Dastardly Days of Deceit [BkDk]

Chapter Twenty: Thicker than Water

TW: ABUSE, INTENSE VIOLENCE

After he had sent Izuku, Dabi, and Kurogiri back to the apartment, Katsuki sat in his dorm, taking in the scenery. He had heard some of the 1-A students file into their rooms. He was on high alert in the event that a teacher would check his dorm room, but it didn't sound like there were any teachers in the immediate area. They were probably giving statements, investigating, or anything else related to the events from the morning.

It was around noon, three hours since the murder of Mirio Togata. He was sitting at the end of his old bed, leg swinging against the frame. He was staring at his old office chair, glaring at the dust that had built up on it. It made him feel sorrowful for a moment. Izuku loved that chair. He remembered all of the memories of Izuku scooting around on it while they talked about all of their issues and stupid things. How many aimless conversations were spent in this room. He almost didn't want to leave. But he knew it was no use. This wasn't his room anymore. It was like being in another timeline. Uncomfortable.

He found a smaller school bag in the closet attached to his room. He looked through it, seeing some school stuff. He chuckled, shaking his head. What a nerd he was. With his A's and 100%. Jeez. School had totally consumed him.

But it wasn't inherently his fault. If he got lower than a B his mom and dad would beat him for it. His mom would smack his head and berate him for not being top of his class. His dad would second that with a sweaty, acidic slap to the face. It never left a bruise, but it occasionally did burn. He hated that bastard's quirk. It was so useless, yet it still hurt him. It made him feel useless and weak. They both made him feel stupid and useless. He wasn't stupid. He knew it. Those damn bastards. He was almost always a good student. He didn't have a choice. But slowly it did become enjoyable. He started doing things for himself. Getting the A's weren't for his parents. It made him realize he could actually do good things in this crap life. But admittedly, he didn't miss going to school at all. The looming fear of disappointment was a feeling he was glad to forget.

For a short moment his first year at UA, he continuously brought in bad grades. He stopped doing his homework, stopped giving a shit. It was after the Kirishima breakup too, which made things even worse. There were countless student-teacher meetings, but Bakugo had gone silent. He didn't really pay attention during them. He barely remembered a lot of what transpired during those. It was all the same.

Sit still, apologize for being a terrible student and child, and don't let Aizawa or Present Mic see the blistering welts and dark purple bruises on your arms or legs. Especially the legs. Since Katsuki was a brat who wanted to wear short sleeves all of the time, they couldn't punish him above the waist. So his legs took the brunt of the damage. Ever since he was a kid. Somehow, the teachers never noticed. Or rather, maybe they never said anything. That was another thing Katsuki despised. He knew it was obvious what was happening to him. Yet they never tried to help. They never invited him for any help. Why? Why couldn't they save him? Wasn't that their Goddamn job?

If he acted out at school, as one kid does, he would get lashings to his shins and knees. They wouldn't stop until he started crying. Which back then, didn't take a lot. But as he got older, he pushed himself into a corner. He didn't allow himself to cry in front of those sons of bitches. He'd bite his tongue, not allowing a peep to slip out. It would get him hit harder, but he never uttered a sound. Not even when those welts began to dribble blood down his body. Not a peep.

Anyways, he pulled out the item that caused a reaction, making eye contact with a couple of still eyes. He tossed it onto the bed, barely able to look at it.

He had a picture stuffed of his parents in his backpack. He didn't know why it was in there, leading through the contents of his mind to try and rationalize why he would have that nightmare in a bag. Maybe they planted it on him. Was it a scare tactic? Was it for genuine reason? He didn't care.