Chapter Text
That day changed the trajectory of their lives. And Katsuki barely remembered it.
The Incident, that is.
In a horrible, catastrophic battle that brought in heroes from all over the country, with Katsuki and Shoto leading the way, Katsuki’s right arm finally failed him. He remembered charging up a Howitzer two hundred meters in the air, and in all that spinning and blasting and soot and fire and wind, he felt a blaze of pain, a spray of blood, and—a sudden void at his right side.
He managed to detonate his directional blast to send all that velocity toward the main villain, which had taken residence on top of a skyscraper. But after that, without his second engine, he spun erratically through the air, hit the south side of the skyscraper, and careened into an uncontrolled free-fall. Until—
A muscled right arm wrapped around Katsuki’s waist, breaking his fall and knocking the wind out of him, sweeping him up and away, safe.
“You awake?” Shoto yelled over the deafening rush of wind.
“Am now!”
“Then hang on, okay?”
Katsuki wrapped his legs around Shoto’s torso, distributing his body weight and improving his grip. Shoto flew him away from the skyscraper, out of the nucleus of the battle and toward the perimeter. Katsuki tried not to look down. Although he was accustomed to high-altitude maneuvers, he always had his Quirk to catch him if he fell: a luxury he no longer possessed. He was entirely dependent on Shoto to keep him from falling to his death this time.
He could feel they were losing height and wondered if it was intentional, or if his body weight was dragging Shoto down. And he noticed, with some disgust, that he’d soaked the entire side of Shoto’s suit in thick, dark blood.
He didn’t realize he’d been slipping until Shoto yelled something, jolting him alert. He tried to tighten his grip on the blue fabric of Shoto’s suit. Shoto reached and grabbed more of Katsuki’s body into his arms, sinking lower and lower toward the ground.
“I’ve got you,” Shoto said, breathless, and then they landed hard on the sidewalk, and Katsuki’s consciousness wavered and things started to blur together.
He did remember Shoto’s face, bruised and bloodied, his eyes sharp and his voice sharper. He remembered Shoto’s hands on his missing limb, numbing the area with cold. And he remembered Hero Dispatch yelling at Shoto to rejoin the fray, and Shoto yelling right back for the dispatcher to fuck off.
He remembered reaching up and catching Shoto’s cheek with his good only hand, and Shoto pausing, his breath hitching in his chest, his cold hand, covered in blood, pressing against Katsuki’s hand on his face.
“You’re gonna get Deku’s lecture on professional language if you keep that up,” Katsuki said, attempting a smile.
“Jesus Christ, Katsuki,” Shoto breathed. “You think I fucking care right now?”
Katsuki curled his fingers tight on Shoto’s face. “Listen to me.”
Shoto nodded.
“Get out there.”
“Katsuki, I—”
“They need you. Especially if I’m out. You have to.”
Tears spilled over Shoto’s cheeks. Nearby, paramedics approached with a stretcher. Shoto glanced up, then back to Katsuki. “I…I can’t—”
“Shoto—"
“No, Katsuki, you don’t…you’ve never…not like this.”
“I know.” Katsuki smoothed his thumb over Shoto’s cheek. “I’m not gonna die. But other people are if we don’t stop those villains.”
Shoto screwed his eyes shut.
“I’m okay,” Katsuki said.
“That is categorically untrue,” Shoto retorted.
“Fine. But you need to go catch more falling bodies. You know it.”
“God fucking—dammit.” Shoto scrubbed tears from his face, leaving streaks of his blood and Katsuki’s, as medics lifted Katsuki onto a stretcher. “I’ll find you. As soon as I can.”
“I know.” Katsuki gestured for him to come closer and Shoto kissed him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
When Katsuki woke up in the hospital, bleary and slow, the first thing he registered was a gently cold hand in his left. And that, he knew, belonged to only one person.
“Hey, princess,” he muttered, without opening his eyes.
A sharp exhale, then Shoto squeezed his hand. “Katsuki.”
His voice was raw, like he’d inhaled a lot of smoke. Or had been screaming for hours. Possibly both.
“D’ja get ‘em?” Katsuki breathed.
Shoto sniffed. “Yes.”
“That’s my hero.”
Shoto pulled Katsuki’s hand up and kissed it, then pressed it to his too-warm forehead. He let out a shaky breath. Katsuki shifted his hand to wipe away Shoto’s tears.
The first few days were chaos: a rotating cast of doctors from every specialty appeared and disappeared too quickly for Katsuki to keep up. Friends came in between, filling the space with bodies, laughter, cards, takeout food, and flowers. His parents showed up every day. Aizawa made a guest appearance. And of course, Shoto was there through it all, making the room as much his home as Katsuki’s.
Katsuki chose to live in the moment. He laughed with his friends, greeted everyone who came by with a genuine smile, made his dismissive reassurances that this was nothing and he’d be back out there in no time. With Shoto’s gentle reminders, he made efforts to hydrate and eat right to help his body heal. He accepted the good in each day and chose not to dwell on the bad.
But as time went on, and the high from the pain medication and near-death experience started to wear off, he found it harder to stay positive.
One night, about a week after The Incident, he found himself struggling. He’d been told by a specialist that a prosthetic was still a long-term plan and he’d need a lot more healing time before he could comfortably use one. A physical therapist had done an assessment and he hadn’t achieved the results he’d hoped. Doctors had dropped his pain medication to “as needed” and the intermittent aches and zings of pain were new and uncomfortable reminders of his missing limb. He felt sore and thirsty and angsty. And Shoto had gotten caught at work and hadn’t yet arrived for the evening.
Katsuki’s phone had been brutally killed during The Incident and the TV in his room hadn’t gotten cable since he’d arrived, so he was pretty unplugged and his communication ability had taken a hit. He picked up his in-room phone and dialed Shoto’s work number.
“Shoto Todoroki,” Shoto answered.
“Oh, hey, you’re still there.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry, been trying to get my shit together and have been…unsuccessful.”
“It’s fine. I wanted to tell you not to come if you’re too busy. I’ll be fine.”
“No, I am absolutely coming. Don’t give it another thought.”
Katsuki sighed and glanced down at his feet under the blankets. “Well, fair warning, I’m in a bad mood so if you don’t have the bandwidth for that, I understand.”
“Oh, that’s awesome, I’m also in a terrible mood. We can be bitchy together.”
Katsuki cracked a laugh. Shoto laughed, too.
“I’m getting soba,” Shoto said, and Katsuki heard his chair clatter into his desk, like he’d gotten up and pushed it back in. “You want anything?”
“Also soba. Please.”
“Sounds good. I’m leaving now and will bring food.”
He didn’t hear from Shoto until he arrived in his room, carrying a big takeout bag. The shadows under his eyes had turned a deep purple and he altogether looked dehydrated and exhausted. He set the bag on Katsuki’s bed and started to unpack it—Katsuki gently tapped his hand away and did it himself. “Sit down, you look like shit.”
Shoto left to wash his hands in the bathroom, then eased himself onto the foot of Katsuki’s bed, the tray table between them. Katsuki nudged his own water cup closer and Shoto took a long drink. Then he rubbed his eyes, opened his soba container, and broke a pair of chopsticks, which he tried to hand to Katsuki. “Do you want these or a fork?”
“Chopsticks, and I’ve gotta try it myself.” Katsuki tore open a chopstick package and gripped one chopstick with his teeth, using his left hand to pull and separate them. It worked all right. He struggled to maneuver the chopsticks into position in his left hand, then stabbed them into the heart of his soba serving. Ah well, grace would come with practice.
“Nice. Getting better,” Shoto commented, slurping some of his own noodles and perking up immediately.
“Yeah, well, would’a been easier if I was already ambidextrous, like someone else in this room.”
“Trust me, that comes with its own set of issues.” Shoto wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So, tell me about your day.”
Katsuki told him about the physical therapy assessment (he’d been present for the prosthetic specialist earlier that morning) and the pain meds wearing off. But with food and company, he could feel his mood evening out into something more neutral than before. “I think it’s all just starting to hit,” he finished, while Shoto listened. “I lost a whole-ass arm and things aren’t going to be normal anytime soon.”
“For sure.” Shoto twirled noodles with his chopsticks. “I’m not surprised you’re feeling this way, nor that it’s happening in a sort of delayed fashion. I want you to know that none of this is going to scare me away. I’m here for it. Okay?”
“Thank you. I wasn’t worried.”
Shoto smiled and slurped the last of his noodles, then started cleaning up their takeout boxes. “I have a proposal.”
“I’m already married to you, princess.”
“Ha ha,” Shoto said dryly. “You want to take a walk?”
They ended up on a bench on the outdoor rooftop patio. It was a relatively warm, early-summer evening, and the stars were just visible through the city lights. Katsuki closed his eyes and leaned his head on Shoto’s shoulder, drinking in the fresh air.
“Good idea,” he murmured.
“Yes, it was a nice night. Figured you were cooped up and would enjoy a partial escape.” Katsuki felt him smile. “I’d break you out of here if I could.”
“I’d fuckin’ help you with that.”
Shoto laughed softly. “I miss you at home.”
“I miss you.”
Shoto kissed Katsuki’s forehead. Then he squeezed the arm he had wrapped around Katsuki’s waist and let out a deep sigh. “Soon,” he said.
“Yeah,” Katsuki agreed. “As soon as I can.”