Snowed In

Part 5

There are hands touching him, grabbing, pulling at his arms and his shirt. Nails dig into his skin. There's too many of them to fight off as every direction he moves there seems to be more of them, all trying to tear into him. He tries to scream but as soon as his mouth opens one of the hands covers it and the noise dies down in his throat. He tries again and this time the sound doesn't even start. He glares, pulling away, but the hands are quick to wrench his head back. Another palm slaps over his nose, smothering him, and in the panic Bakugou's brain is frantic to get more air into his lungs to breathe, to scream, but the hand is solid and unrelenting, holding him, bruising his face with the harsh grip and Bakugou can feel his entire body burning with the need to inhale. He tries again to pull away, but all the hands and fingers digging into every part of his body hold him down, still, trapping him and pressing harder and harder into his skin until he can feel how his bones ache with the pressure. His vision starts to grow dark around the edges, fuzzy, and all he feels is trapped, alone, hurt, fingers biting into his flesh, leaving indents, panic, panic , panic --

Bakugou wakes up and swings. He's not aware of what's happening until he hears the crash of the lamp falling to the ground and still, he can't be bothered.

He doesn't think as he throws the blankets off of himself and takes three long strides to the door quickly, throwing it open to stumble his way through the dark into the bathroom.

When he gets there, he dry heaves into the sink. Nothing comes out, but his throat still tightens and his stomach flips. Stomach acid burns it's way up before receding. He takes in a deep, ragged, breath as his lungs fill up with air for what feels like the first time in hours.

With one hand white knuckled against the counter, he turns the sink on to splash water on his face, feeling the sharp icy chill shoot down his spine, forcing him into the present.

He stares at his reflection in the dark.

"You're fine." Bakugou says after a few seconds. He glares, gritting his teeth as his heart is still racing in his chest. "Get a fucking grip, you piece of shit."

As his eyes start to adjust to the darkness, Bakugou can make out the finer details of his face. His hair is more of a mess then usual, there's a sheen of sweat on his cheeks, the cut at his head looks bruised around the edges. His eyes are red rimmed, they look heavy. Tired. He looks like complete garbage.

The sun isn't up yet. He's not entirely sure what time it is, if it's still technically night or just very early morning. The rest of the house is quiet, so either both Kirishima and his dog sleep like the dead or they can't hear him across the other side of the house. Everything is dark and still and cold.

Bakugou breathes, splashes more water onto his face, and deals with it all. Just like he always does.

It doesn't fully hit him how cold the house is until he'd back in his room changing. The adrenaline of his nightmare wears off to remind him he's trapped in a house with no electricity in a snowstorm. He changes quickly in an attempt to keep the cold from settling too long in his bones, but it's still cold even in his tracksuit. Shivering softly, Bakugou grumbles to himself as he grabs up the flashlight from the day before and makes his way back towards the home gym.

He starts on the treadmill to get his body temperature up. It's too quiet in the house as he starts off at a jog after a few stretches, wishes that his phone wasn't dead and smashed up so he could listen to music.

He should probably call his parents today. He should probably call Deku to check on the cat. He counts the days in his head and realizes Christmas is in three days if he's been here as long as he thinks.

Bakugou sighs, turning the speed up to quicken his pace.

Glancing out the window beside him, he notices even in the dark that it doesn't look like it's snowing any more. The wind is still for the time being with no more throwing gusts against the house or pushing tree branches at the outside walls. He wonders if the storm has passed or if this is just a period of calm before it starts up all over again. So far, it looks like there's a meter of snow piled up outside at least-- maybe more. It reaches up into the view of the window as though it wants permission to come in.