VOID [Katsuki Bakugo x OC]

Rule #2: Prepare for the Worst

♪

Cadence never felt so exhausted.

"It's only going to get worse," her brother, Dorian, reminded her with an elbow to the ribs. Their legs dangled off of the stage, side by side, looking out over the gigantic, empty stadium.

If she closed her eyes, Cadence swore she could hear the ghosts of performances past echoing through the darkness, the remnants of previous fans still screaming through time and space. The feeling that they weren't alone settled over everything like a fine layer of grease, oily and lingering.

But she didn't mind. She liked knowing she wasn't alone.

Dorian took a long swig from his water bottle and cracked his neck. "Find a coping mechanism now. Before it gets to be too much." His neon orange hair glowed under the spotlights, nearly white at the fine tips. He looked like a summer god with his eyes closed, with the glare of the lights off of his hair, with the glisten of sweat on his brow. Bright as the sun. Unstoppable.

Like nothing could touch him.

But maybe that was just Cadence glorifying her older brother. Too tired to answer, Cadence nodded and drank from her own water bottle, letting his words swim through her mind. Coping mechanism, huh? She stretched, arms up over her head, down to her sneakers, a wiggle to crack her back. Like what?

Their sister and youngest sibling, Aria, did jumping jacks stage left, waking up her sleepy legs. She'd been drumming for an hour straight with minimal breaks, so it was no surprise to anyone that the lower half of her body was in need of movement.

Chord, their final sibling and Cadence's twin brother, napped center stage, an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the majority of the spotlights. They'd just finished their first dry run of the world tour setlist, complete with all music, dance routines, mock outfit changes, singing, and special effects. Without opening bands, tweaks, encores, or feedback, the plan set them at two hours of nonstop musicianship.

Cadence wasn't sure that she'd survive the whole concert. Especially not thirty times in fifty days. In front of millions of people. In multiple languages.

Fucking world tours, man.

"Break's nearly over," their stepfather's garbled, strict voice shouted over the loudspeaker, "Get your rears in gear, little fuckers."

Chord raised his middle finger in the air toward no one in particular, awoken by the announcement. "Fuck you, Bryant," he grumbled, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. The rest of the siblings laughed quietly, restraining their smiles.

"I saw that, young man," Bryant replied.

Rolling back over, Chord raised both middle fingers up, and Aria, Cadence, and Dorian joined him, eight middle fingers in the air in total. Cadence grinned. If there was anything that joined them in solidarity, it was their hatred of their stepfather, Bryant, the colossal douchebag.

Bryant growled over the PA system, barking, "I mean it! Get up and practice Dorian's first encore choice, you shitheads! We're breaking in an hour to get ready for that TV interview your mother scheduled, so we don't have time for your fuckery!"

"How paternal. So fatherly," Aria mumbled, sliding her drumsticks from her back pocket and wandering back to her setup, raking a hand through her fluffy crimson hair.

Chord groaned and sat up, his emerald hair sticking up in strange ways from his nap. "Fuck this," he frowned, pushing himself up to stand. He walked over and helped Dorian and Cadence to their feet, dark circles already prominent beneath his eyes. "Think I can fake my death and get the tour cancelled?" he asked Cadence, fishing his earpiece from the pouch of his hoodie and hooking it back over his ear.

She shook her head with a laugh. "Mom would hire someone to resurrect you. Or she'd pay someone with a shapeshifting quirk to replace you," Cadence pointed out, replacing her earpiece too. "Good try though. A for effort." With an appreciative pat on the shoulder, she made her way over to her white bass guitar and slung it over her shoulder, stepping up to her mark and her mic stand.

"From the top," Bryant grunted.

The music drowned out all of the other noise.

♪

"I don't know how many other ways to say this, Bakugo, dear..."

Recovery Girl frowned at the explosive blond in the hospital bed, her previous student, and sighed. "You can't do hero work anymore. Not until you get feeling back in your hand... or learn to use your quirk without it."

She'd been called in to break the bad news to him, despite not seeing the boy in a few years. He apparently didn't trust the doctors at the hospital - claiming they could be bought or swayed - and specifically requested to have Recovery Girl give him a once-over to make sure that everything that could be fixed had been fixed...

And she'd done her very best.

Bakugo growled and ground the heel of his good hand into the space between his eyes, hoping the pain would give him clarity. It didn't. It just hurt.

"Why the fuck not?" he hissed, "I can do shit with one hand just fine, right?"

Recovery Girl didn't say anything, but her frown deepened.

...Which meant no.

Bakugo knew that from his fair share of visits to the infirmary at UA.

A sniffle came from the other side of the room, reminding Bakugo of their audience. He rolled his eyes.

For some reason, Bakugo's parents were there, making the situation five thousand times worse. His father leaned forward on his stiff hospital chair and patted Bakugo's leg cast, tissues wadded in his hand. "You'd be a liability in the field, son," he said, solemn and sad for his boy, "We wouldn't want you to get hurt further, or get your friends hurt because they're watching your back, right?"

Fuck... He's right. Bakugo sneered and looked away from his dad, frustration and anger swirling in his chest. He should've been more careful. How could he have known that he would break his shit against a run-of-the-mill villain?

"Don't be an idiot," his mother sighed, smacking the back of his head. "You can't go back in the field with only one working hand, Katsuki."

He barked at his mother, more fierce than he intended, but the point remained. "I realize that, you old hag! My shit's fucked, okay? I get it!" Tears of frustration accumulated in his eyes, and he wiped them away before anyone could see.

Or so he thought.

His parents exchanged a look that he couldn't decipher, and his dad stood, taking his mom's hand. "We'll go get you some food, son. Why don't you ask Recovery Girl about that job proposal? See if that's feasible? Be back soon."

Swallowing the biting retort he'd summoned up, Bakugo settled for a grumbled "thank you" and waited for his parents to leave. He stared at his busted hand, pissed off about the entire situation. How could the dumb thing break so easily?

Was he really that fragile?

"A job, huh?" Recovery Girl smiled from her perch at the end of his bed, smoothing out her dress, "That was awfully fast, dear."

"Tell me about it," Bakugo grumbled, still staring at his cast.

She tilted her head and eyed the boy. "What's the position?"

"Bodyguard for some spoiled brat."

Recovery Girl mulled it over for a long minute, humming.

"...I think it could be doable, dearie."