fresh hells did that stupid child think it’d be a good idea to return to its dumping site with a precedent of containing exponentially more bodies than last time without an adult. Why.

Because now the idiot is on the fucking camera hidden in the body and Jason would bet his left fucking ass cheek that the person on the other end of it will find that mighty fucking interesting.

Jason has never related to Dick and Bruce this much in his life. It’s a harrowing experience.

Now, on a scale, this situation would rate up there in the seven to eight area. This is because they still have no idea about anything, including the possible consequences of Katsuki being on film. Or rather, Katsuki having been caught in the life feed because that’s what it is. Not even a slight fucking chance that the owner is unaware.

But whatever. Whatever! Because the kid just had to be there, just cannot fucking sit still for one fucking second.

At least he seems to be regretting it just a little bit. He’s been staring at the kitchen wall for about ten minutes now. One has to wonder if he’s never seen a body before. Or rather, what about this one is so disturbing to him.

Currently, B is out there taking care of the body and the cameras, both the one in it and the ones Jason was supposed to distribute in the area. He took Duke with him and Golden Boy is out of town, so that leaves Jason to do emotional triage, which is definitely not in his area of expertise.

If it wasn’t so fucking embarrassing, he’d call Steph and make her deal with this. But she’d never let him live it down so now he has to do this shit. Ugh.

“Kid, what are you thinking?”

Katsuki scoffs. “I’m thinking that I want this psycho in jail.”

Okay, that’s a start. Better than the shit Jason would’ve come up with, which mainly would’ve been murder. How is the kid more well-adjusted than he is?

“But you also realise that you can’t be part of that process, right?” he prods because he knows damn well that the kid doesn’t.

“Fuck that,” Katsuki spits. “I’m not sitting out on this shit. I’m gonna fucking blow the bastard’s head off, I’m not hiding like a fucking pussy!”

Ah, never mind that well-adjusted thing. There’s the murder.

“No. There’s no way in hell you’re not a target to them, not when you were just caught on film,” Jason says, firmly and chilled and rationally because he’s the adult in this situation, okay?

“Yeah, no shit. I don’t give a fuck, let them come,” Katsuki growls because he’s a stupid asshole without a survival instinct and also the child in this situation, so yeah, kind of expected, really.

Fuck.

Anyways. “That’s not the winning attitude here and you know it. What is actually happening is you staying here until the fucker is found, yeah?”

“No. No yeah. I’m not gonna be your fucking prisoner again, I want to-“

“It’s not about what you want! It’s about your life, okay? About your survival. And I’m pretty sure that ranks above your freedom.”

“You fucki-“

“And we’re not fighting about this again. When Bruce comes back, then we can talk again, maybe he has more information.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

Sue him, there’s only so much of this bullshit he can take.

.-.

That fucking fucker. That bitch. That stupid fucking asshole.

How the fuck would he even know? What do they know? What about this case makes him so sure that Katsuki would die if he was taken by the bitch?

(Tear tracks and little scars and a face twisted by pain and fear.)

Okay, stupid question.

But what makes him so sure that Katsuki wouldn’t beat them? No one has fucking seen them, maybe it’s a weak fucking twig. And even if it isn’t, Katsuki is still a fucking Hero, he took on fucking Handsy McFuckface, there’s no way in hell this new idiot is worse than that.

(Entrails and tissue and blood.)

It’s just messier. The outcome is the same, the outcome is a dead person, no matter how they died. No matter how fucking gruesome it is, Katsuki can fucking deal with it, okay? He’s not a pussy, not weak.

And he can prove it.

.-.

Tim is a detective. Tim is smart. Tim knows what he’s doing.

Tim is also on his sixth cup of coffee and third sleepless night and when he turns around to fast he sees the Hatman™. But he’s an acquaintance, a regular occupant of Tim’s mind, so it’s fine.

Still, nobody can find out because then he wouldn’t be allowed on the case anymore and it just became interesting again.

Like, a camera? In the body? That speaks of so many psychological profiles they haven’t taken in account yet. And the make and model could help in regards to the tax bracket. And the body was obviously killed by a person with enough physical strength to ram a literal spear through a whole lot of organ and bone.

See? Interesting. New variables and new clues and also more evidence of human experimentation.

If only everyone else was as smart as him and could see that.

His phone beeps Bruce’s ringtone, the kazoo edition of ‘FREAK’ by Doja Cat, and the notification tells him to come down to the Cave. Probably not alone judging by the sudden movement he can hear on the stairs.

He opens the door and something streaks past him with a suspicious amount of black clothing that tells him Cass is racing Damian. Steph seems to be above that these days, but Tim very much isn’t, so he gives chase.

Behind, he can hear three people at a much more subdued pace, presumably Steph, Jason and Odysseus. Dick is out of town and Babs will probably just be there over video call. And Duke, the lucky guy, was with B.

Tim overtakes Damian on the stairs because he can take three at once, but Cass has also mastered that skill and she has to big of a lead for him to get her. But still better than Damian, so he’ll take it. And rub it in the loser’s face, naturally.

“Still too short for three steps at once? Thought you’d be growing by now.”

“You are a disgrace to the family name, Drake. Such a plebian way to take the stairs should not be graced with any form of reward.”

“Ah, but I won. So how plebian can it really be if Your Highness lost because of it?”

“I did not lose! There was nothing to lose. I did not take part in any form of contention.”

“Oh, so you sprinted down the hallway like the devil was after you for shits and giggles?”

“I was merely aiming to be punctual so as to not to disappoint Father.”

“Oh yes, for sure,” Tim stretches every vowel with the sort of sarcastic scepticism only siblings can inspire and gets ready for a round of wrestling when Bruce, again, puts a stop to the fun with a simple huff.

He immediately has everyone’s attention, including those of the fresh arrivals who didn’t take part in the plebian activities. Then Babs plops up on screen.

“Are you fucking serious, kid?” Interesting first words in this conversation.

The kid in question just glowers back. “I didn’t do shit! Not my fault this psycho decided to dump today.”

“But very much your fault that you were caught on camera! Jason, didn’t you tell him to stay back?”

“Yeah, Babs, I did. Do you think he listens to me?”

“I’m right fucking here and I can make my own decisions, okay? So what if I’m on film, the fuck’s gonna happen? I-“

“You could be killed. What do you mean what’s gonna happen, that shit’s pretty fucking obvious,” Jason interrupts him, turning to Bruce with a look of despair that says the conversation is not a new one.

B sighs and deigns to do his job as the responsible adult. “Odysseus, Jason is right. The person who is doing this will want the only witness dead. You can’t-“

“Been there, done that. I don’t give a fuck. And you’re not telling me what I can and can’t do, okay? You’re not the fucking boss of me.”

“What do you mean? Been there, done that?”

The kid scoffs. “How the fuck do you think I got here? I was fucking dying before I hopped dimensions. That’s probably the only reason I got dumped. Because I already looked dead. Seriously, are y’all not putting anything together here?”

Steph gives him a look. “It’s not like you’re being very forthcoming with your information.”

“I literally told you this, like, a week ago. Do y’all not share anything?”

The fuck? The kid has a point because Tim did not know about this.

B stares at Steph with eyes that promise grounding. “He gave you valuable information like that and you hid it from me?”

“Wait,” Babs chimes in. “Let’s postpone the fighting for later. What do you mean, you died? How does that fit with the other bodies?”

Odysseus sighs. “I don’t know if I really died. It sure fucking felt like that, but that’s not really a guarantee. And I don’t remember anything other than feeling like shit and then waking up in that alley with considerably less injuries and a fucking overall on.”

Oh. Oh wait.

“So, you felt dead, but probably weren’t. But it probably looked that way to the perpetrator, so they dumped you without actually killing you. Considering all the other bodies before had no obvious COD aside from the mutilations, maybe they were all dead before too and just got mutilated by the process. After you came the woman with the eleven hands, also dead and mutilated. That doesn’t fit,” Tim muses aloud. The picture is coming together. Slowly. But it is.

Odysseus swears under his breath. “No, it does. I’m pretty sure she’s from my dimension. That was a textbook mutation quirk. And mine was fucked when I came here, too. Then, with the Nomu, something both dead and alive with quirks, and now this woman. If she fits the pattern, she probably had a mutation quirk of her lower body and the Vil- the- ah fuck, the person who did this just fucked up.”

“Quirk?” Damian asks, thereby sealing Steph’s fate of grounding because B looks downright murderous now.

“Stephanie. Why are we only finding out about these things now?”

Steph flails and points at Jason and Duke. “They knew, too, why am I the only one being accused? I thought Jason would tell you!”

Jason shrugs. “Don’t look at me! Duke just spent plenty of time with you, I was busy.”

“Hey!” Duke squawks. “This is not my fault! We were also busy and Steph is right, you’re the oldest, you should take care of things like that!”

Jason looks like he’s about to launch into a whole plaidoyer on his own behalf when Odysseus interrupts him with a scoff. “Oh my fucking god, no wonder y’all get nothing done, seriously. I’m so fucking glad I’m an only child, this is just pathetic.”

He steps into the semi-circle that usually forms during talks like this and makes eye contact with Babs.

“My name is Katsuki Bakugou, I’m sixteen years old and in my dimension almost everyone has a quirk. Or in your weirdo terms, they’re meta. My quirk is basically Explosions, but when I got here, it was, like, broken. It’s been slowly coming back, just like my looks and the things that make it work. For example, I have an inbuilt protection from flashing lights, which isn’t there right now. I guess the bodies are all from my dimension. Or at least the mutilated ones. And with the way it’s looking right now, it probably won’t be long until whatever comes through next is alive.”

Silence settles. That’s the most he’s said since Tim has known him and also the longest he’s gone without swearing. And also the most information he’s ever dropped. It’s a lot.

For fuck’s sake, he told them his name. Which is weirdly cute, by the way.

“Thank you, Katsuki,” Babs says and smiles at him in a way that suggests whatever just happened was not Katsuki’s own idea.

“If everyone in your dimension is meta and most of the bodies that came here are actually from there, then the objective is getting a meta here. And that sounds a hell of a lot like weaponised people to me,” Tim contributes to the actual point of the conversation.

B shakes his head. “No. You, the two women and the Nomu have the same DNA mutations that suggest your own dimension, but the other bodies are split up in three other categories. You’re not all from the same place.”

“That doesn’t mean those other dimensions don’t have metas or quirks. Maybe the Vill- the- ugh, for fuck’s sake, what do you call those people again in English?”

“Criminal? Perpetrator?” Steph suggests.

“Right, that, maybe they have some other thing they’re looking for apart from quirks that the other dimensions can’t give them. Or they got impatient, I don’t fucking know, but I hate to say that Drake is probably right. It has to be about the quirks.”

Oh sweet satisfaction. The siren sound of ‘he is right’. It captivates. It elevates. Tim’s ego won’t ever see ground level again.

“Okay, Tim, chill. You can jerk off about it later, right now we’re having a fucking revelation,” Steph digs, eyes rolled and ego probably beaten.

“Fuck off,” he claps back. “But ok. How are they doing it? Magic? Technology? A meta themselves?”

Jason shakes his head. “One of the last two. They wouldn’t impale someone like that if they could just do it with magic, that’d be way too much effort. And the camera could’ve just been a surveillance spell if it was a magic user. I say technology.”

“I think meta, that’d make more sense with more metas as a goal. Like, maybe they’re trying to build an army?” Steph opposes.

Cass raises a hand. “I say machine, too. They dumped in the same alley every time, that suggests something not easily movable. A meta could travel all over the city for less risks.”

“What about the camera? What’s that supposed to achieve?” Duke throws in. “Oh, and for the record, I agree with Jason. The afterimages never showed a person doing anything like that.”

Katsuki perks up and gives him a look. “Afterimages?”

“I’m meta,” Duke explains. “It’s a bit complicated, I can tell you later.”

“Okay, so, provided it’s a machine that’s not easily movable, that’d take up space. Uninterrupted space. So, warehouse or container. Or a really fucking lonely person with a big enough apartment,” Tim adds.

“Warehouse, probably. If they were crying, they were making noise. And considering that sicko put a camera in the body, he probably gets off on the pain. It would’ve been heard if it was an apartment or a container,” Katsuki rebukes.

It’s a bit weird. The guy never seemed like it, but he’s actually pretty smart. They just made more progress than they made in the whole month. Granted, mostly because he finally dropped his own information, but also in general.

His thinking patterns really complement the family’s.

“For now, we will operate under the assumption that it’s a machine. Babs, please relay everything to Nightwing. Spoiler, you’re taking the usual patrol tonight. Orphan and Red Robin, you’re looking at warehouses. Anything remote and recently used. Mark down every address and send it to Oracle, she can look for the owners,” Bruce rattles off his orders.

They scatter. Tim has a route to plan, Cass is probably doing the same, Steph’ll start to suit up and the rest really isn’t all that important to Tim right now.

Although Katsuki does look a bit pissed stomping after Jason.

Chapter Text

Great. Fucking great. Intel has been shared, plans have been made, action has been taken.

Katsuki is still on the fucking bench.

These assholes are so fucking stupid and now they're not even using all of their resources.

Like, what’s that about Duke having a quirk? Or being meta or whatever. What’s he doing today? Fucking homework? Like, he’s obviously really fucking useful and they just don’t care.

Well, tough luck because Katsuki does. And he has an idea. Something he can do, a thing he can help with.

But first, he needs to know what exactly the guy can do.

He finds him in the library. Actually, literally doing his homework. Maths, by the way it looks. Fucking pathetic.

“Hey, extra. What’s that about you having a quirk?” He plops down next to him on a chair.

Duke sighs and gives him a look. “Dude, do we really have to do this now? I just need to get this done, promise I’ll tell you after.”

Katsuki gives the book a cursory scan and points at the equation he’s working on. “X equals either 54 or minus 54. Spill.”

“Dude, what? Just like that?” Duke looks at him like he just performed an elaborate blood ritual instead of solving a simple equation.

“Yes, bitch, just like that,” he deadpans. “Now tell me, for fuck’s sake.”

“No way, man. You’re explaining your way and then you’re helping me with the rest,” Duke retorts, like an order.

He gets an incredulous look for his efforts. “I swear to fuck, I will end you, you-“

“Do you want to know or not? I have a small army of siblings, blackmail is my bitch, Katsuki.” And the smug grin on his face says a whole lot about just how far the guy could and would take this.

So. What’s a bit of maths, right?

An hour, that’s a bit of maths. Wanna know how Katsuki knows? Because this fucking bastard made him do it, while explaining all of it to him in an excruciating detail that has Katsuki doubting the American education system even more than he already does, which he wouldn’t have thought to be possible.

But whatever, right? At least Duke’s fucking happy. Smiling like he won a fucking Oscar. Bitch. There will be retribution. And it will be painful. This man is going to suffer like no man has ever suffered before and Katsuki will be enjoying every single second with an unprecedent amount of glee.

But there’s intel to gather and a mission to execute first.

“Now tell me. Or I blow it sky-fucking-high and you can start again.”

And the guy has the gall to look genuinely betrayed about it. “Um. Uncalled for? But whatever, chill out. I’ll tell you. But I’m hungry, can we do it in the kitchen?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry the fuck up.”

“Sweet,” he smiles and practically sprints towards the stairs. Katsuki follows at a more reasonable pace, if he does say so himself. Dignity doesn’t seem to be a value this house holds in high regards.

He finds him half buried in a specific cupboard, trying to pry out the back by the way it looks.

“This is where Alfie keeps the real good shit, dude. The others don't know about it, but I guess I owe you now, so enjoy, man.” And he chucks a box behind him that Katsuki only catches before it brains him because he has superior reflexes.

He opens it to find a weirdly bread shaped lump that practically reeks of banana. The smell is so strong Duke perks up in the cupboard. “That's the banana bread, right? Sharing is caring, man, it’s enough for both of us for sure.”

He doesn’t even wait for an answer before fiddling with the false back again and emerging from the storage. He plucks the box from Katsuki’s hands and jumps up onto the counter.

“So, what d’you wanna know?” he asks and crams a piece of the banana abomination into his mouth.

“What do you mean by afterimages? What’s your quirk?” To establish dominance, Katsuki grabs an even bigger piece from the box and starts picking it into civilised pieces.

“I’m photo kinetic. I assume you know what that means. But I also get these visions, like afterimages. It’s, like, where light has been these last few minutes. It’s not very clear and definitely no TV quality, but it’s useful with things like crime scene analysis.”

Oh. Damn, that’s actually great for his purposes.

“So what did you see in the alley?” he prods.

Duke chews and swallows. “Just one person. Not very physically big or anything, but they still managed to get the body there alone. I guess with half of it missing that’s not all that crazy though.”

Katsuki blinks.

Duke stills and scratches behind his ear. “Sorry, that was tactless. I put my foot in my mouth around you a lot, huh? Sorry, man. Wait, do I get to call you Katsuki now?”

“Whatever. Do what you want, not my problem.” That sounded almost like the guy’s comment affected him, which is definitely not the fucking case, so he adds, “And if it gets you to stop with the ‘dude’, then yes. Definitely.”

Duke snorts. “That was almost a joke, man, be careful. You’ll lose your reputation if you go soft on me now.”

“Fuck off. How far back does your vision reach?”

His nose scrunches. “Not that far, just a few minutes, why?”

“I want to go back to the alley, see if you dumbasses missed anything.”

He can immediately see in Duke’s face that he shouldn’t have explained himself. The guy is way too into the whole authority figure thing, there’s no way he’ll let Katsuki go without tattling on him.

“Um, no? B said you need to stay here, you’re on tape, remember?”

And there it is. But that’s his fucking problem, tough luck, bitch.

“I don’t care. Y’all just proved that you’re too fucking stupid to deal with this, so I need to make sure that we're at least clear on that front.”

“Well, what are you hoping for? What d’you think we’re gonna find?”

Interesting use of a plural there, considering the protest just now. Maybe he can be persuaded.

“I dunno, something. Anything. There has to be something. Like, how is the- the criminal getting the bodies from this secluded location to the alley? Why is the fucker dumping there? Why not switch it up? It’s stupid and risky, so there has to be a reason.”

Duke side eyes him. “You don’t need to get out there to do some research, we can just use the Cave for little things like that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scoffs. “You’ve been keeping the Internet so far away from me it might as well be in my own fucking dimension, how the fuck else am I supposed to do research?”

“Ah yeah, sorry. But it’ll definitely be fine with me there, so let’s just stay here, yeah?”

Katsuki kinda wants to punch the fucker. Just a little.

“No fucking promises. But I want in on that fucking computer, so hurry it up, banana boy,” he mocks and pushes off of the counter, sneaking one last piece of the annoyingly good abomination.

“Banana boy?” Duke snorts. “That one’s weak, man, gotta get more creative.”

“Fuck off, sunshine,” Katsuki tries.

Duke shakes his head in disappointment. “Now you just sound like you’re trying to flirt with me. Just stick with banana boy, at least that one has funny connotations.”

Oh fuck. Ew. His grimace must be extra funny because Duke actually, honest to god cackles while he drops the empty box in the sink. “Ah man, you should see your face. Be so fucking glad you haven’t dealt with anyone of us drunk yet, it’s honestly a bit gross. Like, we’re all adopted so it’s not completely weird, but Dick on tequila is literally just disgusting.”

Katsuki doesn’t really want to think about it. Every time Dunce Face had tried to flirt with anyone he’d almost retched in a bush and he’s not even related to the idiot.

He follows Duke towards the Cave, half listening to his inane chatter and half overthinking his plan again. With access to a good computer there are so many new opportunities, including an actual fucking map of this godforsaken city.

“Oh by the way, what did you want to look up? Like, is this important or do we need to exorcise the search history afterwards?” Duke pipes up.

“You’re a fucking pervert, asshole,” Katsuki hisses. “Get your fucking mind out of the gutter, what are you, twelve?”

“Sixteen, dude, same as you,” he grins back. “By the way, how come you can do my math homework so easily if we’re the same age?”

“Ever considered you’re just stupid?” Katsuki snaps.

“Ha, ha. No, seriously, does the future have, like, info microchips so you don’t have to learn shit? ‘Cause that’d be really fucking cool, man.”

“Oh my god, you’re actually a moron. It’s called studying, idiot. And an education system that is not the fucking American one, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, chill, man. Don’t gotta act all high and mighty about your future Japanese education.” He raises his hands, but the grin on his face says it’s a joke.

“Whatever. Where’s the fucking computer?”

Duke bounds down a walkway over a pit that doesn’t have railings and Katsuki knows that Wayne isn’t all that concerned about child safety, what with the vigilantism and all, but this would still be a really fucking stupid way to lose a family member.

“Over here. Dick dubbed it the Batcomputer when he first started out.”

“That’s a stupid ass name.”

“Yeah, he kinda did it to everything and now it’s stuck that way. Like, this is the Batcave, over there’s the Batmobile, B throws Batarangs, you get it.”

“Fuck, I knew he was an idiot, but that’s just fucking pathetic.”

“Meh, he was a kid, so it’s excusable.”

“How fucking young do you have to be to think that’s funny?”

“Pretty sure he was, like, nine? At least when Bruce took him in. Dunno if he immediately started.”

“Nine. He was fucking nine.”

“Ah yeah, forgot you had a problem with all of that. Bruce didn’t really want him to start either, but he wanted revenge and it was more of a supervision situation than a choice, you know. Dick would’ve done it either way, B just made sure he didn’t get himself killed.”

Katsuki can get behind that on some level. On Dick’s specifically. Wayne is still on thin ice. But it makes a little more sense. A little.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. What’s the password?” He plops down in the stupidly large chair in front of the computer and makes a vague gesture for Duke to work his magic.

The guy bends over the keyboard like Katsuki is a bratty five-year-old trying to sneak its mother’s phone PIN and starts tapping away. Katsuki jabs him between the ribs out of principle. Duke yelps and kicks the chair away and Katsuki almost rolls face first into a desk.

He’s about to push himself away and trip the bitch when his eyes catch on a pile of pictures scattered over the tabletop. Or more specifically, they catch on the blood splatters in them. A ton of pictures of the same alley with varying evidence of countless crimes.

Some are worse than others. Some inspire the same feelings in him as the body did. But the one that really catches his eyes doesn’t even have gore. It’s a shot of two children, just lying there. They’d almost look peaceful if it weren’t for the countless little things wrong.

The waxy, too pale skin. The glassy eyes that aren’t focused but also not closed. The posture, just a little too stiff, just enough to make it obvious that they aren’t relaxed, aren’t sleeping.

It radiates death in a way the other pictures don’t.

“Hey, what did you want to look up?” Duke’s voice comes from behind him, oblivious.

Katsuki swivels his chair and gets up. “You didn’t say there were children.”

Duke tilts his head. “Um, yeah. Thought that was a given, what with you being sixteen and so on.”

“I’m not a child. But these were – what – seven? Like, babies. Fucking toddlers. That fucker killed toddlers.” His voice is a bit mechanical. Lacks all of the rage that should be behind those words.

Duke nods. “Yeah. But we’ll get them into Arkham. Won’t enjoy life in there much, I can guarantee you that.”

“Yeah.” He stares at the screen for a few seconds, then pulls up a map of Gotham. “Where’s the alley and where are the warehouses?”

Duke grabs the mouse and circles the alley in blue, then the warehouse district in orange. There isn’t necessarily much distance between them, but still more than a single person could logically carry any kind of body, regardless of weight.

“Oh, by the way, you said only one bitch of average built, but you’ve been saying ‘them’. Why?” Katsuki asks.

Duke sends him a sideways look. “Um, you know. Referring to a singular person of unknown gender. Is that not a thing in Japanese?”

“I know what the fucking singular they is, I’m not stupid, I just wanted to make sure. Not like y’all have been sharing much. So you don’t know what they could be? You’ve seen them though, right?”

Duke sighs. “I told you, it’s not exactly TV quality and they looked, like, really average. Not very tall, not very short, not very broad, not very thin, you get what I’m saying, right?”

“Ugh, so fucking useless, really,” Katsuki groans. “Ok, how were they moving? Slowly? Rushed? Did they seem nervous?”

“Dude, you trying to psychoanalyse them, or what?”

“Just fucking spill, moron.”

“Okay, okay! Chill, my god.” He squints at the ceiling. “I guess they were pretty fast, but, like, sure about it? Like they were taking out the trash on a schedule, you know. Efficient.” He groans. “What’s this even supposed to accomplish?”

“As soon as your dumbass siblings have a list of addresses, I’m gonna see if any people turn up there. And if they do and seem like they have some shit to do with it, then y’all will be damn grateful for any kind of psychological profile we have.”

“We already have one. A profile.”

“Was it made by Drake?”

“Um, yeah?”

“There you have it. The guy’s convinced it’s human experimentation, he’s blind.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that…”

“I bet you my fucking ball sack that there’s at least one reference to mad scientists in there.”

“I- yeah sure. Whatever. Not even gonna touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“Oh fuck off. Whatever, I’m fucking right, okay? So you’ll leave me the fuck alone so I can put together a psychological profile and then take that fucker down. Now.”

Duke flips him off, but does as told with an eyeroll, leaving him alone with a large pile of pictures, documents and the screen. He digs a paper map from the bottom of the pile and circles the alley and the district.

A door slams in the distance and a feral grin stretches on his face.

Oh, the sweet sensation of being a stranger.

.-.

Jason was almost fucking asleep when it happened. He could’ve had a nice night. He could’ve had some good sleep in his old room at the manor and everything would’ve been fine.

Right?

Right.

Fucking wrong, apparently.

His door slams open and the silhouette of Duke appears in the frame. “Jason, we have a problem.”

Of fucking course. As always.

He wants to punch something.

“What,” he growls, sitting up and squinting at the guy stupid enough to interrupt his sleep.

Duke slaps the light switch. Then ducks to dodge the pillow hurled at him. Half hiding behind the doorframe, he gestures for Jason to get up. “Katsuki is gone. I swear, I left him for, like, a millisecond to get snacks and when I got back to the Cave he was gone.”

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

Duke shrugs and then mumbles something into the doorframe.

“What is it. I swear to fuck, how could you have fucked this up any more.” He gets up and pulls on the first hoodie he can find, searching the room for any kind of pants.

“He, um, he might have… your bike is missing too,” Duke grits out. Then he makes a break for it.

“YOU FUCKING MORONIC, BRAINLESS DUMBASS! I WILL STRING YOU UP LIKE FRESH MEAT! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MY BIKE IS MISSING!”

He pulls on a random pair of jeans and gives chase.

He gets to him in the entrance hall. Duke dodges his tackle and slips into the study, but unlucky for him the clock always takes a bit, so he’s only prolonging his suffering. And oh, how he will suffer.

The stupid idiot not only let the really fucking endangered kid escape, no, he did it from a room containing a ton of weapons and information and Jason’s fucking bike.

They’d be lucky to see either of those again. For fuck’s sake, the kid doesn’t even know how to drive a motorcycle. With their luck they’ll probably find him in some ditch with a totalled bike wrapped around him.

Or even better, they won’t find him at all because the psycho already got to him and destroyed the bike for fun.

Duke is dead meat. If it isn’t Jason, then it’ll be Babs. He can wave the ability to walk goodbye.

“Duke motherfucking Thomas.” He throws open the door.

The aforementioned has wisely placed himself behind the large desk that’s mostly an alibi. “Jason fatherfucking Todd.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“Sometimes, yeah.” At Jason’s look he sighs. “Look, he seemed fine. Like, all adult and shit. Reasonable. I’m sorry, man, please don’t maim me.”

The clock clicks and swings open.

“We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Admittedly, the bike was a bit harder to figure out than Katsuki thought. Like, starting it while staying upright was unnecessarily hard. It was obviously made for Todd’s freakishly long legs, although it did work out with a bit of acrobatics.

And he hasn’t crashed yet. So suck it, Todd.

Currently, he’s working his way towards the centre of Gotham. It’s Todd’s number plate, so he’s running every red light he can because he lost an embarrassing amount of time in the forest, doing his best not to eat pavement-slash-undergrowth-slash-bark. And even if he does get pulled over, which is unlikely considering this city’s attitude towards crime, he doesn’t exist here and his record is already fucked anyways, so really, who gives a fuck?

In the end, this whole thing is really fucking easy. He’s not stupid. He knows how this works and he has learned from his mistakes. He’s tired of this stupid waiting game, of the way they just sit there and hope a good enough clue just fucking falls into their lap so they can swoop in and end everything fucking lemon-squeezy. Because that’s not how this shit works and they know it. They’re just trying to keep him out.

Well, tough luck, because Katsuki’s not an amateur. He knows his shit.

The easiest way to get to someone is to make them come to you.

And what better way to do that than to use bait.

This whole thing is supposed to work similarly to the whole training camp incident, except he doesn’t end anyone’s career. He has a tracker in the bike’s compartment that he’ll turn on and carry wherever he goes. That way, they won’t be searching too long if things do go south.

He doesn’t plan them to. No, if everything works out optimally he will have that fucker on the floor before the family even notices he’s gone. But, as made obvious by this universe, nothing ever goes his way, so he’ll need a backup plan that sadly depends on the capability of a bunch of morons.

A bunch of morons who have somehow managed to make him trust them enough to do this. Like, they’re not completely incompetent, that much is obvious. They’re basically carrying the whole justice system of the city on their back, that has to count for something, right?

He can do this and if it somehow turns out he can’t, then he knows with full certainty that there’s no person in this dimension he trusts more to help him than Todd.

And isn’t that a revelation. That bitch somehow managed to place himself smack-dab behind Katsuki’s walls and he’s holding the fucking torch for his family. If he isn’t careful fucking Wayne’s gonna land on his list of respectable people. Armageddon is imminent.

Yeah no, he’s not thinking about this anymore. He’s almost there anyways, there’s more important shit to do than ponder the trustability of Bruce fucking Wayne aka the Batman.

Now, figuring out how to stop this thing without either crashing or faceplanting diabolically.

He slows in front of the alley and swings a leg over the back before he’s fully stopped. It’s far from elegant, but it works and he only has to catch the bike slightly when it starts listing. He’s even managed it without another scratch, an accomplishment in and of itself.

He pushes down the little thingy that makes the bike stay upright and starts rooting around in the compartment. It’s not his fault Duke left him alone in a room full of wonderful weapons ripe for the taking, an opportunity is an opportunity.

The tracker and a gun go into his pants, a knife goes up his sleeve, and a pack of something he presumes to be flashbangs is shoved into his pockets.

If he just had his fucking Molotovs right now.

But whatever. His quirk is on its way, maybe he’ll have a rare stroke of luck in there.

Now armed and dangerous as ever, he stomps into the alleyway. Subtlety was never in the cards for this one.

He breathes in and prays to whatever deity is still willing to entertain him that he won’t have to find another body. It’s not like he’d be a coward and peace out, but it would be really fucking convenient if he wasn’t about to puke his guts out when he confronts the bitch. You know how it is. Bit hard to kick ass when your own body is kicking yours.

In the end, it’s a bit anticlimactic. There’s literally nothing in the alley, it’s as rancid and lonely as it was when he woke up here. Not even some kind of message, or like, at least less guts slash tissue. Just as disgusting as last time, only minus the actual body.

He doesn’t even know what he really expected, but somehow this is still disappointing. Fucking naïve, really, why would this just fall into his lap? Why would it be easy?

No, fuck no, as always, he’ll have to do the work himself. Fucking asshole.

So, where to start?

It’d be really fucking awkward if he bumped into one of the patrolling bats right now, so he’ll just take a look at the neighbourhood and hope that the bitch is competent enough to notice him prancing around their territory.

It’s looking grim though. The neighbourhood isn’t particularly good, it’s a fucking garbage ditch to be exact, but there are still too many people to make extensive torture a subtle hobby. Katsuki knows because he’s collecting side eyes left and right by people, who, frankly, don’t have any right to judge.

But when in doubt, climb something high, that’s the motto that’s been carrying the last few weeks and it won’t disappoint now. At least it better not, or Katsuki’s gonna crash out.

He scales a random fire escape and studies the surrounding roofs. Most of them look decrepit as fuck, some are downright health hazards, and a few probably gave the residents asbestos poisoning. None of them look particularly soundproof.

Fucking fuck.

Okay, think. Duke said a singular person, that means either a perimeter of maybe a mile at most or the whole fucking city because normal people own a car and don’t start carrying bodies through the city. But he also said that he didn’t see a car in his weird visions, so the guy had to have parked a bit further away.

Maybe someone has seen something. A suspicious car, a guy with a suitcase, someone with a fucking body bag, fucking anything. Time to actually earn those side eyes.

He stops the first guy who looks like he regularly hangs here and gestures at the alley. “Hey, did you see a car park here a few times for maybe five minutes this last month?”

The guy stares for a solid three seconds. “Man, the fuck you on about? I ain’t seen shit, swear to God.”

“Whatever, fuck you too, I guess,” Katsuki retorts and goes on the hunt for another victim.

Another dude is sitting at the corner and he looks like he hasn’t really left it in a long time. Perfect.

“Hey you, in the last month, ever seen a car park here for a few minutes and bring something into that alley?”

He takes a few seconds to look up and focus on Katsuki. “I-. Um, no. Haven’t been here that long.”

“What about a few days ago? Yesterday? Anything at all?” he tries again.

“A few. A lot of people live here. Some vans, a few minis, there even was a Camaro at one point. Got stolen though,” the guy recounts.

“Fuck. Yeah, thanks or whatever.”

He tries again, a woman this time. They’d probably pay more attention to suspicious vehicles.

“Hey, lady, seen a suspicious car here lately?”

The woman looks at him and breaks down into giggles.

“Um, you good?” he asks, trying to catch her eyes. When he manages to, he finds the pupils to be the size of fucking dinner plates.

“I’m fuckin’ fantastic, mate,” she cackles, and then she pukes straight at the wall.

“Obviously,” he mutters and then pulls a strategic exit. A drug addict won’t be the dependable source he’s looking for.

So he’s right where he started from. Fucking figures. And he wasted so much time he’ll probably be caught soon.

He slouches back into the alley and stares at the far wall. There’s still the outline of his puke there, together with a few repulsive smears. Without the knowledge of what happened it could look like someone threw condiments at the bricks.

The tissue rests don’t reach very high up the wall. Neither does the puke. The stains above must be from something else. There’s a splatter that could have been blood, probably someone being shot straight through the head. It’s at head height at least. Katsuki wouldn’t know, he’s never seen someone being shot like that outside of movies.

Until a few weeks ago he hasn’t seen many violent deaths at all. Handsy McFuckface was always almost PG. Fuck, it’s come that far. Fucking Shigaraki suddenly seems PG and the guy’s a fucking horror movie extra.

There’s a water stain a few metres above the blood splatter, probably from the building itself. Katsuki can’t see all of it because the sun is setting. The shadows of the alley are becoming larger, filling more than just the corner.

The corner with a blinking red light. A light just so swallowed by the darkness, only really visible because he’s looking.

And boy is he looking. That’s the fucking clue he needed. He knows for a fact that Todd didn’t really get to place his cameras, so that thing has to come from the criminal.

Problem is, how the fuck’s he gonna get to that thing? The alley doesn’t exactly contain a ladder.

It does contain a dumpster though. It isn’t well-placed for his purposes but it’s probably movable. Disgusting, but he’s not a wimp who gets hung up on shit like that.

A few minutes and new backpain later he climbs up onto the lid and reaches for the camera. He has to stretch and get on his tiptoes, but he manages. He rips it off the brick and examines it.

First thing he notices is that it looks new. New and shiny and like someone fiddled with it. Expensive, too. There’s no brand on it though.

It’s still blinking.

Something collides with the back of his head and his vision goes dark.

.-.

Jason wants to hit something.

Not only is his bike gone, but his gun is too. That fucking child really just stole his most prized possessions and fucked off into the distance without even a fucking thank-you.

If the street or its inhabitants don’t kill him then Jason will. Violently.

But that’ll have to wait because first they’ll have to find the fucker. B has been informed, Duke has been lectured and grounded, the family has been gathered. Or rather, the remaining family has been gathered and the patrolling members have been informed.

Steph, Cass and Tim aren’t really supposed to deviate from their routes all that much, just in case they hear something or find the actual place the criminal is working from, but Duke, Jason and Bruce will split up and go looking where Katsuki would most likely go.

Duke gets the alley, Jason the library and Bruce is taking to the rooftops.

At least that was the plan until Babs noticed that Katsuki took a tracker with him and that he just turned it on. It places him smack-dab in front of the alley he woke up in and Jason wants to strangle him.

Why does that fucking child think he can do their job better than them? They’ve been over this shit a million times, have been working on it for a fucking month, there’s no feasible fucking way they missed anything, and he’s still checking it all like he’s a teacher specifically looking for even the smallest of mistakes. It’s such a stupid fucking risk for essentially even less than nothing and if he’d just fucking listen to his family then it wouldn’t fucking happen and he wouldn’t be in fucking danger and they wouldn’t have been about to start a citywide fucking search for what could very fucking well be his fucking body because the guy he’s looking for is very obviously really fucking dangerous and-

“JASON!”

He blinks. The green haze on the Cave recedes a little and makes way for Duke’s eyes. His eyes are wide in worry and he looks like he’s about to shout again.

“Chill, it’s me,” Jason placates before he can burst his eardrums. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re worried. But you have to keep your head or this becomes as dangerous for you as it is for him,” Bruce reprimands.

“It fucking isn’t though. He’s the one that psycho wants and I’m armed and dangerous. He has a gun he doesn’t know how to shoot, a knife he can’t really do shit with and a few flashbangs. If that stupid fucking child would just fucking listen to me instead of running off on his own, I swear to fuck, I’m gonna fucki- “

“Now you know how I feel,” Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, we know where he is so this doesn’t have to be a full search-and-rescue mission. Are you good to go or do you need to cool off?”

“I’m going.”

Bruce sighs again. “Are you going to kill or maim him as soon as you lay eyes on him?”

“I’m going to rip him a new one, Bruce, if you count that as maiming that’s your thing. But he’s my-“ he stocks- “he’s my responsibility. I found him so I’m going to set him straight.”

“Just don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t fucking hurt him, B. I can fucking control myself and you know it.”

“The Pit just took control for a second, Jason. You know how that ended last time with one of your siblings.”

“Fuck you. You fucking know why and you know why it won’t fucking happen again, so shut up about shit you have no fucking business yapping about.”

“Jason-“

“No.”

And that’s the end of that.

Stomping towards his second bike, he shakes off the green again and grabs his helmet. Fuck this whole thing, that kid’s gonna get a fucking earful when he’s safe back at home. There’s no fucking way anyone will let him out of their sights again when they’re done here.

Why is this happening again? Another sibling targeted, another-

Wait.

Wait a fucking second.

Sibling? Since when is he a sibling?

‘ – listen to his family then – ‘

‘ – last time with one of your siblings – ‘

‘Another sibling targeted.’

Is he family now? Nobody ever mentioned it or really talks about it, but they all now that he’s a part of… this. Will it be a thing like with Steph? Family in spirit?

Oh.

No.

It won’t. Ever. Because the kid wants to leave. He’s still convinced that he can reverse that whole process, that he can un-die in his own dimension and come back to his whole life that he has there. He doesn’t want to stay.

And really, he never really showed any signs of seeing them as anything other than annoyances. He’s not exactly a friendly or emotionally open person, but still… it’s not like he really shares much with them. Maybe that’s by design?

Steph said that he took part in one of their Mario Kart tournaments, but that’s really it in terms of voluntary participation.

Or maybe he just needs time. Jason did. And it hasn’t exactly been long. He’s traumatised and young and has been through a lot of shit, obviously he won’t just immediately trust everyone and, like, love them or whatever.

He’s a child. He’s a child and a stranger and it’s just been a few weeks and Jason shouldn’t be thinking of him as family yet.

But fuck, obviously even Bruce does and Jason can count the extent of their interactions on one hand. Sure, that’s not exactly saying much with Bruce ‘Adoption Problem’ Wayne, but it’s a pretty good sign that Jason at least isn’t crazier than the fucking Batman himself. Which is a low bar, but Jason will take what he can get these days.

All that pondering lasted him only the half the forest outside the Cave entrance, so now he’ll have a lot of time to imagine all the ways this could go wrong, including Katsuki dead in the alley.

Would he be as mutilated as all the other bodies? Maybe missing his hands? Or his eyes?

Fuck, what if he finds pieces?

Chopped into nice, handy chunks for easy transport. Maybe missing some when anyone tries to assemble him again for a burial.

Suddenly the forest is greener. And oh so bright.

This life is no piece of cake and every single one of them is in mortal danger at least twice a week, but somehow, this is different. Maybe it’s because Jason has spent a sizeable amount of time these last few weeks imagining all the things Katsuki could have gone through to make him the way he is, maybe because Jason has spent half that time projecting.

Katsuki died. Check that off Jason’s list.

Katsuki is a child soldier. Check number two.

Katsuki definitely has childhood trauma. Check number three.

And Jason can’t imagine a world where good parenting resulted in that, so check number four.

And the rest is all up to imagination, isn’t it? Maybe he’s lost a friend in battle. Maybe he sustained an almost fatal injury. Fuck, the kid sewed himself up before Alfred got to him, why would you learn shit like that if you live a safe life?

And then all the shit he actually told them about… Villains and a society indoctrinating a moral concept like a fucking chess board…

Jason can imagine a lot of ways the child could’ve gotten screwed up.

Imagine his feelings when Barbara chimes into his ear, “He’s moving. Fast.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s eyes blink open to a light so bright he immediately has to close them again. It’s like at the fucking dentist’s when they shoot their fucking laser flashlight straight into your eye socket like that’s what they’re trying to examine there.

But that’s also where the similarities to a dentist’s office end. For starters, the bed or whatever is significantly less comfortable than a dentist’s chair, probably metal with the way it feels. Secondly, and definitely more importantly, something is restraining him. Cold metal is resting against his wrists in that telltale way that means there’s about zero give on them.

A small twitch of his hips tells him there’s a bar around his waist too, and a little wiggle reveals the ankle restrains, which actually do have a little give for whatever reason. Unfortunately, that give is due to chains, which obviously rattle when he moves.

If the sick fuck who did this is in the room, they know that he’s awake now. So he might as well give up on any pretence and establish some ground rules.

Rule #1: No restraining of the Katsuki if you don’t want the Katsuki to fucking end you.

Rule #2: There are no restraints the Katsuki cannot escape. Do not test the Katsuki or your fate will be a painful one.

Obviously, because this dimension is the inferior one, the restraints aren’t made for people with quirks. And because he definitely isn’t stupid enough to wait for the fucker to try and stop him, he starts blasting.

The nifty thing is, no Howitzer is needed to destroy metal. Katsuki is through both his wrist cuffs and about to start on the bar at the waist when he hears the creak of a - rusty as fuck - door opening and footsteps closing in. Fucking annoying because the literal fucking spotlight on him makes it almost impossible to see outside of the little circle it creates.

“How did you-?” a voice says, and then the spotlight dampens, dark spots covering his vision at the adjustment. When they clear up, he can see the room. And boy, is it a room.

Looking like a mix between storage area, laboratory and surgery theatre, the walls are fucking decked in metal shelves full of a mix of medical equipment and genuine fucking torture devices. The ‘bed’ turns out to be a surgery table, just modified to make the stay as nonconsensual as it is uncomfortable.

The voice belongs to an average looking person clad completely in surgical gear, face covered by a visor. Duke was right, it really is impossible to determine anything about them from appearance alone. Not even the voice is distinct, that weird husk that some people have that makes it almost impossible to distinguish gender from just that.

For a second, they just stare at each other, both a bit flabbergasted at what’s in front of them. Obviously Katsuki recovers first and aims a blast straight at their face. They flinch back with a small squeak, although it doesn’t even reach them, being just out of Katsuki’s current, and admittedly pathetic, range.

Fucking quirk, fucking fucker, fucking fuck everything.

He quickly turns back to the waist restraint, but the blast made them jump into action and suddenly they have a scalpel in their hand. “Stop that! If you want to stay uninjured, stop destroying everything! This was expensive!”

Katsuki snorts. “Do I look like I give a fuck, bastard? Unchain me so I can blast your fucking head off, you psychopath!”

And suddenly there’s a scalpel sticking out of his calf. “Stop it. I can always give you drugs, but I prefer my subjects to be aware. I have a few questions I’d like you to answer.”

They sound so calm. Calm and reasonable and not at all like they just stabbed him. No scruples, no morals, nothing. If they hadn’t squeaked at the explosion Katsuki would be betting on this being some kind of robot.

“Fuck no,” he retorts, trying to hide any kind of nerves he might or might not be feeling. “Go fuck yourself.”

They ignore him. Instead, they grab something really fucking old-school from a shelf and deposit it on a desk a few metres from the surgery table. They are moving around and muttering to themselves and generally just not caring about the fucking human being with a fucking scalpel in his leg sitting just a few metres away.

“Bitch, don’t ignore me! What are you trying to do here, huh? I’m gonna fucking end you, I swear!”

They press something on the thing and drop on a stool. “Tape 70, recorded by Dux. Subject 11 has been safely recovered and is currently awake and responsive.”

What.

“It has tried to sabotage me, but preventative measures have been taken.”

It?

“I will now examine it and determine the main factors leading to its survival.”

And they, or Dux, get up and approach him again.

“The fuck are you on about? Are you crazy?”

Dux gives him an annoyed look. “This is a serious procedure. Please, do try to refrain from using profanities.”

“Fuck yourself, I’ll swear however much I fucking want to,” Katsuki snaps. He gets back to blasting at his restrains, the bar being a little thicker and harder to break through.

An agonising pain shoots through his leg and he looks up to find Dux twisting the scalpel still literally sticking out of him like a fucking flagpole. “Stop doing that, seriously. I want to ask you questions.”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki grits out, valiantly trying to ignore the pain to keep going.

“Okay, first. How did you survive?”

“You’re just too fucking stupid to finish the job, bitch,” he hisses and tries to pull the injured leg closer. But the chain has just a bit too little give, leaving him in an awkward half-crisscross that doesn’t protect shit.

“What did I tell you?” they ask, but it sounds more like a statement.

“I don’t fucki-“ – he’s cut off by another shooting pain. A hand is closed around the scalpel, pushing it deeper into his leg while twisting, like a fucked-up corkscrew.

“Watch your profanity and answer me. I don’t want to damage you more than I have to.”

“Fuck yourself.” It comes out breathier than he wants it to.

It’s enough for Dux, anyways. They pick up another scalpel and ram it into his other leg, same spot and all. “That should teach you. Now give me your hands.”

They don’t wait for him to give them up though. Just grab them and wrestle them into a cuff they’d pulled out of nowhere, positioned so his palms face each other and would do more damage to him than his surroundings.

People usually don’t figure that out until it’s too late.

To make matters worse, they fasten it somewhere on the spotlight, almost dislocating his shoulders it’s so up high. It’s uncomfortable and it feels so fucking exposing, so much like things Katsuki doesn’t want to think about.

One of Katsuki’s neighbours, an older man with wild grey hair, collects butterflies. Katsuki caught one for him once, when he was four and didn’t have a quirk yet. And the man showed him his collection, a whole wall full of boards with pinned butterflies. His own got an honorary spot right in the middle. He feels a bit like that butterfly right now. Pinned, spread out for the person who did it to see and examine to their heart’s content.

No longer a living being, but an object to own and do with what they want.

And then they start talking. “The subject is reluctant to reply, even under firmer questioning. This suggests a lower brain capacity and a-“

“HAH? I’m the smartest person in this fucking city, you’re just a fucking psycho!”

They whip around and stare at him like he’s the cockroach in their kitchen. “I’m doing important scientific research here and your incessant, mindless blabbering is disturbing my recording. So either be silent of your own accord or make me go and find a gag.”

Katsuki stares back. On one hand, there’s no fucking way he’s just gonna let that bitch do what they want, on the other he really doesn’t want to find out what they deem an appropriate gag.

“Now, as I was saying. The subject seems to understand English, although it isn’t very eloquent itself. It seems to have a good pain tolerance and is definitely meta. It produces something akin to small explosions from its hands, capable of destroying steel.”

They send something uncomfortably reminiscent of an approving nod in his direction, like he’s a fucking dog doing its tricks all perfect.

“Fuck off,” he hisses out of principle. There’s no way in hell he’s making this any easier on the bitch than it has to be. Even if it means mutilating his legs a little. Nothing he can’t handle.

But then they come closer. Come closer and reach for the scalpel that isn’t already corkscrewed into his fucking tissue, and they flick at it, the way you would a piece of lint. The vibrations wander down into his leg and Katsuki doesn’t want to flinch, doesn’t want to move, he fucking knows that wouldn’t make it better, but he can’t help it, it’s a reflex, and suddenly his whole fucking body is on fire.

There’s sweat beading on his temples. His molars are probably dust by now. His mouth tastes vaguely like metal. He opens eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed and the only thing he sees is that godawful, expressionless visor. That non-face that doesn’t give away anything at all, that posture that only radiates sweet satisfaction and sets his teeth on edge like little ever did.

It reminds him of Psycho Knife Girl in the worst ways.

“I’m beginning to think you don’t understand English. When I tell you to be quiet and do as I say, then you have to listen.” They rest their hand on the scalpel, just lightly, just enough to drive it in maybe a centimetre more. “And if you don’t, that has consequences. I can be very creative when I want to, don’t think I can’t find something you would be uncomfortable with.”

Katsuki grits his teeth and doesn’t make a sound. If he tried to tell the bitch how little ‘uncomfortable’ covers the current situation, all he’d manage would probably be a scream. Fucking pathetic.

They let their fingers dance over the blade for a second before stepping back. “So you’re capable of learning. Interesting.”

They turn around and grab a clip board off the desk with the recording device. “Now, let’s try this again. How did you survive?”

“What the fuck do you-“ – the scalpel hits bone. That has to be bone. Nothing else could feel that way, nothing else could feel like something is scraping at his fucking soul like that. This time, he can’t bite back the sounds.

His shoulders are screaming. His left leg is numb, his right one is on fire. He feels like choking, like throwing up, like his lungs aren’t getting enough air even heaving for oxygen the way he is.

“Scratch that, the subject obviously isn’t capable of learning. I will have to raise the stakes to make it understand what I want.”

‘Raise the stakes’? Fuck, if the stakes go any higher Katsuki’s gonna fucking die.

Oh.

He’s gonna die. That’s a very fucking real possibility here and somehow, he’s only now realising. Only two scalpels and a borderline dislocated shoulder in is it fucking registering that this person could really fucking easily kill him right now. And they would have no problem with it, aside from maybe wasting a resource. Losing a specimen, an experiment.

Something cold touches his leg. He looks up and it takes everything in him not to flinch, not to move a single fucking muscle. There’s a needle hovering maybe a centimetre from his leg and he really doesn’t want to find out what’s in there.

“This here? It’s a painkiller. I promise. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to ask questions. And I can’t do that when you don’t answer. So I’ll give you this, if you promise to answer me. Okay?”

The thing is, Katsuki would almost believe them. He’d take it without another thought and deal with their questions his own way, if it wasn’t for the set of their shoulders. If it wasn’t for that victorious tilt in them they shouldn’t have if that drug was for his benefit.

So he shakes his head and opens his mouth to tell them where they can shove it and they ram it into his leg before he can even get out the first syllable.

“Now. The subject has been injected with substance Beta 27-A. We’ll see how long it lasts under that.”

And that’s enough. “Fuck yourself. Fuck you and your fucking experiments, what are you even trying to achieve? What’s all this about, are you just that fucking crazy in the head?”

“I am a scientist. This is about progress, plain and simple. Many great things have been made just for progress, have been found just because someone was curious. I want to be that someone. I want to know. And I want everyone else to know that I was the first one to.”

Katsuki snorts. “So you’re just fucking delusional. A fucking wannabe Oppenheimer or some shit, so fucking desperate to be noticed. What, your parents never liked you? Do you have daddy issues? Bet he hit you when you were a kid. Or still does, you look like you still live with your parents. Fucking pathetic loser.”

The words just keep on coming. It’s just so easy. He doesn’t even really have to think about them, they’re just right there and it feels good to say them. Right. Like it’s the truth. His truth. He’s just telling the truth.

“You sound like you’re projecting. Tell me more.” It sounds a bit monotone. Just a little.

Whatever.

“Nah, my dad didn’t hit me. And the old hag slapped me maybe twice in my life. I ain’t projecting shit, my home life was a fucking blast in comparison to some of the shit my classmates had going on. Like, that fire bitch was a fucking child abuse case on two legs, I swear he fucked over every single one of his children and he didn’t even notice half the time, the fucking moron. And everyone else had to suffer for it, including fucking me. I swear, if motherfucking Endeavour hadn’t fucked up that bad I wouldn’t wake up at night feeling like that bitch is still borderline choking me, for fuck’s sake. I-“

A hum interrupts him. “Do you have a problem with choking?”

“Fucking obviously.” Is the extra stupid? “Like, that slime bitch, the patch job from hell, motherfucking Midnight, I could go on for fucking ever. You-“

“Who is ‘Midnight’?”

How do they not know? Everyone knows, she’s famous. “A hero from my dimension. She helped muzzle me on live television. Fucking bitch.”

“Is your dimension indifferent to violence towards children?”

Are they being intentionally obtuse? “The fuck? No. That wasn’t violence, they were trying to make me accept an award I didn’t want.”

“An award? What for?”

So uninformed. “Beating up Icy-Hot, even though that fucker didn’t go all out.”

“So your dimension promotes violence?”

Everyone’s so stupid. “No! The fuck’s wrong with everyone here, the others were all stupid about it too. My school is fucking great, okay, not trying to make a bunch of little child soldiers. It’s our choice!” (Something is wrong. He’s not supposed to share this. Why is he sharing this?)

“Who else did you tell about this?”

(He kinda can’t feel his face, but he’s pretty sure) he’s smiling. “My new family. Or maybe it’s temporary. Hey, can I get back home?”

Finally they are understanding, they’re laughing with him. “That depends wholly on your cooperation.”

“I’m not cooperating with you.” (He’s not. He doesn’t want to.)

“You are. Right now. For example, by telling me how you survived.”

Is he? He’s just telling the truth; he’s not trying to help them or anything. “Hah. I just woke up here, I don’t know. I was dying back home and then I was alive here. What’s up with that, by the way? Why me?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” they sigh.

“That’s funny. Hey, can I go home? I want to go home.”

“You can’t. Not until you help me.” (No. He wants to say no, he’s saying no. Why can’t he say no?)

Ugh, so demanding. “Well, whaddaya wan’?”

“You can start by giving me your blood. Maybe you can even tell me about your dimension, if you’re feeling up for it?”

Hm. Blood. His blood’s kinda everywhere, they just have to get some kinda bucket or something. Lucky the table is metal, it’d never get out otherwise.

“You don’t know? How’d you get me, then?”

They huff a laugh. (It sends a shiver down Katsuki’s spine.) “Ah, I built this nifty little machine, you know. It just has a little hangup around your dimension for some reason and I want to know why. Do you know?”

Katsuki knows. (Fuck, he knows, but he can’t, won’t tell. He doesn’t want to. He’s not telling, he’s not. A headache is building, in here, down here. It feels removed somehow. The Katsuki outside doesn’t feel it. The Katsuki outside feels honest.) “Yeaaahhh, I know. Wan’ me to tell ya?”

“Yes, please. And Katsuki?”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t try to resist. It can be quite painful sometimes.”

Chapter Text

[A tape recorder clicks. The recording starts in a different spot than usual. Instead of a wall with metal shelves, a table comes into view. There’s a human sitting on it, chained by the wrists to the lamp above. Dux comes into view a few feet away.]

“Tape 71, recorded by Dux. This is Subject 11. It’s going to answer a few questions for us, hopefully more satisfactorily than you might have seen in the last tape.”

[They step out of view and come back with a clipboard.]

“Now. It has been injected with substance Beta-27, so you can rest assured that the results shown have not been tampered with. I believe I have shown you Beta-27 in one of the earlier tapes, it might have been Tape 7, actually. The point is, you are familiar, especially with its timeframe, so you know why I’m rushing this.”

[Subject 11’s head rolls towards the recorder and its eyes are visible for the first time. They are hazy and the pupils are large. Despite the strained position, the subject seems completely relaxed.]

“Please recount your arrival here. What happened directly before and after your transportation?”

“Was fighting Handsy and I was, like, losing. Bad. Or something. I’m not actually sure. Might’ve won? Was gone before I could know. And then I was here. In that annoying fucking overall. What’s up with that, by the way? Ya spying on people’s dicks too?”

“No. It’s about being a brand. Coherent. Scientists like it that way, NASA gives their astronauts branded suits as well.”

“Don’t think the astronauts are dead. Or should be dead, really. NASA are bitches anyways, didn’t help at all when the quirks started showing up.”

“Oh? Your dimension has NASA? How far into the future are you?”

“Uhuh. Few decades at most, though. Not that long. But if you were a quirk society, you should already have them. I checked.”

[Silence spreads as Dux starts to scribble something onto their clipboard. Subject 11’s leg twitches and the metal sticking out of it catches in the spotlight, momentarily blinding the recording device.]

“Stop moving. Next question: why are you alive when the others weren’t?”

[It’s silent again, but Dux’s posture makes it obvious that it shouldn’t be. Subject 11 twitches again. It hangs its head for a moment and when it looks up again there’s sweat on its face.]

“I’m not sure. My quirk technically isn’t a mutation, lost it anyways. But I bet quirks can’t be transported well and you just transported people with mutation quirks. So they died because they were mutilated. Or you just did it yourself, pretty sure you’re sick enough for that.”

[Dux smacks their clipboard against one of the scalpels currently sticking out of Subject 11’s legs.]

“So it’s about the quirks. Yours is obviously still there, so what do you mean by ‘lost it anyways’?”

[Again, it’s silent for a little too long. The subject’s legs are trembling on the table and none of the relaxation the substance provided before is present anymore. It pants for a few seconds more, then it looks up again.]

“Was gone at first. Nothing. Then it was sparks and then it was a bit and now it’s a bit more. Came back.”

[The words sound like they need effort. Dux doesn’t seem pleased by that. They walk out of frame again and come back with a short rope. They sling it around the scalpels’ handles and tie it tight enough to strain at the slightest movement.]

“Hm. Let’s try that again. What exactly is your quirk and why was it lost for some time?”

[Another silence, although this one is quickly broken by a muffled groan and the following heavy breathing.]

“My- my quirk is ‘Explosion’. I sweat a nitroglycerin-like substance that I can ignite with my hands. My body has a few modifications to deal with the hangups of a quirk like that, like an inbuilt protection against flashing lights in my eyes. I noticed the modifications were gone when I noticed my quirk wasn’t working, but they’re come back randomly. For example, I’m fireproof, but I still get blinded by light. I don’t know why.”

“Interesting. How far does that fireproofing reach?”

“Not very. If I were to blast myself at a short distance repeatedly, I would get injured seriously about 15 blasts in, I think. Depends on the concentration and area.”

“But if I were to hold a lighter to your skin, would you burn?”

“Depends on the timeframe. Never tried it though.”

“Hm. We’ll have to remedy that sometime. Note to examine fireproofing of Subject 11 after the basic tests.”

[They scribble something on their clipboard again. Then they walk out of frame and come back with a large folder. They skim through it before stopping on a specific page.]

“Now, I know that you have witnessed Subject 14. What do you think was its quirk?”

“14? You mean the woman missing half her body? Probably a mermaid or something. A mutation, definitely. Dunno about that hole though.”

“Interesting. Which other subjects have you seen?”

[Subject 11’s breathing picks up again. It throws its head back and bares its teeth and for the first time its eyes are not hazy. Instead, they are wide and the pupils are huge, but there’s awareness in them. Dux lazily flicks at the scalpel nearest to them and Subject 11 slumps again.]

“All of them. There were photos.”

“Where. Where were photos?”

“The- FUCK- there were- NO- pictures in the-“

[The subject bites its own shoulder and muffles the rest of the answer. Dux steps closer and grabs both of the scalpels, leaning in close.]

“Answer me. Where did you see pictures? Was it the Bats? Do they know?”

[Subject 11 lets out an unintelligible scream as Dux leans on the knives. When they let go, the subject is so tense its muscles are visibly bulging under its dark pants.]

“Yes. Bat Cave. Know.”

[Dux steps back and sighs. They note something down on their clipboard.]

“Oh, if you just weren’t so stubborn. This could be much easier on you, you know. You’re just choosing this instead. This- this pointless childishness. And now our time is almost up. A shame, really.”

[They pull on the rope and ignore the drawn-out, muffled whine from the subject.]

“Who are the Bats? And how much do they know? Do they know you’re here?”

“The- they know. Tracker in my pocket. With the gun. On since I went into alley. I- fuck. Let go. Let go, bitch, I swear if you don’t let go right fucking now-“

[Dux lets go of the rope and sighs. Another note on the clipboard and they drop on a stool closer to the camera. The subject is now hidden behind them, but panting is still audible, interspersed with a few quiet curses.]

“Beta-27 has officially worn off. Still, the information gained today is very valuable. Now, I have to go take care of our bat problem. Note to examine Subject 11’s quirk and the subsequent mutations, starting with the fireproofing. End tape 71. Recorded by Dux.”

[They get up and advance on the recorder. Just as they turn it off, a last expletive from Subject 11 can be heard.]

.-.

When Jason reaches the alley and finds his bike in front of it and the missing gun on the floor inside, he almost shoots a woman stumbling around in front of it.

He actually does shoot something, namely the dumpster, when he finds a small blood splatter on the wall beneath a camera.

This is everything they were trying to avoid and more. This is a fucking nightmare. This is Jason’s fucking villain origin story, for real this time. There’s no way this doesn’t end in murder.

“O, has he stopped moving yet?”

The comm crackles in his ear and the short silence before Babs replies is answer enough. “No. Still on the way, and fast. Wherever they’re going, it’s either on the outskirts or actually outside of Gotham.”

“Fuck!”

“Jason-“

“No. None of that right now. I can’t. Tell me the shortest way to wherever they’re going.”

“Jason, their head start is a good hour. They’re definitely not following traffic laws and we don’t know what you could be walking into. It would be better to go together, you just have to wait for-“

“Babs, this psycho has Katsuki and we know what their victims look like. There’s no fucking way I’m waiting for fucking backup to come while they cut him up into nice, bite-sized little pieces and scatter those over Gotham’s fucking back alleys! Tell me where they are!”

“Jason. Calm down and keep your fucking head. We need rational thinking and a plan right now, not headless pit rage. So pull yourself together and come to the Cave. The Batplane would be faster anyways.”

The comm crackles, leaving Jason in the uncomfortable silence only a good talking-to can inspire. Because Babs is right. Actual bricks aren’t green, don’t even have a green tint. And he’s also pretty sure his bike’s tank is almost empty.

And he can’t do this alone. Katsuki did and look where that landed him.

So he better gets his ass back to the Cave fast so he can leave even faster, with backup. Preferably the Demon Brat, his morals are probably still flexible enough to not mind a little murder, especially if framed as self-defence or something. Maybe he even likes Katsuki enough to not need any of that at all.

He doesn’t remember the drive back, only the green haze accompanying it. When he gets to the Cave and doesn’t find everyone packed and ready to go, he’s damn near about to commit actual murder and B’s disapproving eyebrow really isn’t helping. The only thing holding him back is the knowledge that he would lose, regardless of the actual outcome of the fight.

Then Babs speaks up. “By the way, he stopped moving about ten minutes ago. A warehouse just outside of Gotham, seems pretty abandoned to me.”

And Jason can finally release the breath he’s been holding for what feels like hours. One step closer. Fucking finally, he can do something. He doesn’t need to kill someone anymore, he can do this without causing bodily harm to a family member.

It's when B wants to start a strategy meeting that this resolution, too, flies out of the window.

“Wayne, get on the fucking plane and set course. Now. I will lose it.”

“Jason-“ – he’s cut off by a fist to the face and the realisation that Jason is being really fucking serious, actually.

A tense silence spreads in the room, the only sounds Jason’s heaving breaths and Bruce’s jaw clicking as he rights it.

Nobody makes eye contact as they get settled in the plane. Even Babs is silent on the comms, save for a few directions and questions. Duke and Damian settle as far from Jason as possible while still keeping distance from Bruce, which ends in them next to each other in the front.

Jason is stewing in rage and feelings never to be named in the light of day when Oracle pops up on screen in the plane shortly after take-off. “Guys, he’s moving again. Fast. It’s- fuck, it’s the direction of the airport.”

The airport. The fucking airport. What the fuck is the guy trying to do? There’s no fucking way they’re gonna get the kid to peacefully follow them on a fucking plane, and even less will they manage to smuggle an unconscious or dead body through customs.

B seems to think the same thing. “Are you sure?”

“Well, it’s either the airport or the really fucking large field of possibilities to bury a dead body, so I’m trying to be positive here,” O snarks with a shaking voice.

“Okay. This is the plan,” B chimes in before Jason can snark back. “We’ll drop Signal off at the warehouse to look for clues, the rest of us are going to the airport. We can adjust according to what he finds.”

“No backup?” Duke asks carefully.

“Spoiler, Orphan and Red Robin are in the area if you have any problems.”

Ha. Problems. The fucking problem is moving towards the fucking airport at high speeds.

.-.

Duke has a very nice history with the feeling of guilt, but this is just getting ridiculous because what do you mean it’s his fault that the newest applicant to the position of sibling is currently kidnapped and possibly being tortured because he wanted fucking gummi worms. He was gone for a total of maybe ten minutes (which is definitely not a rational amount of time it should take to get to the kitchen in any house) and when he came back, the bitch was gone and so was healthy handful of Jason’s possessions.

He's lucky this matter is time sensitive, otherwise Jason would’ve kicked his ass the whole way to Sunday.

So yeah, the guilt is definitely nibbling at his ankles, together with a healthy amount of fear of what he’s going to find in that warehouse. Pieces? Or maybe the place where that sicko did the same thing to Katsuki as they did to the woman? Would he have to look at a small pile of tissue or entrails in the knowledge that this once belonged to his- his friend. Are they friends?

Because on one hand, they’ve played Mario Kart together and he helped Duke with maths homework, on the other hand at least one of those did not happen consensually.

It kind of has ‘sibling behaviour’ written all over it. And, to be honest, having Katsuki as a brother would be great. The guy is his age and, with some time, he’ll probably get more chill. Who knows, maybe he’ll be persuaded to help with homework again. And school would definitely be more bearable with his snarky comments.

That is, if he’s still alive. He can daydream about a perfect world all he wants, currently the possibility of it happening is speeding to catch a flight somewhere he can’t reach. But at least he can do something instead of having to sit in the plane for who knows how long.

It’s a bit ironic, the plane and the airport. Though, this is more of a Batjet than a Batplane, but the name kinda stuck. Whatever.

“Signal, get ready to grapple out of the trapdoor. And stay on comms,” B orders, ripping Duke from his little guilt spiral.

He does as told, collecting his last small nods from Damian and Jason, both far too deep into their rage for actual words. Duke wouldn’t have thought that Damian would get this mad over Katsuki’s fate, but the kid’s sitting as ramrod straight as if he had his fucking katana up his ass.

But to each their own, he supposes. Damian’s always had his little attachment issues, bolstered by trust issues and expressional issues and just about any other kind of issue under the sun. Obviously he’d only start to feel for the guy when he’s basically dead. It’s borderline masochism at this point, but Dick is sure he’ll have a breakthrough before easter and Duke has $50 riding on that being dead fucking wrong, so he won’t step in until then.

And wow, he never would have thought that he’d risk someone’s mental health over a bit of money, but that’s what the rich kid life did to him it seems. Or maybe it’s the environment of clinically insane people. It’s not mutually exclusive, is it.

He might be stalling. In theory. Possibly.

“Open in three… two… one…,” B drones up front and Duke scrambles to get his shit together before he just drops like a sack of potatoes and becomes the next corpse they can collect.

His grapple plops him down smackdab in front of the warehouse, a lonely shack that looks like reception actively avoids it. Prime crime scene material, that one.

The visions aren’t very forthcoming. According to the light, nobody came to or left this place, at least not through the front door. Which begs the question, where the fuck is the back door and can he sneak in through there?

A quick go around the location shows him a small door in the back, which has in fact been used recently. By one person. The person, the fuck who’s doing this. But they’re alone.

Did Katsuki never make it in here? Was he just lying around in the trunk of some car while this bitch chilled and got, like, fucking snacks or something?

“Hey, O, are you sure Katsuki made it in here? Because only one person recently left this place,” he whispers into the comms while he inspects the door. No extra locks, security doesn’t seem all that important to them.

“What do you mean?” O crackles back.

“Like, maybe he was just dumped in some car in front while the guy got his things or something?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he made it in,” O replies, but there’s a hint of doubt in her voice.

Well. Duke’ll have to go in regardless, so he might as well just go for it.

He presses down on the handle and rolls his eyes when it simply opens. Criminals these days, don’t give a fuck about their security anymore. At this rate, Steph is going to win their lockpicking contest just because all the scum in Gotham is as careless as fucking Metro City citizens.

The room behind is small. There are boxes everywhere and there’s a small pile of bedding in the corner that suggests someone regularly trying to pull all-nighters in here.

On his left, there’s another door, the one presumably leading to the actual warehouse. This is more of an electrical room, as made obvious by the box on the wall, which has some weird parts to it. They probably modified it to break about twenty laws.

He opens the other door and is almost blinded by the light behind it.

Then something hard meets his temple and the white is replaced by black.

Chapter Text

Katsuki is in pain. It’s the only thing about this whole situation that he’s even remotely sure of, and that too is getting away from him at speeds he can’t really comprehend. Never knew shock went that fast, huh. But things are going white-hot and then white-hot-numb and then white-hot again, so he’s not really sure it can be called shock.

If he could forget any point of his life forever, the last few hours are putting up a damn good fight against all of the years of middle school, his kidnapping and the war combined. Hell, he’d gladly have nightmares about his ‘death’ for the rest of time if the last few hours never showed up in his dreamscape in exchange.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the recording, slipping in and out of awareness way too much to be able to tell, but what he does know is that it’s been suspiciously long since Dux last tried any shit on him.

Between little episodes of nothing he’ll forever deny kinda scare him shitless, he was aware enough to notice them… doing things. Invasive things he can’t really tell the purpose of and things he’ll beat the bitch up for later.

There was a time where he was ripped from wherever he went by the burning, slicing sensation of something shoving into him next to one of the scalpels. A blood sample, Dux narrated to a small voice recorder. Katsuki’s pretty sure that voice recorder now holds really nice material for sadists to jerk off to.

Another time Dux just shoved a cotton swab into his mouth and nose.

Then there was the most recent one. Dux’ warm fingers on his neck and a stopwatch and the most visceral flinch Katsuki ever experienced or saw. Swear to God, his vision went black for a second.

Turns out hands on his neck will definitely feature on any future nightmares, again.

If he even gets to have any. If he even survives this. There’s still a wonderful highlight reel of the woman in the alley – fucking Subject 14, fuck – playing somewhere in the back of his mind.

He’s only kind of lucid right now because the loop of excruciating-to-numb is rolling from the top again and he kind of wants to gnaw his legs off. Seriously, amputation is becoming more and more of an appealing scenario right now.

He’s kinda missing Handsy McFuckface at this point.

He also might be delirious right now. Possibly.

And then a door slams open and something dragging over the floor echoes through the room and Dux comes into view and Katsuki’s body is flooded with adrenaline faster than he can even think these days.

He might’ve never seen Duke in costume, but their costumes were never any good anyways and there’s no way to mistake the limp body in front of him as anybody but Duke fucking Thomas.

“Oh? Do you recognise him? Oh, this is really great, actually. Wait a second,” Dux says with an air of excitement that sends shivers down Katsuki’s spine. Then they turn around and snatch something from one of the metal shelves.

The something turns out to be actual chains. Chains they tie to something Katsuki can’t see from his keg of light and then wrap around Duke’s wrists, stringing him up like a pig. Then, with sure fingers, they pull a small black device from Duke’s ear and crush it beneath their heel.

“Perfect,” they comment, and Katsuki can hear the smile in their voice. That was Duke’s comm. That was a fucking chance. And they crushed it.

And even better, Duke isn’t moving. Strung up in a position sure to give him old-people-joints, and the fucker isn’t moving. If this was supposed to be a rescue it’s a fuckass attempt.

“Now, I’m sure we don’t have much time left, so we’ll have to move up our timetable,” Dux muses, more to themselves than towards Katsuki. Then they put up that fucking recorder again and Katsuki could swear he can feel the adrenaline enter his bloodstream.

This is bad. This means they need visual evidence.

They flit around for a few minutes, collecting something from the shelves and depositing it on what looks like a hospital cart. Definitely stolen. Fucking bitch.

They do their whole spiel towards the recorder, or Katsuki at least assumes they did, because he only really zones back in again when they’re already standing in front of him.

They have a lighter in their hand and Katsuki can’t keep in the bitter snort. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

They just raise the lighter to his naked elbow, flick it on, and wait. And Katsuki waits too. He has no idea what’ll happen here. He might survive a Molotov explosion straight to the face without any burns, but he hasn’t exactly tried anything else yet.

Especially because he has no idea how far back exactly his quirk is. And that crazy form he’d unlocked in his fight with Shigaraki, would that give him full fireproofing? He’s walking blind here and he fucking hates it, actually.

Fifteen seconds in, Dux tilts their head curiously. Katsuki can feel the warmth of the flame and the patch of skin is starting to itch, but it’s nowhere close to unbearable pain.

“Fifteen seconds: slight reddening of the skin, no signs of discomfort in the subject,” Dux narrates.

Purely out of principle, Katsuki spits a, “Fucking bitch!” at them and he really should’ve learned by now actually because obviously they flick at the scalpels for that. And without warning, an explosion tears from his hands, like reflex, way too reminiscent of his childhood for his tastes.

There’s no way he’s gonna lose his control right now, not here and definitely not now. But it doesn’t really seem like he gets a choice because he can feel the crackling in his hands again and it’s in no way conscious, he can’t get it back and it’s gonna rip out of him anyways.

So.

Why not put something behind it? It’s gonna happen anyways, might as well, no?

He grits his teeth and pushes. And the whole fucking table rattles with it, his shoulders burn and his arms strain, but the shackles don’t break.

They bend, though. His hands may feel like shit, but they have just a bit of movement now, a little wiggle room he’ll 100% exploit.

Later. When he doesn’t feel like absolute dogshit anymore. And when Dux isn’t staring like that anymore.

“Hm. That’s interesting. But useless. Don’t do it again.” They’re still holding the lighter to Katsuki’s elbow. It’s starting to hurt, actually. He flinches away a bit, trying to tamp down on the reflex, but it’s too late. They’ve noticed.

“Half a minute of direct contact, Subject is showing signs of discomfort, skin is blistering slightly,” they say, leaning closer. They still haven’t taken the lighter away.

A groan comes from behind them. The explosion probably woke Duke up, which would be great, except Katsuki isn’t really keen on the guy seeing him cry and the way Dux is trying to burn him alive right now really isn’t conducive to that endeavour.

“Kats- um, Odysseus?” Duke corrects himself at the last second, unnecessarily because Dux probably couldn’t give less of a fuck, but Katsuki can appreciate the effort.

“Couldn’t you have brought, like, everyone? Or at least not gotten yourself caught?” he grits out in response, doing his absolute fucking best to ignore the way his skin is currently trying to peel off his bones at his elbow.

“Sorry, man, we thought you’re going to the airport,” Duke explains, chains rattling above him as he gets some of the weight off his shoulders.

“Stop talking. This is important scientific research, I don’t need you fooling around with my subject,” Dux interrupts, still not looking away from the patch of skin. Which is starting to look, like, actually burnt.

Duke snorts. “Yeah? Important research? What are you doing, huh?”

A smile sneaks into Dux’ voice. “Currently, I am testing Subject 11’s fireproofing. It’s impressive, really.”

Katsuki watches his skin throw a bubble and contemplates fucking up his legs even more just to kick them away. He doesn’t know which is worse, but his legs feel significantly number than his arm right now.

The bubble pops and a strangled groan escapes him.

“Odysseus?” Duke doesn’t sound amused anymore. “What are you doing to him?”

The skin is blackening around the popped bubble. Katsuki can’t keep down the tears anymore.

“Fuck,” he hisses from between his teeth. Sweat is collecting on his forehead. He feels like his whole body is burning, not just his fucking elbow.

The psycho is literally burning him alive, what the fuck? This is a whole new fucking level of crazy, seriously.

Duke is straining against his chains across from him. “I swear to fuck, stop it. Batman is on his way, he’ll come here as soon as he’s noticed my comm is dead, okay? Run now and maybe you’ll get away, but you’re a guaranteed Arkham newbie if you keep fucking doing that.”

Dux doesn’t even get tense. “Let him come. I have my ways.”

Fuck.

Katsuki can feel the crackling come back and he knows it’ll hurt like hell if he lets it go now, but the alternative also hurts like hell and this at least has a chance of ending that, so blowing up it is.

The thing is.

He’s sweating. Someone is holding an open flame to his skin. He blew up not too long ago with a strength he really didn’t expect.

He doesn’t expect this either, but he can’t really be blamed for that.

He explodes. Every single drop of sweat on his body lights up with a ferocity only reminiscent of his battle with Shigaraki.

It hits like an earthquake.

The shackles practically disintegrate, Dux is literally launched across the room and it’s even strong enough to break a few links of Duke’s chain. Shelves collapse to the floor, Katsuki’s table crumbles, the hospital cart almost clotheslines Duke.

Katsuki lays atop his crumbled table and hopes Duke can take care of this shit because his legs don’t really feel like they’re gonna support shit right now, least of all his whole body.

Twin groans sound from somewhere near the wall and when Katsuki manages to lever himself up on his unharmed elbow, he can see Duke struggling upright with his still bound hands.

Dux next to him isn’t faring much better. They’re dazed, leaning against the wall, mask knocked askew. Katsuki can see the white skin of their jaw, but not much else. Still. White people shit, all of this. He could tell from the start. Fucking Americans.

Then they shoot upwards. “No! My machine!” They stumble around the graveyard of shelves, moving towards a corner behind Katsuki like the fucking library of Alexandria is burning over there.

“Fuck yes,” Duke hisses. “Spoiler owes me ten bucks, I knew it was a machine.”

Katsuki wants him to take those ten bucks and shove them up his ass. Nobody gives a fuck about that right now, the machine is way more important. Definitely important enough for him to struggle onto his feet and stumble towards the corner.

He almost face plants when the rope goes taut again. How the fuck that thing survived the explosion Katsuki doesn’t even want to know, but he rips it off now and hopes he won’t have permanent ligament damage from this shit.

His legs feel kinda numb. And the skin around the scalpels is burning. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s glad that all his wounds are either plugged up or burnt shut because he’d have long bled out otherwise.

“Kat- for fuck’s sake, Odysseus, stop moving!” Duke shouts behind him, scrambling to his side with his still bound hands. “Are you crazy? Your legs are already fucked, just sit down and let me handle this, okay?”

Katsuki doesn’t particularly want to admit the guy’s right, but he’s getting out of breath, like, three steps in and there’s still the matter of Dux. One of those problems can be delegated to Duke, that’s fine. “Then fucking handle the bitch, asshole. Give them permanent brain damage for all I care.”

Duke gives him another incredulous look, but he does set his eyes on Dux. Who is still flitting around the machine all worried, plucking around at different panels and cables. It looks a bit like a tube, only horizontal. There’s a glass panel where a head could be lying and the whole thing is big enough to fit a Nomu. There’s a big keypad on the side with a screen above, cracked after the explosion.

Katsuki prays that it’s not broken. That’s his ticket back. He just, like, has to get in and press a button and he’ll be home. He can get home.

He takes a wonky step in the direction and watches Duke go for Dux. While his hands may be bound he still has the physical advantage, as well as Batman’s fucking training, which should count for something against a scrawny scientist, right?

Well, it would, if said scrawny scientist didn’t have a fucking tazer. And look, Katsuki’s all for accessible self-defence in a country like this, but for fuck’s sake, does it have to be sold to the people who shouldn’t be able to defend themselves? Does it have to be sold to the crazy evil scientists with a God complex? Does it?

Anyways, Duke goes down like a felled tree and suddenly Katsuki’s standing there with an armed opponent and the worst handicap he’s had in a long time and he wonders why in the fresh fuck he thought the universe would make it easy on him for once.

“Don’t move,” they hiss, brandishing the tazer in a way that tells Katsuki a lot about their experience with weapons. It’s pathetic, to say the least.

See, his hands might feel like shit and the blast he just used could’ve been a fluke, but Katsuki is nothing if not a stubborn fuck, so he raises his unburnt arm and sparks off, hoping for a nice long-distance blast so he doesn’t even have to go near them.

And, again, his luck decides to work about as well as his anger management, which is to say it fucks off into the distance on a nice white horse that drops a gratuitous shit on the way. In this case, the gratuitous shit refers to a less than gratuitous spark practically drooling from his hand like a sad slinky. There’s even a really pathetic plume of smoke.

Katsuki gives himself a second to mourn his dignity, which is definitely six feet under now and might never return if his life continues going this way.

Then the second is over and he grabs a piece of scrap metal off the floor, hurling it at them with the arm less reminiscent of a crispy chicken nugget. Fuck, he looks like fucking Dabi now, which might actually be the worst look-alike deal he could’ve made in the LOV department, apart from maybe the lizard.

They dodge, but because they’re not, in fact, a well-trained hero, they lose the taser during and now the footing is more in the realm of equal, even if Katsuki is currently working with exactly one unharmed limb.

“How does the fucking machine work?” he rasps, advancing on Dux in what he hopes is more of an intimidating strut than the awkward hobble it feels like.

Dux seems to like that question. “Oh, it’s genius, really. You put in a specific frequency for the dimension you want to reach and then a formula for the subjects. It took so long to perfect it, but I did it and now I have you. You’re almost perfect, I might just have to tweak the formula a tiny bit if you don’t turn out well, though. See, if you-“

“Shut the fuck up, psycho,” Katsuki interrupts them. He really doesn’t want to know what Dux would change about his ‘formula’ and why. “How do I make it send me back?”

They tilt their head in confusion. And then a snort escapes them and Katsuki wishes for some really sharp scrap metal to appear in his hand. “That’s not how this works. It doesn’t send subjects back, it’s not designed to work that way. Why would it? I need them here, not wherever they’re coming from. And if they don’t perform then they’re exterminated, simple as that. They’re not real humans anyways.”

‘Not designed to work that way’.

‘Perform’.

‘Exterminated’.

‘Not real humans’.

Katsuki prides himself on his morals. On his knowledge of what is right and what is wrong and on his stubborn drive to defend the former and punish the latter.

This monster right in front of him probably wouldn’t recognise morals if they punched them in the face. And Katsuki’s are being tested very seriously by that because never in his life has he felt such a strong need to actually, violently kill someone as he does in this moment.

He’s not gonna do it, obviously, he’s not a villain, but he’s sure as hell gonna guarantee that this scum never sees freedom again. They will spend fucking forever rotting in some tiny cell wishing they were dead when Katsuki is done here because the way they’re talking they don’t even deserve the basic human respect of sunlight.

Not if they treat other people like that. Don’t even see them as people, or even fucking animals, only as objects to treat as they please.

And Katsuki is one of those. This trash bag sees him as less than and there’s gonna be hell to pay for that.

Chapter Text

Jason wouldn’t consider himself a violent person. Sounds like he’s neck deep in denial, but bear with him, there’s an explanation for that borderline delusional statement.

See, before the whole pit thing and so on, he actually wasn’t that bad with his anger issues. He definitely had some, but he was also a fucking child so it’s not like they really caused much damage. And he’s actually capable of love, despite popular opinion.

All of that he can throw out of the window now because the rage he feels at what he’s seeing right now has nothing to do with the Pit and everything to do with his ability to love.

When Duke’s comm went dead that was a pretty good indicator that they were gunning for a dead end, so they turned around and aimed for the warehouse. B dropped Damian first in a misguided attempt at stealth because Jason had negative patience at that point and just went in guns-a-blazing right after him.

Which, best fucking decision he’s ever made because this is way too fucking close to all the worst-case scenarios he could’ve and did dream up on the way.

Duke is limp on the floor, hopefully only unconscious, but that isn’t the worst.

The worst is Katsuki.

Katsuki, who has literal knives sticking out of both of his legs and one of the worst burns Jason has ever seen on his left arm. Katsuki, who is currently grappling with what seems to be the motherfucker for something Jason can only hope is not a gun. Because it doesn’t exactly look like Katsuki is winning.

Mostly because that scum definitely knows what places to aim for to inflict maximum pain and misery, judging by the death grip around the literal fucking molten skin of Katsuki’s arm.

So Jason is definitely a violent person. A murderous person, even.

He shoots a warning bullet right next to their head. This isn’t his favourite gun and he’d loaded it right under B’s watchful eyes, so it’s only a rubber bullet, but it definitely does the job because they scramble apart, freeing the line of sight at what they were wrestling for: a taser.

It looks legal, so Duke probably isn’t dead, only K.O., provided he actually was taken out by that thing and not something else. A singular look at Katsuki tells him exactly how much trust he can put into that notion.

“Put down the gun, this is a laboratory! You can’t just shoot at my subjects, you’ll damage them!” the psycho says, in the kind of tone you’d use to scold a child. Considering Jason is holding their literal fucking life in his hands he finds that pretty fucking preposterous.

“I’ll fucking shoot you if you don’t shut the fuck up,” he growls and almost follows through with it despite their silence when Katsuki slumps a little, like he’s gonna faint now that he doesn’t have to fight anymore.

But B’s hand lands on his shoulder and his eyes drill into his skull like a lance with a written note of ‘don’t you dare’ tied to the tip.

Fucking Batman and his fucking rules.

Then, suddenly, Katsuki scrambles to his feet and hectically stumbles towards a big tank-thing in the corner of the room and Jason has better shit to worry about.

“Kid, what are you doing?” he calls after him, still keeping his gun carefully trained at their head.

“Gotta- gotta go home,” Katsuki practically slurs and Jason’s arm jerks and then everything happens all at once.

Suddenly Duke’s limp body is in the psycho’s arms and there’s a taser trained at his temple and Katsuki is standing frozen next to the tank-thing like he already knows what’s going to happen.

“Get away from my machine or I’m frying his brain,” they say, all calm and shit like it’s a completely reasonable fucking request and not the literal threatening of someone’s life for a fucking pile of metal.

Or, well, a stupid fucking machine. He was right about that, at least.

That fades right into the background though when he sees Katsuki’s expression. The eyes flickering between his gun, the taser and the machine. The fluttering eyelids, like he’s having trouble keeping them open. The almost half-hearted snarl on his face, like he’s not convinced it’s worth fighting anymore.

He’s missing the spark. The spark he’d had when he left.

The psycho burnt Katsuki’s spark away.

They move at the same time. Katsuki lunging towards the pair and Jason’s finger pulling the trigger.

One second to the next, there are two bodies limp on the floor. And then the air snap-crackle-pops and Jason is sent flying through the room, air leaving him together with his vision and hearing when he hits some kind of surface.

It takes a second to get his shit together. Everything is ringing and he’s dizzy, not to mention the lack of oxygen. The only reliable source of information is the warmth at his shoulder, which tells him that B suffered the same fate he did. Fuck knows where Damian is though. Kid probably got launched straight at the ceiling with how light he is.

Fuck, that’s not important right now. Katsuki is. Was that him? Did he just blast them? Since when can he do that again?

The black spots finally clear from his vision, although the ringing is still there. Thank fuck for his helmet. The visor cracked with the force of impact though, so he can’t really see jack. He tugs it off to find Katsuki crouched over Duke. The room still stinks of burnt flesh. Or is it again now?

He can see that Katsuki’s mouth is moving, but he can’t hear him. His face is all twisted and he’s bracing himself over Duke like his core isn’t holding him anymore.

“Y’good?” Jason slurs out, he’s pretty sure, can’t really hear himself either, but the movement of his lips should fit.

Katsuki flinches though. Which is weird.

He’s still staring down at Duke, hiding his body from Jason. He doesn’t know whether it’s intentional. It shouldn’t be, he just saved the guy’s life, but it’s the angle of Katsuki’s shoulders that makes him doubt.

Whatever, that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is the psychopath’s body, which Jason is going to turn into a corpse now. It’s lying facedown a few metres away and the surgery attire is singed at the back. Jason doesn’t want to know what could be splattered over the front.

He still nudges it over with his foot. Someone’s breath hitches behind him and he hopes it’s Duke waking up.

Then a hand clamps on his shoulder again. With a last look at the mangled mess that is their face, he turns around.

The twitch in B’s jaw tells him it doesn’t fucking matter that the psycho is still breathing.

“Hood. Leave. Report to the Cave and leave your uniform there.”

Jason snorts a disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not a fucking child, you can’t just take my suit like it’s fucking cookie privileges.”

B turns away. Silently ignoring him like he always does even though Jason’s fucking right and he knows it.

“Yeah, just fucking brood and ignore me like you always do. What did you expect me to do? Fucking, let it lie?” Green swallows up the last of his vision. “Like you did with the Joker?”

B freezes.

A bitter cackle escapes him. “Hah, yeah. The fucking parallels. Tell me, how’s Duke doing? I mean, a bomb kinda just exploded in his face. Gonna bury him, too? It’s like a fucking initiation ritual at this point. Gotta die first before you can really call yourself a Bat. What about Katsuki? He’s died, now he’s been tortured. What’s next? Where are you gonna draw the fucking line?”

B walks over to Duke and if it wasn’t for the stiffness in his steps Jason would think he didn’t hear a thing. He did though. He just doesn’t care.

“You’re a fucking disgrace of a parent. Better be careful with Duke’s body. Don’t want it to end up in any Lazarus Pits, do we? Would be real inconvenient to you, specifically, if you had to suffer through your children pulling that twice, wouldn’t it? Or would you just not care again? Because you sure don’t look like you care right now. Gonna pull the same shit with this bitch as you did with the Joker?”

And that gets him. Three steps and he’s with Jason again, hand clutching at his jacket collar, shoving him backwards. “Go. I don’t want to see you at the manor, I don’t want you in the Cave, I don’t want you in Gotham. Come back when you’re not throwing tantrums like a three-year-old anymore.”

He catches Jason’s fist like it’s the easiest thing in the world and rips the gun from its holster.

Then he walks away without another look in his direction.

Katsuki doesn’t even look up when Jason leaves.

.
.
.

Katsuki cradles Duke’s face between his hands and tries to ignore the slightly singed feeling to his cheek, tries to ignore how too warm and too cold it feels, tries to ignore the feeling of molten flesh sticking to his pointer finger.

He’s been feeling like throwing up on and off for hours, but right now he has to physically fight the bile crawling up his throat, swallowing around a dry throat again and again because he doesn’t want to retch all over Duke’s motionless body, but he’d have to move to avoid that, and he wants that even less, not to even mention the fact that he probably couldn’t.

His legs are numb again. His ears are ringing, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. It all narrows down to the skin under his hands and the slight breaths he can feel on his face.

Duke is alive. And it’s not because of him. No, he quite literally contributed to the exact opposite of that. It’s because of stupid, dumb luck. His stupid, dumb luck because everyone has to be lucky someday, and there’s no better time than when you almost kill your-

Fuck.

Can he reserve the right to call him a friend when he just almost killed him? How can he ever call himself anything close to that when the burns on his face come from his hands?

The hands still cradling his face. The hands that can kill somebody. The hands he’s just proven he has basically no control over.

He lurches as far away from Duke’s body as he can, which isn’t far, so he tries to shuffle even more, and that hurts, but anything would be better than hurting him again. Hurting anyone of them again.

His legs aren’t doing their job and his arm doesn’t support him and the floor is still covered in debris, so he doesn’t get very far, but still far enough to come out of his tunnel vision a little, to start registering the rest of the room again.

There’s Duke’s body, and there’s Dux’ body, which Katsuki doesn’t look at even peripherally, and there’s Batman, crouching over the brat sitting against the wall. They’re talking, but Katsuki’s ears are still ringing.

He slings his arms around his torso and raises his eyes and lets himself look at the less human part of the wreckage he’s caused for the first time. This is his fault. He looks at the smoking remains of the machine and thinks ‘this is my fault’ and he wants to find the tallest building in Gotham and throw himself off of it. He wants to turn back time to when Dux was shoving a lighter into his arm and he wants to stay in that moment for eternity because then at least it wouldn’t be his fault.

At least then he’d have someone else to blame.

But there’s never someone else to blame because he’s Bakugou Katsuki and it’s always his fault. This is his fault.

Duke’s body and Duke’s face are his fault. Dux is his fault. Whatever is keeping Damian from getting up is his fault. The absolutely wrecked machine is his fault.

He’s never going to see his family again and it’s his fault.

He’s never going to see his friends again and it’s his fault.

He’ll never see home again and there’s nobody to blame but him.

Him, and the stupid fucking bullet that startled him enough to lose control.

The bullet that came from Jason’s gun. The bullet Jason fired at Dux’ head, the bullet Jason killed someone with, the bullet Jason shot at a person.

Heroes don’t kill. Good people don’t kill.

Jason does. Just like Shigaraki. Just like Stain. Just like so many other villains Katsuki knows.

Jason kills. And Katsuki doesn’t. Wouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Could, but he doesn’t want to. Jason wants. Jason looked like a crazy person.

Jason asked him if he was okay. Right after, when he was stumbling and holding a broken helmet, his first thought was to ask whether Katsuki was okay. Standing there, looking at him and the two bodies on the floor and that was his first priority.

He cares. Jason cares, about Katsuki and about Duke and the rest of the family too.

But he also kills. He owns guns with the intent to kill. He shoots guns with the intent to kill.

He ends human lives and he doesn’t show any remorse.

Katsuki cannot fit that into his own world. Sure, he’s thought about killing, in the way you do when you’re fighting in a war, but heroes don’t kill. Fuck, Deku became a vigilante and he didn’t kill.

Whatever Deku can do, Katsuki can do as well, if not better.

He’s a hero, and heroes don’t kill.

Two hours ago, Katsuki thought of Jason as a hero. A good hero, even. Someone who cares, who is strong and passionate and doesn’t give up, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He hates being wrong.

But he was. He was wrong about Jason and seemingly also wrong about himself because Duke’s body is lying across from him, motionless, and it’s Katsuki’s fault.

It’s not like he’s keeping a tally, but this is the second time he has hurt one of them like this. And if it goes the way things in his life usually do, it’ll be the second heroism career he has ended.

He watches the machine smoke in the corner and thinks about how the media could have been right. How everyone could have been right. Maybe it is his quirk. That intrinsic part of himself he has built his whole identity around; made for destruction.

He thinks back to training camp and the fire pit and Icy-Hot and he knows, deep down, that he can’t fix this. He’s not made for fixing. He’s made to break and hurt and destroy and it’s so unfair because he doesn’t want to be.

He thought he could do it. Has worked for it his whole fucking life, to be in control. And now he went without the centre of his identity for a few weeks and nothing changed. He was as in control as he could be and nothing changed because he still hurt Steph and now he has that part of his identity back and he hurt Duke.

He lost control. He stopped being careful. He got used to this. He’s not supposed to get used to it.

At least when everyone was calling him a villain he still had the reminder. Went without it for a few weeks and immediately took a guy out. Fucking pathetic. Weak.

He could cry. Nothing hurts anymore and he can’t hear a thing, but in a cruel twist of things he can feel the sting in his eyes, the lump in his throat, the pressure in his skull. He needs to cry. Not want, need, because he’d rather burn off his other arm than go into a bitch fit now.

He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling and wonders how long it’ll take for his body to get with the program. At some point the adrenaline will have to run out and his brain will recognise that he has a multitude of potentially life-threatening injuries he should go into shock over, and that point should’ve been about half an hour ago in his opinion.

He wouldn’t be sitting here, thinking about crying, if he was already unconscious and on his way to the hospital right now.

Although, hospital? Maybe they’d skip that and go straight for the morgue, not like he’s been making himself very appealing today. What would they even say at the hospital? ‘Yeah, found this kid on the street, he got stabbed with medical equipment and then burnt and he also might have some brain trauma, we’re not sure, but could you maybe fix him up without amputation or permanent nerve damage? No? Okay, then we’ll take him as a cripple. Or a corpse, whatever keeps the bill lowest.’

Hm.

The shock might actually be kicking in right now. Or, like, maybe he’s just finally going crazy. 50/50 on that. Or dehydration? He doesn’t really remember the last time he drank water. It shouldn’t be blood loss, he’s still plugged up like a kitchen sink. Or a bath tub. Can burns give you immediate infection in the brain?

That would actually explain a lot about Icy-Hot.

Why is he thinking about that bastard so much right now, anyways? Fucker’s not that interesting. Probably one of the people Katsuki will miss the least.

Hm, nah, that’s a lie. The guy was really fucking annoying, but in a funny way where Katsuki could at least make fun of him.

What’s also funny is how Katsuki is thinking about them all like they’re dead, when in reality, he is. He’s the one who went and died and then got himself transported to another dimension. They are probably living their best life over there, while Katsuki has a fucking identity crisis over here. Or mental break. Or panic attack.

Fuck it, he’s having a crisis. This is a crisis. Everything sucks and he’s dying or at least someone is dying and he hates death and killing and this shit is happening to him so he’s allowed to have a crisis over it and call it as such.

He watches the ceiling get blurry in a sort of detached way, with a bit of relief in the mix because he’s pretty sure he’s managed the whole thing without letting a tear fall. All of it. Because it’s over.

It’s all over.

Chapter Text

Duke hates the Cave’s infirmary. The whole family does, due to obvious reasons, but Duke is pretty new to the feeling and he has to say it fucking sucks.

From the smell to the vibe to the blandness of, like, everything in here, it fucking sucks. It would suck less if his roommate wasn’t unconscious, but Katsuki hasn’t moved even once since Duke woke up and sure, he was fucked last Duke remembers, but still, it’s so boring in here. He could use a nice crashout from the guy for entertainment.

It’s actually stupid that he’s still in here because his injuries aren’t even that bad, but Alfred ‘won’t risk anything’, so he’ll be staying here indefinitely. Duke would actually bet his freshly won money that it’s ‘cause B is sulking that Alfred doesn’t want him up in the house, but Alfred isn’t even allowing visitors yet because Katsuki is still out, so Duke can’t even check the gossip vine.

This leaves him with, like, one option: staring at Katsuki and thinking about what happened in that warehouse.

The thing is, while Duke is by no means new to the business, that shit still rattled him to an uncomfortable degree. Watching someone you’d consider basically family get tortured would do that to you.

A lot of what happened is either fuzzy or just plain unavailable in his memory, but the fucking noises Katsuki made will follow Duke for the rest of his life. The stillness of the guy’s body in the other bed isn’t helping the matter.

It wouldn’t be this bad if he just woke up. If he could just open one fucking eye and tell him to calm his tits or something else on brand like that, oh how Duke’s sleep would get elevated by that.

Instead, he’s being haunted by that warehouse even in his dreams.

And nobody is telling him anything. Katsuki was definitely right, the communication in this family is atrocious. Maybe he’d wake up if Duke promised him he could crash out about it and he’d listen.

His hair still has those black tips. Sometime in between the discovery and the whole warehouse thing the roots basically bled through most of his spikes. Now he looks like a porcupine. A greasy porcupine. It’s the unfortunate reality of head wounds. Duke is suffering the same fate.

They’re suffering a lot of fates together. Duke’d love it if they could both suffer awake.

Yeah, maybe he’s a bit obsessed these days. It’s just that those pesky feelings of guilt are eating up more and more of his insides the longer he watches Katsuki just lie there with his closed eyes and his greasy hair and the blanket pulled up so nobody can see the absolute carnage underneath.

Duke has caught glimpses here and there when Alfred changed bandages and the like and it fucked him up for hours every time.

‘Cause those are kinda his fault. If he just hadn’t left Katsuki alone, if he’d just been more careful in the warehouse, if he’d just done something different, then they wouldn’t be here like this.

But he didn’t. And so he watches Katsuki sleep and waits for either B to get his shit together or a fucking miracle to wake his roommate up.

Duke is usually pretty good with waiting, but everyone loses it at some point. He’s pretty sure his point isn’t much further out.

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.
.

It happens only a few days later. Duke is playing Angry Birds on his phone when he hears a shuffling noise from the other bed, closely followed by something that sounds like gibberish but is probably just Japanese.

He drops his phone in the sheets and cranes his head to watch. “Katsuki?”

A raspy groan comes from the lump of blankets, followed by a crackly ‘fuck’.

“You good over there?”

“Fuck off.”

He’s fine. “Dude, you took forever waking up, I’m so fucking bored.”

“You have, like, sixty siblings, get someone else to entertain you,” Katsuki grumbles while the lump slowly starts wiggling into an upright position.

“Alfred didn’t let anyone in because you ‘have to rest’,” Duke air quotes.

“Tough shit.” His head pops up, looking slightly high from what’s probably a decent IV dose, but he’s still managing a fairly impressive glare in Duke’s general direction.

“Man, you look like shit,” Duke snorts, mostly to be a bastard, but also because it’s true. He looks… well, according to circumstances, really. Shit.

“You’re not any better, banana boy,” Katsuki slurs with a very weak smirk.

“That is not becoming a thing.”

“Don’t call me dude and you won’t be banana boy.”

“This is blackmail, coercion. You’re a criminal, a dirty criminal,” Duke says, pointing at Katsuki, who’s doing an admirable job of looking like the cat from that one meme you can’t escape.

“And you’re a wimp, banana boy,” he grins, slumping into his probably very uncomfortable headboard.

That reminds Duke he should probably inform Alfred his patient is awake so he’ll start allowing visitors again. Dick has been basically blowing up his phone since the warehouse, asking and asking when he can visit.

He presses the button next to his bed Tim always makes fun of because ‘why are we acting like this is an actual hospital, the medical care is fucking questionable at best, look at my fucking spleen, dude’.

“How are you feeling, man?” he finally asks, watching Katsuki’s face for any sign of pain he could add to his guilt rotation.

“I’m on fucking painkillers, idiot, I’m not feeling a damn thing,” Katsuki responds, still missing the usual bite. But he can probably blame that on the painkillers. Hopefully.

“Me too, but I still feel like shit.” He immediately wants to take the words back, watching Katsuki’s face shutter in real time.

“Shouldn’t have fucking been there then. I had it under control,” he snarls, turning away with a cold look on his face.

Duke scoffs, “Dude, you were only there because I fucked up and left you alone. I-“

“I’m not a fucking baby that can’t be responsible for its own fucking actions! I fucking decided to go and fight the fucker, it wouldn’t have fucking mattered if you had been there or not because I still would have done it!”

“I could have stopped you! Or-“

“Stop me? You? No fucking way, you ain’t strong enough for that. You-“

“Or helped you! I could’ve come with you and helped you and maybe you wouldn’t look like a fucking nightmare demon then! I-“

“I don’t need help! I told you, I had it under control!”

“You were being burned alive, what about that is under control to you?!”

“THEN MAYBE I SHOULD’VE BURNED! NOBODY WOULD BE DEAD AND YOU WOULDN’T LOOK LIKE THAT AND JASON WOULD-“ he breaks off heaving wet coughs and Duke watches tears stream down his face in horror.

“You- what? Who died? What about Jason?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, I saw the body. I know Jason killed them.”

“He did what?! Is that why B is so mad? Dude, what happened while I was out?”

Katsuki levels him with an incredulous look through the tears. “Are you kidding me? He fucking shot them point blank in the face and you’re asking me what happened?”

“You- ooooohhh… you wouldn’t know, right. Unless something happened while I was out Dux isn’t dead. Jason’s gun had rubber bullets, there might be brain damage, but that’s it.”

Katsuki’s face goes through a myriad of complicated expressions before landing on suppressed sobs. Which would be the first actually comprehensible emotion he’s shown until now because Duke, too, would cry if his torturer was alive against all odds.

“Fuck,” Katsuki whispers.

“Yeah, but they’re probably in Arkham now, so you definitely won’t have to see them again. Besides, with a shot like that they’re probably eating out of a tube,” Duke tries to joke.

Katsuki buries his face in his hands and Duke prays Alfred is there soon because he’s definitely on too many painkillers to comprehend, like, anything in here right now.

“You’ll be fine, right? Like, all healthy and normal looking again, right?” comes Katsuki’s muffled voice, face still hidden behind his fingers and sounding oddly desperate.

“Um, yeah?” Duke responds carefully. He doesn’t really get what this is about, but the worry is kinda touching. “I mean, my face didn’t get that badly burned and my concussion is mostly fine by now, and the rest’s just bruises anyways. Just another day on the job, you know?”

A weak snort. “Yeah, I guess. I-“-he takes a very deep breath-“- I’m sorry. For, you know. Everything. Like, your face. And just- everything.” He slumps, still avoiding Duke’s eyes.

But he gets it anyways. Suddenly, this makes a slightly hysterical kind of sense.

They’re both blaming themselves for what the other went through. And for Katsuki, there’s definitely some other baggage there, too, but the crux of it is their shared guilt complex over varying parts of the whole shitshow.

“Dude, I don’t blame you for this, if anything, I should be sorry. And, like, I am. For leaving you alone and letting the fucker take me out so easily and being, like, really useless in general, so… yeah. Let’s just forgive and forget, ok?”

Katsuki’s head shoots up at that, an incredulous scrunch to his eyebrows. “Shut up, none of my stupidity is your fault.”

“Forgive and forget,” Duke repeats stoically until Katsuki gives him a grumpy nod. Then he starts fishing for his phone between the sheets. “You know Angry Birds?”

Before Katsuki can answer, the door opens and Alfred comes in. “Ah, I see you’re awake, Master Katsuki.”

“Drop the Master, Sherlock. When can I get out of here?”

Alfred’s moustache twitches. “We’ll see. How is the pain?”

Katsuki snorts. “I’m on painkillers. I don’t fucking know how the pain is.”

Duke opens Angry Birds and slowly but surely raises the volume while Alfred and Katsuki harp at each other until they break off an examination of Katsuki’s legs to finally work together in side-eyeing him.

It goes significantly more smoothly afterwards and Duke silently congratulates himself for his outstanding problem-solving skills.

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.
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Recovery is… a thing. It happens, despite the way it feels like it doesn’t. For Duke, he’s up and away a few days later. Happily throwing himself into Mario Kart tournaments with Tim, Steph and Cass while Katsuki stays in the infirmary.

The legs are the problem. The scalpels did an annoying amount of damage to his muscles and, according to Alfred, he can be glad there’s no nerve damage. According to himself, that assessment does fuck-all because he can’t move regardless. There’s no fucking way he’s taking a fucking wheelchair around the house, he’d rather have his peace and quiet in the infirmary.

He wouldn’t be able to use it himself either way because his left elbow is burned to a crisp and hasn’t formed new, stable skin yet.

He’s a fucking invalid. Bedbound. Useless. Sitting here while everyone else’s life goes on, wondering whether the fact that Dux is still alive makes anything better.

He’s had a lot of time to think. Most of his memories of the night are either blurry, painful, or both, but they still play on repeat. All of it.

What could he have done different?

How much is his fault?

What does he do now?

He avoids the topic at night when he goes to sleep because his dreams are already bad enough, but during the day? When he’s just sitting there, staring at the walls and feeling like shit?

Nothing else occupies him then.

A loop of the evening, on repeat. Always ending with the charred remains of the machine that was supposed to send him home, right next to the body of the person who knew how to work it. Who’s now in Arkham with brain damage.

In a way, both of these things are Katsuki’s fault.

He can’t go home.

It’s hard to think about. Obviously, it is.

But he’s feeling stranded in every way possible and there are only so many people he can blame. And now that he knows Jason didn’t actually kill Dux, the number is dwindling.

Jason is another one of those topics he’s been thinking about way too much lately.

His embarrassing little spiral after his explosion included a helluva lot of lamenting about Jason’s moral failings, which now in the light of day not only seems dramatic, but was also seemingly inaccurate because it turns out that Jason didn’t kill Dux.

If he could just talk to the guy. But Duke told him Jason has been suspiciously absent since and Steph said it’s probably because of B. Tim said they have a lot of complicated history.

Katsuki doesn’t care what they all say, he wants the fucker to come back so he can rip him a new one because what do you mean ‘I’ll just shoot the guy and hope for the best’ is your best plan. What the hell kind of strategy is that.

But Katsuki is incapable of movement. And he has no way of contacting him. And nobody is helping him.

It feels a bit like the beginning again, with him hurt and pissed and everyone else being fucking incapable of communicating.

But he’s already talked to Duke about that. He said there’s a reason they’re like this and the reason calls himself their legal guardian. Katsuki thanks every being there is in the galaxy that his father managed to have even a modicum of influence on him. He’s already an emotional disaster, at least he got a tiny bit of nonchalance about stupid things along with the other shit.

But fuck if it isn’t annoying. He wasn’t built for this much emotional pondering.

Like, the others are trying to keep him company and fend off the boredom, but they can’t be with him all the time. And he’s already, like, not the greatest company on a good day, but in hurt, high and subconsciously pissed off? Even Shitty Hair would have had a hard time.

See, he’s even gaining self-awareness down here. It’s fucking horrifying.

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.
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Jason hasn’t been to the manor since the warehouse.

That sentence is so fucking ironic.

He watched B drop Dux off at Arkham and then fly home and he pondered whether he’d be able to break into Arkham without killing significantly more people than just them.

Then he went to Crime Alley and cleaned up the alley with Katsuki’s blood on the wall.

Then he went to his dingy apartment and took a shower.

Then he called Frankie and asked him for updates on the territory.

And then he went out without his guns and his grapple and got into a good old melee with a gang trying to fuck with a shelter under his protection.

He’s still nursing a jumpy kneecap from that one.

It’s been a while. B hasn’t texted or called. Damian and Dick are radio silent. Cass sent him a few smileys. Steph is still occasionally sending him memes to ignore. Tim told him to get over himself and hasn’t done shit since.

Duke though. Duke has been practically bombarding him since, asking when he’s coming home, sending him updates on both his own and Katsuki’s health, sending him memes and videos of Mario Kart tournaments, basically begging him to talk to Katsuki. It’s a bit overwhelming. He’s gonna blame not responding to most of it on that.

He just doesn’t want to see B. Doesn’t want to go into that house. He’d probably strangle Katsuki anyways as soon as he lays eyes on the kid. And if Dick is there he’d definitely get lectured all righteous and shit and he doesn’t want to fucking deal with that.

He doesn’t want to deal with any of it. He wants to stew in his misery and the knowledge that he’d have been right to kill the fucker. He wants to somehow make the whole fucking family understand that sometimes killing is the best option, that not everybody deserves mercy, that life is not fucking black and white and simple and that nothing is ever that fucking easy.

Nothing.

But every time he remembers shooting them, he remembers Katsuki’s face afterwards as well. He remembers how he shielded Duke’s body with his own, from him, their- his brother. And he remembers how he hadn’t looked up when Jason left.

Katsuki thinks it’s that easy. And Jason didn’t notice.

He didn’t notice because he was too busy projecting his own business all over the guy like some weirdo. He can admit to that in the shitty shower of his shitty apartment building. That he was looking at Katsuki but not really seeing him because he expected a mirror and not a window.

Katsuki isn’t Jason. Isn’t even like him.

He can’t decide whether that’s a good thing. Yeah, he’s fucked up, but he also sees this world not through the rose-tinted glasses his family does, but raw and unfiltered and real. All the colours, not just black and white.

On the other hand, that’s probably easier. And fuck knows Katsuki deserves easy for once.

Chapter Text

The day is finally here. After weeks, fucking forever, Katsuki can finally walk. On crutches and not very far, but he’s independent and mobile and he’s so gonna use that.

For what, you ask?

For kicking Jason Todd-Wayne’s ass into next Sunday.

Though there are still minor complications to the task at hand. For starters, he doesn’t know where the fucker is hiding. He also doesn’t have the means to get there. When – not if, when – he gets there, the bitch could always run, which he has obviously proven he will. And, last but not least, he’s still not exactly in ass-kicking shape.

But those are only minor complications.

An actual major complication could be Bruce motherfucking Wayne himself.

That avoidant problem-solving style Jason is employing is obviously a family heirloom.

See, when Katsuki was still bedbound and unable to actually traverse the house, Wayne had not once come down there to talk to him. Which, sure, he doesn’t have to, not like Katsuki is one of his kids, but the others sure as fuck had seemed mad about it, talking about how he ‘always pulled that shit’.

Which could make you think that that’s just how he deals with injured people. By ghosting them. Which is fucking stupid, but okay. Katsuki can get behind that on some level, mostly the one that hosts his guilt complex he doesn’t want to talk about.

On all the other levels, it’s one of the stupidest things Wayne could have done, also because of said guilt complex ‘cause damn if Katsuki doesn’t feel blamed and accused right now.

Naturally, the moment he got back on his own legs and the two glorified sticks, he attacked the challenge of the stairs with violent competency and made his way up there, only to sleep for the rest of the day because those stairs are too damn long and his stamina decidedly isn’t.

It was one of his lower lows.

But still, he made it upstairs into the actual fucking house, and lo and behold, no fucking shot at talking to Bruce Wayne. Like, the guy probably got up at unholy times just to be out of the house before Katsuki could even re-enter REM sleep. Tim even said that Wayne has never been this responsible with his company meetings in his life.

Katsuki would like to say that he just inspires that work ethic in people, but it’s more that people really do just go to the greatest lengths to avoid him. It would be hurtful if wasn’t so fucking funny. The fucking Batman is scared of him. That’s a flex, not a loss.

However, it doesn’t change that the whole thing is fucking stupid. Katsuki is an actual fucking occupant of this house and he can only be avoided for so long. ‘So long’ being until he has his fucking legs back. Which he does now.

So, instead of going back to his old room to sleep that night, he waits until everyone has gone to sleep and makes himself comfortable on the couch in the family living room. From there, he should be able to hear any and all movement going on at the front door even in his sleep.

He’d underestimated the insomnia of the family though. He’s woken up three hours later by someone padding into the kitchen, not even trying to keep quiet as they slam the door to the microwave.

Well. If he’s already awake.

He crutches over to the kitchen doorway and waits for his eyes to adjust because this person apparently doesn’t need light to operate. His glorified sticks aren’t exactly subtle though, and the person stills, even going so far as to hold their breath as if the fucking microwave wasn’t buzzing behind them as a dead giveaway.

Right on cue, the thing starts beeping aggressively and they give up their charade with a whispered curse. Two seconds later, the microwave opens and its light illuminates the Demon Brat’s scowl.

“Odysseus,” he says. Katsuki is reasonably sure that the news of his name should have reached the kid at this point, but who knows with these idiots.

“Demon Brat,” he replies, carefully using the same inflection so it’s clear he’s mocking him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was sleeping until you decided to turn on that fucking nuclear reactor of a microwave. Why in the fuck does it sound like a whole ass airplane?” He steps further into the kitchen to try and peak at whatever the kid’s making, but he’s immediately blocked off. So it’s either embarrassing or secret.

“Well why are you sleeping here? I don’t see how I could be to blame for your decision to forego perfectly fine quarters in favour of our communal seating furniture,” Demon Brat hisses, but his heart is definitely not in it because he doesn’t call Katsuki an imbecile even once.

“Doesn’t matter. The real question is why you’re awake at fucking-“- he peers at the oven clock-“- two in the morning, fuck’s sake. I thought y’all had to be functional and shit.”

The kid tenses and eyes him suspiciously. Slowly, he answers, “It appears the effects of my concussion will accompany me for a while longer than anticipated.”

“Concussion?” Katsuki prods. When did the kid have time to get brained?

“I was… incapacitated by the explosion at the warehouse. My cranium did not hold up against solid steel beams,” he responds, still tense.

So, another victim of Katsuki’s inability to keep his fucking shit together. Great.

“Yeah, sorry about that or whatever, your stupid brother could stand to keep his fucking bullets to himself,” Katsuki brushes him off, directing towards a new topic rather smoothly if he does say so himself. “Where is he, by the way? Haven’t seen him since and I couldn’t go, like, three steps without before.”

“Todd has not returned to the manor. I would presume this is due to Father’s influences, seeing as he attempted to break his most treasured rule.” He’s avoiding eye contact now. This is making him uncomfortable, which means there’s information to obtain.

Katsuki decides on the easiest question. “What rule?”

“The family is prohibited from ending lives, both civilian as well as criminal,” the kid explains. Which, wow. The fucking basics have to be made a rule here.

“And why is that rule a problem? Like, I’d sure fucking hope none of y’all go around murdering people in cold blood.”

He gets one of the most judgemental looks of his life for that. “You might not understand it, but Todd has a very different view on life. He has killed before. Father and he have had a multitude of spats about life and who deserves it. I presume you haven’t yet heard him talk about the Joker?”

“No? Who the fuck is the Joker?”

A constipated look crosses over his face. “The Joker is the most reprehensible Rogue in the gallery. He is responsible for both Todd’s death and many others. Todd argues for his demise at any chance he gets.”

Oh.

So the Joker is Jason’s Shigaraki.

“Why hasn’t he killed him yet, then?”

An even more constipated look settles on Damian’s features. “He has certainly tried. Father has stopped him every time. He even resuscitated the Joker once. It is the source of much unrest between them.”

Oh fuck.

Yeah, that’d explain, like, a lot.

“So I’m probably right in guessing that both of them are projecting a fuckton right now,” he sighs, dropping in one of the kitchen chairs.

Damian’s expression softens the slightest bit. “Yes, I would think so. I might not remember everything, but I do know that it was part of the argument surrounding your situation.”

“Fucking great. Does fucking anyone in this house realise I’m my own person who can make my own choices and doesn’t need fucking anybody to make them for me? Because I might just fucking hug that fucker, I really can’t with y’all anymore,” he groans into his hands.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Damian sneers, which… really? That’s the one? Out of all of them, it had to be the half-feral snotty middle schooler that gets him.

“Yeah no, fucking forget it.” He looks up at the kid, but his eyes catch on the microwave, which is now in full view, including the contents. “Are those my leftovers? That I made with my own two fucking hands?”

The kid steps into his line of sight with a sniff. “I seem to remember you only using one hand. Pennyworth had to help you. Therefore, you cannot truly claim it as yours.”

“Bitch, that’s my fucking recipe, that’s as mine as it’s gonna get, you thief,” Katsuki growls, levering himself back up onto his crutches. Not as menacing as he would like to be, but at least it’s a good diversion.

“I am not a thief! You did not mark this as yours! A gross oversight on your part, not a fault of mine,” Damian argues, with crossed arms and a raised chin. The whole act is only missing some stomping, then he’d really look like the middle schooler he is.

“It’s my katsudon. Why the fuck are you stealing my katsudon at ass o’clock in the morning?” he shouts, maybe a bit too loud for the aforementioned time, but if they didn’t hear that fuckass microwave then they’re not gonna hear him screaming, so it’s whatever.

Damian winces anyways, slumping as he blinks seemingly painedly. “Cease with the screaming, would you? I am not deaf, merely concussed. Which is also the reason for my so-called thievery. This… katsudon is the only food in this refrigerator that does not make me want to regurgitate my innards into the nearest garbage disposal.”

And in horror Katsuki watches the kid flush and look away and just generally look so adorably pathetic that even his stone cold, shrivelled heart takes pity. It’s like the kid is a whole new person. All almost-civil and earnest and – ugh – cute. “Yeah, fucking have at it, I guess. I’m not hungry anyways. You fucking owe me though.”

The kid pulls the bowl out of the microwave and eyes him. “I do not like being indebted to people. What would you collect as debt?”

Katsuki already has a nice little idea. “I want you to find a way for me to talk to Jason. Get him here, get me to him, I don’t give a fuck, but I wanna punt him into the ocean.”

Damian’s face brightens. “I will always support someone who aspires to beat Todd into submission. I will inquire with Richard whether he would be inclined to accompany you.”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose. “Like, Grayson? I don’t need fucking Grayson to babysit me. I can handle Jason myself.”

“Well, if it pleases you,” Damian huffs, “I will tell Richard to limit his services to chauffeuring you. He knows where Todd resides and he will not tattle on you to Father.”

“He better not, I still have some words for that bitch.” He gets up again and starts rummaging through the cutlery drawers of the kitchen. Damian is still sitting there with just the bowl and no chopsticks and Katsuki ain’t admitting to shit, but maybe, possibly, he wants the kid to fucking eat, for fuck’s sake.

He finds some acceptable sticks and drops them on the table next to the kid. “Put your shit away after, I’m going back to sleep. And keep your hands off of the fucking microwave, okay?”

“I will do as I please,” Damian sniffs. “Now leave before I reconsider my offer.”

Katsuki snorts. “You ain’t offering shit, you fucking owe me. Good fucking night, bitch.”

“I hope you sleep despicably,” Damian hisses behind him.

Katsuki drops back on the couch with a feral grin.

Oh, how does he love it when his plans come together. And he only had to sacrifice an admittedly mediocre bowl of leftover katsudon for this one.

.-.

The next time he wakes up, it’s because some asshole bastard turns on the fucking laser beam that is the family living room lights, thereby blinding him temporarily.

“Fucking bitch, why would you-“ he spits, scrambling to pull his blanket over his head.

A blank voice asks from the doorway, “What exactly are you doing here, Katsuki?”

Fucking Wayne.

“Oh, so now you remember I exist, huh?” Katsuki snarls, pushing the blanket off again to stare at the bitch menacingly.

And then he gets caught in a staring contest because Wayne is a fucking freak and has never communicated anything in his life. Like, even Katsuki is better at it than him, even if he communicates mostly through screaming, insults, cursing, or a combination of all three.

It becomes too stupid for him about three minutes in. “Okay, this is fucking dumb. Why the fuck are you avoiding me, dickhead?”

“I’m not… avoiding you,” Wayne replies stiffly. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Yeah, sure. You haven’t even been in the same fucking room with me since the warehouse, which is pretty fucking hard to pull off when you’re living in the same house. So tell me fucking why, for fuck’s sake.”

“I didn’t think you would appreciate seeing me,” Wayne mutters. He sounds like a fucking child that got scolded by his mother. Katsuki wants to punch him.

“You didn’t think so. Well, obviously you’re fucking stupid. Can you read minds? Do you know what everybody is thinking at any given moment? I don’t fucking think so. I couldn’t give a fuck less whether you’re in a room with me or not but avoiding me like the fucking plague is really fucking low, even for you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wayne asks, still stiff and blank but now looking a bit put out on top.

“I mean that you’re not exactly giving me a stellar fucking impression of your parenting skills. Like, there’s the whole child soldier thing, which I still don’t really buy your innocence in, then the communication skills in this family are definitely not the butler’s fault, and one of your children is currently avoiding you for reasons I still don’t really get and I kinda just almost died and haven’t fucking seen you since. Not that I need you to fucking parent me, but if this is how you treat the others when they get hurt it’s no wonder y’all have issues the size of fucking Jupiter.”

Ok wow. He kinda hadn’t expected the whole ass rant, but it’s not like he’s lying or anything.

Doesn’t look like Wayne did either. The blank look has finally been wiped off his face, replaced by a mix of pathetic sadness and indignation. He still doesn’t say anything, though.

“For fuck’s sake, this is fucking pathetic,” Katsuki groans and levers himself up onto his crutches. “I’ll level with you: stop avoiding me, stop avoiding Jason, deal with whatever the fuck y’all’s problem is and start thinking about when you want to throw me out ‘cause it looks like I’m staying fucking indefinitely.”

And then he crutches past him and swallows the indignity of his less-than-dramatic exit with a scowl. He’s almost out of hearing range when Wayne calls after him, “Wait. I’m not… we won’t throw you out. You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay.”

Katsuki turns around just in time to see him disappear into the kitchen.

That was probably everything he was ever gonna get out of the man.

It’s not like Katsuki can throw a lot of stones here though.

.-.

Damian knocks on his door that evening and doesn’t wait for him to say anything before he bursts in with a phone in his hand. “Richard and I just conspired regarding your conversation with Todd, he will be available tomorrow.”

“Did you tell him he’s just here for driving? ‘Cause if he starts lecturing me, I swear to fuck I’m gonna walk,” Katsuki threatens, dropping the book he’d stolen from the actual whole ass library in the house on his bed sheets.

Damian scoffs. “He has been informed that his expertise is not needed nor appreciated. Whether he acquiesces will be up to him.”

Well. At least he’s been warned.

Onto more pressing matters.

“Have you ever said ‘fuck’ in your life?” Katsuki asks as Damian stands in the still open door.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the kid scoffs. Katsuki could swear that’s one of those stupid vines Dunce Face and Raccoon Eyes quoted almost every day.

“Why the fuck do you think I’m asking?” he shoots back.

“To be as much of a nuisance as all my other siblings aspire,” Damian scowls.

Katsuki will just skip the emotional implications of ‘other siblings’.

Anyways. “So, have you?”

“There have been unique instances where such vulgar expression came to me, but-“

Katsuki interrupts him with a laugh. “Yeah sure, you stubbed your toe and started screaming probably.”

Damian honest-to-god pouts. “I did no such thing. Whatever. Have you ever expressed yourself without unnecessary profanity?”

“Why would I? It sure as fuck gets the point across better, you should try it,” Katsuki smirks. He wouldn’t have thought being a bad influence towards middle schoolers would be fun, but he can work with this.

“If you were to broaden your vocabulary horizon you wouldn’t need such language to express your opinions,” Damian says smugly.

“Did you just call me stupid, you fuckwit?”

“I merely noted your rather limited usage of varied expressions.”

“Bitch, English ain’t my first language, the fuck are you expecting, fucking Shakespeare?”

“It is not mine either, but yet, I manage.”

“I don’t need words like fucking… ‘exquisite’ to say smart shit. And I bet you don’t either in whatever other language you speak.”

“My mother tongue is Arabic, but I also speak Japanese, French and Mandarin. I am not limited to profanity in either of these languages.”

That gets Katsuki’s attention.

Like, he’s not fucking homesick or some shit, but it has been a while since he has actually spoken Japanese with someone.

He leans forward and says in Japanese, “Are you fluent?”

“I am as close to fluent as possible without constant training,” Damian responds in kind, losing some of his snotty tone in translation.

He has an accent, so it isn’t perfect, but it’s as close to it as it’s gonna get.

Katsuki throws his pillow at the door to close it and beckons him over.

“We’re gonna go over verb forms, kid, your accent is atrocious.”

It really isn’t, but there’s only so much soft shit he can take.

Chapter Text

“So, you want to make Jason talk to you,” Grayson says, sounding a helluva lot like the teemu therapist at Katsuki’s middle school that tried to convince them all that drugs are bad.

Katsuki had slept through all of those lectures and this one isn’t shaping up to be an exception.

“Yeah, so?” he grumbles back, slouching in the kitchen chair to really embody the aura of ‘do I look like I give a fuck?’.

Grayson sighs. “Just- how well do you deal with failure?”

“I don’t,” Katsuki replies flatly, very aware that the guy is steering around the topic but unwilling to indulge him. “Why exactly is that important right now?”

“Because Jason doesn’t talk. Not like that. And you’re still not at 100% so I’d rather not leave you alone with him.”

And isn’t that a ringing endorsement to have from your own family.

“What are you trying to say, fuckface? That he’s gonna kill me as soon as I say the word ‘communication’?” He stops slouching and curls his hands around the glass of water Grayson had given him when he started this whole discussion. It’s looking mighty attractive as a projectile weapon right now.

Grayson sighs again, like he’s the one dealing with a stupid conversational partner here. “Not exactly, but he just needs time to cool off. He always comes back eventually, you’re just gonna lengthen that timeline.”

“Yeah sure. How long does it usually take?”

“That… depends. Sometimes a week, sometimes longer, once it was two days. I mean, I can hazard a guess as to who he’s avoiding, but we don’t know for sure what exactly has him so mad.”

“Yeah, and you know what would help with that? Asking,” Katsuki groans. Seriously, how incredibly dense can someone be?

Grayson stares at him for a bit and shrugs, “Your funeral, I guess. You’ll just go out anyways and actually get yourself killed this time.”

“Damn right I will.” They’re finally learning. “When are we leaving?”

“Now, if you want to? I can talk to Bruce later.” Grayson puts their glasses in the sink and bounces off towards the entrance.

His car is both inconspicuous and actually parked above ground, both a slight surprise to Katsuki after the last months. He drops into the passenger seat and shoves his crutches into the backseat and immediately notices his mistake when the door next to him gives an ominous click and Grayson smiles at him placidly.

The car starts moving and Grayson turns down the radio. “So. You-“

“Fuck no, let me out, I’m walking.”

Grayson just laughs. “I promise it’s nothing too bad. Just a few questions. You know, have you thought about what you’ll do now? School, for example. And if you even want to stay with us. Just stuff like that.”

Katsuki lets his head fall back against the seat and groans. “For fuck’s sake. Yes, I have thought about shit. No, it’s none of your business.”

“It is my family, so it’s kind of my business.”

“I- for fuck’s sake, give a guy some time to fucking process shit before you force him to make decisions.”

Grayson’s eyes widen a bit. “Oh no, I’m not trying to force you to do anything. Just- you know, I wanna know how you’re doing, what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that I don’t even exist here. Would be pretty hard to do shit if I don’t have any legal legs to stand on.”

“That’s your issue?” Grayson snorts. “Dude, B can fix that in, like, three seconds. Jason is legally dead too and running around just fine.”

Katsuki rubs at the bandage on his elbow. It’s thick and limits movement and it started itching this morning. He’ll probably get rid of it soon.

“Then I’ll exist legally, but I don’t have any history. I have fucking nothing. The hell do I do then?”

“I was a part of a wandering circus, Damian and Cass were child assassins, Jason is from Crime Alley… should I go on? None of us had actual history, least of all Damian and Cass, and they’re still part of the family. We all had nothing, and now I’m a police officer, Damian is going to school and Jason… yeah, he’s not the best example, but Cass is almost done with school, so there’s that.”

Katsuki pauses. “Almost? I thought she was older than Tim?”

“She was mute for a long time, so it was harder to integrate for her,” Grayson explains and gets a fond glint in his eyes. “But she managed, so you can too.”

That’s a lot of confidence to have in someone the guy has never seen the academic record of. He says as much, but Grayson just laughs. “You’re fluent in English and helped Duke with his Algebra, there’s no way you’re stupid.”

Okay. He doesn’t know whether he should be flattered or put out about being read and judged like that.

Grayson continues, “So you could definitely go to school. But what about, you know, the family business? Wanna join that one, too? Because you definitely act like it.”

Katsuki snorts. “There’s no fucking way Batfuck is gonna let me join after the stunts I pulled. The guy is probably convinced I’m gonna try to kill myself any moment.”

“I mean, Jason is part of this and he’s… yeah, Jason. We can probably convince B.”

Vigilantism. Is that what Katsuki wants to do?

“Is the whole thing, like, legal?” he asks. “Vigilantism was a crime in my dimension.”

Grayson’s face does something between a wince and a smirk. “Fuck no. But half the cops here are corrupt anyways, and the other half actively asks for our help, so don’t worry about that.”

And Katsuki doesn’t really have room to talk anyway, what with the criminal record he accumulated when he was homeless, so really, what’s one more crime if he’s doing it to help people?

“I’m not worried. And I want in. Gonna show you how the real heroes do it,” he grins.

“Without dying, hopefully,” Grayson jabs, and then he brakes. “So, I’m not actually gonna park my car in Crime Alley because I’d like to keep it, but I’ll show you the way and depending on how Jason is doing I’ll either stay or wait outside, ok?”

Katsuki nods shortly and pulls his crutches from the backseat.

Grayson insists on walking behind him and keeps up a steady stream of chatter that has Katsuki slowly but surely speeding up until he reaches a new record for fastest crutching he’s done, which still doesn’t even remotely resemble his usual speed.

“The grey one, that’s Jason’s.” Grayson grimaces. “He lives on the third floor though and the elevator is broken, soooo… yeah, sorry about that.”

“Fucking bitch,” Katsuki groans. He just basically sprinted through Gotham on crutches and now he has to climb fucking stairs on them, too? Fucking stupid.

Grayson pulls out a key and opens the door for him. “Yeah… I mean, I’d let you piggyback, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna kill me if I suggest it.”

“Fuck no, damn right I’d kill you.” And he starts taking the stairs. Grayson is practically breathing down his neck, he’s standing that close, like Katsuki will lose his balance any moment and he has to catch him. “If you don’t get out of my fucking space in the next three seconds, I’m gonna kill you anyways.”

The steps behind him stop for a minute.

He has to take a breather after the first floor. Which is fucking embarrassing because he’s supposed to be a hero and now a fucking flight of stairs has him panting like an asthmatic.

“You okay?”

“Fuckin… great…”

And he goes for the next flight because Grayson looks like he’s two seconds away from picking him up and he will not take responsibility for any property damage or funeral costs that would result in.

He doesn’t know exactly how long it takes until he’s standing in front of Jason’s door, but he can tell that it’s an embarrassingly long time, so he doesn’t wait for his breathing to go back to normal and instead pounds on the door.

Grayson shifts from one foot to the other behind him. “Hey, don’t take anything he says to heart, yeah? He has… issues, but nothing he says is your fault, ok? I just-“

His nervous rambling is interrupted by the door slamming open and a growled “what?”.

Katsuki waves Grayson off and shoves past Jason into the apartment. He drops on the kinda disgusting looking couch and stares at Jason with all the rage and impatience he’d accumulated over the duration of his recovery.

“Tell me why I haven’t seen you one singular fucking time since you almost killed the bitch who ruined my life. Because we’re gonna talk about that, too, but first I wanna know what fucking right you have to fuck off into the distance after preaching to me about shit like trust.”

With a healthy amount of satisfied schadenfreude, he watches Jason flounder. The wheels turning in his head are like fucking neon lights blinking in the Gotham night and his jaw is so tight Katsuki would probably break his hand if he punched it.

Grayson is watching the whole thing like he doesn’t know whether he should get popcorn or restraints.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason settles on. He still doesn’t move from where he’s hovering in the doorway. Katsuki hopes Grayson is strong enough to tackle the guy if he makes a break for it.

“Making you talk. Answer me, fuckface.”

“Talk? Why the fuck do you want to talk?”

“Because you tried to fucking kill a bitch on my behalf! Why the fuck else? I’m not here because I missed you, that’s for fucking sure.” He might’ve been lying through his teeth for that last part but that’s between him and his newfound attachment issues, Jason fucking Todd doesn’t need to know that.

“I fucking assure you, that bullet came from me and no one else. The fucker had it coming, not my fault you’re as blind as Batman,” Jason hisses, fists balled and finally getting away from the door.

And until now, Katsuki hadn’t really gotten the whole thing with the issues everyone had been so keen on informing him about but watching Jason stalk towards him with that expression and those almost toxic green eyes… yeah, he gets why Grayson had been a bit hesitant to leave him alone here.

Naturally, someone who has no idea about anger would think this is dangerous.

“You know what that fucker had coming? Fucking jail. A fucking psychiatric ward because that’s some A-level untreated psychopathy right there but not fucking death. You can’t just-“

“I can and I fucking will! I don’t know what your universe was like, if y’all are just fucking soft and nobody has treated you to a fucking reality check yet, but some people don’t deserve to live! You know who those people are? Rapists, paedophiles, child abusers, human traffickers, people who kick human rights with their fucking feet! That ‘person’ was experimenting on people! Children! They fucking burned you alive and you’re trying to tell me that someone like that deserves a single fucking second more on this earth than what they already managed to waste on being fucking depraved sickos?!”

He's looming over Katsuki now, chest heaving and only gearing up for another rant, but Katsuki has had enough.

“It’s not about fucking deserving! Life isn’t a fucking right you earn! All those people you talked about, those sick fucks, death isn’t a fucking punishment to them! Send them to jail and make them fucking miserable there but killing them is the fucking easy way out! You’re supposed to be a fucking hero, you’re supposed to be better than them! You-“

Jason rips him off the couch by his collar and practically shakes him. His eyes really are green now. Katsuki holds onto his crutches for dear life.

“That’s not how this world works, kid! Maybe that worked for you wherever the fuck you came from, but this is a whole new hellhole and at some point, you can’t think about what one person deserves anymore and have to think about everyone else! I couldn’t care fucking less about that fucker’s punishment, to me it’s about the safety of literally everybody else who has to share this fucking earth with them! I know death isn’t a punishment to the fucking Joker but if that freak was dead then the entirety of Gotham could fucking sleep at night! I could! At some point those stupid little morals of yours and Batman’s have to give way to the cold fucking reality that some people have to die for the greater good and I don’t care if I have to be the villain or whatever for that to happen! Don’t you fucking get that?! It’s not about good vs evil, black vs white, death vs life, it’s about little children being able to play on the street without some asshole dragging them into the corner and ruining their lives!”

He shoves Katsuki away from him again and rubs at his face with a strangled shout. Grayson is still standing in the doorway, frozen just like Katsuki.

That’s… he’s never thought about it that way. Back home, it always sounded so easy. Fight the villain, suppress the quirk, let the authorities get them to jail. Most of the time, once they were in jail they didn’t really get out. But during his bed rest, Steph and Tim had caught him up on this universe a bit and the regularity with which Arkham lost various inmates sounds like an absolute nightmare, not even mentioning the corrupt cops.

And yeah, if it’s about public safety? Katsuki isn’t naïve, he knows that some of the shit the HPSC tries to sweep under the rug has to contain some less-than-legal solutions. Like murder for the greater good.

Fuck, why is everything so complicated here?

Jason is clearly expecting for him to scream back. He’s certainly squaring up like it. But Katsuki is fucking sick of this. Of everybody talking and talking but nobody fucking listening and understanding and getting it.

“But why then? What about that fucker seemed that fucking dangerous to you?” he sighs.

Jason’s jaw works for a while, then he groans and his eyes look a lot more teal now. “Yeah, whatever. Not like the bitch was meta or anything. And, like, I knew those were rubber bullets, but you- fuck, you don’t know what you and Duke looked like. You’d have done the same fucking thing, I swear.”

“I had the added bonus of feeling what I looked like and didn’t immediately jump to murder, so don’t swear on anything too important. Just- where do you draw the line? At what point is it for the fucking greater good? It’s fucking murder, how the fuck do you justify that?!”

Jason snorts bitterly. “Fuck, sometimes I forget you’re a fucking child. You have no fucking idea what some people do for fun.” He heaves a deep sigh and drops on the couch. “The Joker is a mass murderer. He kills and tortures for fun. He’s traumatised more people than the whole family could count on all extremities. But B can’t fucking see how killing him would be for public safety because he’s still clinging to that stupid fucking rule of ‘no killing’ like half of us aren’t way fucking past that. I’m not even the only one of us who has killed voluntarily. And you can’t tell me that the kind of permanent brain damage he distributes regularly is more merciful than fucking death.”

It's a surprisingly rational argument from someone who looked like they’d snap and go on a killing spree only minutes before. It certainly gives Katsuki a lot to think about.

“So it’s because of the Batfuck that you didn’t come back,” he muses, unsubtly trying to steer the topic towards something a little less headache inducing.

Jason glowers. “Damn fucking right it is. I don’t want to look at his smug fucking face for at least a month. I would’ve visited to check on you but there’s no fucking way I’m setting a single fucking toe into that manor until the fucker gets it.”

Katsuki stows away the glaring absence of any kind of expected or promised apology in that for later. None of his business how dysfunctional this shit can get.

“That’s too fucking bad because that’s where I’ll be for the foreseeable future and I’m gonna fucking kill you if you try and avoid me like that again.”

Jason’s head turns towards him with an audible crack. “You’re staying?!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and huffs. “The machine is fucked and the bitch has permanent brain damage. I’m fucking stuck here and it’s y’all’s fucking fault, so I’d sure fucking hope I’m staying.”

“Are you… will you be part of the family? Like, the whole five yards with adoption and shit?” he asks and Katsuki would almost call his tone tentative.

“Not like I have a fucking choice,” he huffs again. “I don’t fucking exist here. And I’d rather live with a billionaire than on the streets, so if I have to deal with you fucks for that, I’ll take it.”

“Even the Demon Brat?” Jason raises an eyebrow of doubt.

Grayson is already protesting from the door when Katsuki just grins. “You are way lower on the list than the brat, I can tell you that.”

Jason’s eyes widen and a grin spreads on his face. “I fucking knew it. Screw the next month, I’m never coming back, I don’t want to know what the hell kind of bullshit you cook up together. Fuck, I’m gonna have nightmares about this.”

Katsuki leans back with a grin and watches Grayson and Jason rib at each other about who of them was worse at that age.

If this is what being a sibling is like, he’s gonna fucking crush it.

Chapter Text

“Where the fuck does Wayne find you all every time? Seriously, is he building a fucking pokemon collection? Trying to see how many different ethnicities he can sell as family before somebody calls him out on it?” a boy hisses to Katsuki with a disgusted look in the school cafeteria’s lunch line.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean, asshole?!” he growls back, dropping his tablet into Duke’s arms and shoving up his sleeves.

Duke catches him by the back of his collar before he can punt the fucker into the sun, though, and pushes him to stand in front of him in the line. He turns to the guy with a bitchy smile. “I don’t see how he’d need to be called out, but if that duty falls to you then I would recommend looking up healthy father-son relationships before you do, since you obviously don’t have much experience with those.”

Katsuki sends the guy a grin full of schadenfreude as he stumbles over a very weak insult in response. Then he turns to Duke. “Not that I don’t appreciate a satisfying verbal bitch slap, but I had that shit handled. Would’ve punted him into a fucking lake, I don’t need you to protect me or some shit.”

Duke shrugs. “You’re already on thin ice with the teachers, we don’t need to add assault to the growing list of reasons why the principal should kick you out.”

“Not my fucking fault they’re all soft as hell and don’t know their fucking formulas,” Katsuki grumbles and lets Duke lead him towards the lunch lady.

He’s been going to school with him for a few months now, to this stupid, fancy private school B insisted on because it’s a Wayne tradition or whatever. Rich people nonsense, but Katsuki could appreciate a good school, if this was actually one.

But the chemistry teacher doesn’t know his formulas and the history teacher wouldn’t recognise Japanese history if it slapped him in the face and too many of the students remind him of Monoma in even fucking worse, which he wouldn’t have thought possible.

The only good thing is Duke, with whom he shares most of his classes. Duke and his little group of laid-back friends who don’t mind Katsuki’s anger issues and social problems. They’re not particularly close but that’s fine because the family is big and they get him way better anyways.

In the end, school doesn’t really matter anyways because Katsuki will start his night job soon and then absolutely none of this shit will be relevant anymore. Heroism might not be a paid position here, but what is he the adopted son of a billionaire for?

There’s no fucking way he’s ever admitting this to anyone, but he’s so fucking excited. When he pitched his costume to B the guy had been reluctant at first, but when he managed to get Tim on board and they started earnestly working on it in a sugar-fuelled three am craze (on a weekend because Katsuki is not an animal), he’d had to give up his protests at the final product, which Katsuki can admit is miles better than anything he cooked up by himself.

And now, the thing is done. Or almost done, Tim says to give him until the end of the week, but then it’ll be time: Katsuki will officially join the row of bats on night patrol. Or daytime patrol.

Fuck, any patrol will be fucking great. He’ll finally get to do what he loves again and he only had to endure months of physical therapy and training and coaching and testing for it.

But he’s ready now. Stronger than ever, faster than ever, more prepared than he was even before coming over. He’s at peak form and he’ll finally get to use it.

The city of Gotham will finally get to know the hero-slash-vigilante-slash-fucking-God that is Dynamight. A shorthand, of course, because a single word is easier to scream in fear than the whole thing.

According to B, his first night patrol will be as soon as the suit is ready, and if he carries that shit and wants to try daytime patrol, he’ll join Duke some time.

There’s also the matter of his quirk. Even though he’d fought tooth and nail for it, Bruce had strictly forbidden him from using his quirk to fly. Something about public nuisance and possible structure damage and his incredibly fragile no-meta-rule.

Fucking coward.

But he’s allowed to use it in combat if really desperate and if he does choose to go on daytime patrol, he’ll get to use it in more open spaces or for longer distances.

It’s a lot. The last few months consisted mostly of training, with just about every member of the family available. Dickwing insisted on teaching him grappling, Jason called dibs on close-quarters-combat (aka beating the shit out of someone like you’re trying to kill them without actually killing them) and Tim forced him to learn how to use the Batcomputer (the name is still stupid).

His favourite thing though were the ‘history lessons’ Steph and Duke gave him. It was basically gossiping with a side of genuinely interesting stories about all the Rogues and heroes and vigilantes the family had encountered and why that specific family member cannot be in a room with them without attempted murder charges.

Some of the shit he learned was less fun then others, but at least he knows which fuckers not to hold back with now.

His least favourite was B and Damian trying to drill him in other weapons. The first time they pressed a bat-a-rang into his hand he’d just looked at them for a few before very accurately shooting an explosion at the target.

It took a fucking week before they finally gave him up as a lost cause because flicking little objects from between his fingers in an often-misguided attempt to attack is significantly less effective than just blowing something the fuck up and being done with it, believe it or not.

(There’s no need to mention the enormous lack of talent he’d shown for that particular tactic, it was about efficiency and nothing else, ok?)

He’d been marginally better with a sword but in the end they’d just had to accept that Katsuki does best with his hands free. The whole thing had impacted the costume development a lot as well because with no need to hide little things like knives or bat-a-rangs, the whole thing was made pretty sleek in the end, even if Katsuki fought for his gloves to stay.

When he’d first shown those to Tim though, the guy had laughed at him hysterically for so long that he’d had to put him into a chokehold to shut him up, and even then he’d cosplayed a dying hyena for a good few minutes before getting his shit together.

So, no gloves for Katsuki. He gets to keep his Molotovs though, which he’s really fucking stoked about because fuck yes, grenades!

In the end, a lot of the cool details had to go in favour of practicality, which Katsuki can get behind but fuck if he isn’t missing his metal collar. At least they let him keep the kneepads and boots.

There’d also been a pretty long discussion during their three am craze about his quirk and how it being a whole-body-thing now would affect his costume, but B’s ban on excessive quirk use pretty much put that six feet under, although Tim had had an outrageous amount of fun coming up with ideas that wouldn’t leave him fucking bare-ass naked every time he blew up.

Overall, the only actual fight during the whole process had happened when it came to the bat insignia. Katsuki had wanted to keep the orange X on the front, Tim had been adamant to get him a unique insignia with a bat theme instead, and only after a few hours of increasingly ludicrous drawings thrown back and forth over the kitchen table had they finally caved to Grayson and his groundbreaking idea of ‘just take a bat and plaster it over the X, I don’t see the big problem?’.

In hindsight, it was stupid. But it was important to Katsuki and Tim is a stubborn fuck.

But Tim is also the stubborn fuck taking care of the suit, so Katsuki had put in an effort to not piss him off the last week. He’ll see if that paid off.

It did pay off, it turns out, because Tim is done earlier than expected and is already bouncing around in the kitchen when Duke and Katsuki come home. Damian is eating and sending him judgemental looks and the sheer relief on his face when they walk in tells them a lot about how Tim has been about the topic for the last few hours.

“Finally you have returned, you can now bother the topic of your upset instead of me,” Damian scowls at his brother.

Tim just grins at them. “It’s done! I finished a few hours ago and you can try it out tonight! You’re coming with me to the docks for an investigation and Jason called dibs on a drug bust for midnight!” And he storms off towards the Cave without even waiting on them.

Katsuki vows to make curry bread for him on the weekend.

The afternoon is spent dragging Duke through the Algebra homework and sitting through a lecture from Bruce about do’s and don’t’s of a patrol, absolutely unnecessary because he’s already heard it sixty times.

And then, finally, it’s dark out.

He suits up next to Tim and studies himself in the reflection of a display case.

The colour combination is still fucking fire, and the new silhouette doesn’t make him any less imposing than the bulkiness of his old suit did. It’s still Dynamight, just with a bat-flare.

And it’s fucking awesome.

He says as much and watches Tim grin to himself.

Going out as this new version of Dynamight is peak. Even the uneventfulness of the investigation doesn’t make the experience any less exciting because he’s actually doing fucking hero work for the first time in forever.

Still, the drug bust is his favourite part of the night.

Jason had briefed him while he swung across the city and now, standing in the rafters above the target, adrenaline is flooding him like the first sip of water after training.

This is what he’s fucking made for.

At Jason’s sign, he drops down on top of the first goon and KO’s him in one. Where Jason first keeps to his rubber bullets, Katsuki sweeps into close quarters like a bat from hell (ha!) and ends the fuckers like it’s his job (another ha!).

It’s obvious the goons aren’t prepared for him. A new bat, one with a significantly different fighting style, absolutely destroying them while the Red Hood picks them off like finger food.

A nose crunches beneath his boot, a rib gives under his elbow, the strangled shout of a bitch trying to go for the head and failing.

The sounds, the sensations, the emotions, all of it is so familiar and he has fucking missed this. Throwing guys twice his size around like ragdolls, ending some rat’s ability to walk with a nice kick to the knee, stealing a fucker’s future kids when he gets in a good swipe at his head, all of it is so fucking satisfying after months of draught.

It’s chaos. It’s the most fun he’s had in weeks.

The real chaos starts though when one of them actually does manage to get him in a chokehold and flies into the wall a second later.

The first guy runs when he sees Katsuki’s smoking palm and feral grin.

“Yeah bitch, run away! And tell your boss you got fucking ended by Dynamight, you pussy!”