"The hard truth is that,
sometimes,
we need to lie to ourselves in order to continue living."
-Bangambiki Habyarimana
His head hurt.
The perspective, the possibilities that Zero had alluded to... He had never entertained a thought similar before now. He had never even seen it as an option. He was unforgivable. His actions were unatonable. There was no way to make anything better, ever again. Those were the ultimatums that his mind lived and breathed by. They were what his belief system was founded on, what his guilt was founded on.
And that was about as deeply ingrained in him as breathing was; guilt, that is.
It was a very essential part of him, and it was under siege.
Deku breathed, faster and faster until the air burnt his throat.
"That-... That-... How can that..."
The disjointed words spilled out of his mouth— he had long lost the ability to think in the panic.
But it made sense, in a twisted sort of way.
His very being was scrambled, and confusion, oh confusion... it engulfed him. In an inescapable wave of emotion and the unknown. Fear, as well, was in that great wave. The situation was so far out of his comfort zone, out of his very worldview itself, that any other reaction was implausible. And what can any human do when faced with a wave so titanic that it would swallow them up whole?
They panicked...
And they ran.
{Izuku, you need to focus on my voice; wherever you are right now, it isn't real! You're having a panic attack-}
Deku ran.
"Deku-!"
He ran and ran from his problems, ran until his legs were lead and his face was blue, but that was the thing. He couldn't. His problems, his panic, his answers... They followed him. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, they would faithfully chase after him for now and eternity. They would never give up.
Never.
(never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never-)
For his pursuer in this chase...
It was his own head.
It was him.
He... well, he couldn't get away from himself, could he? That was just physics. Reality. He would be haunted by himself and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.
His eye caught a glint of light, sharp and seething in the darkness of the night—the sun had fallen behind the horizon around 10 minutes into his run—but it was beautiful. Pretty. Lethal. He fell to the ground in a heap of desperation, clumsily grabbing hold of the jagged edge, uncaring of how it pricked into his hand and pain was all that was left. No, no— he appreciated it.
The pain was nice. Pleasant.
It cleared the haze of his mind, ever so slightly. Strands of thought soon proved capable of forming, but it-...
It wasn't enough, and he-!
He felt his fingers freeze in numbness but that wasn't enough to stop him, not enough before the all-encompassing need to feel that sensation again. Clarity amid the confusion. A boat in the sea, water in the desert, it didn't matter the metaphor, he just needed to be in control of something-
Something had to make sense. It had to.
Pain wouldn't lie to him.
It wouldn't.
One cut became two; two became three until his wrists were a criss-cross of interlocking scars.
Red and purple blossomed on his wrist.
Blood, on second thought.
The cuts themselves were purple.
'Ah. That might be infected. Shame.'
He collapsed against the tree, almost crushing it under his weight.
It was a little sapling that reached up to his eyebrows.
He couldn't care.
(He was so, so tired.)
He stared out blankly, seeing everything and nothing all at once. He thought he could see something resembling stars, but it could have just as easily been a plane. Maybe even a quirk. You could never say for sure, in this world. Anything was possible. Anything.
What Zero said not excluded.
He grimaced, shoving those thoughts away. The wound was too close, too recent; he couldn't guarantee that he would relapse into another panic attack. He couldn't say why that wasn't a bad thing, but it wouldn't be good to think too much about it. If that was his first instinct, that was his first instinct. He would do well to abide by it. He wasn't in a good state of mind to be making decisions.
Who knew why.
{Because you just harmed yourself and are losing god-knows how much blood from your arms,} Gray replied, all at once mad and worried. {Even disregarding the blood-loss, you just came out of a really bad panic attack. I don't think that qualifies as a good state of mind.}
He put his hand on his chin, showing no reaction to the blood dripping down his arms.
'It's been a while since I've resorted to self-harm in one of my panic attacks, come to think of it.'
{If you're going to move your arms, at least keep them all the way over your head. Should slow the rate at which you bleed out. I already hooked up with the phone nearby and called for an ambulance, so sit tight, wait, and don't cause any more trouble.}
'Understood...'
He carefully maneuvered his palms behind his head, and-
{Don't forget to add pressure.}
'Understood...'
And so, when Baku-fucking-go stumbled upon the scene, his eyes could only be greeted with the sight of a pale, green-haired teenager sitting against his tree, all while reclining his head on blood-soaked hands and wrists. Needless to say, it was an... interesting sight to come across.
Wide eyes stared into wide eyes as they both frantically sought to make sense of the scene; for Deku, it was simply Bakugo's presence (how could fate be so much of a bastard?). For Bakugo, it was the whole setting— the tree, the person, the bleeding, that set him off.
They seemed to stay deers-in-headlights for a long while still, until the spell was broken by a panicked and clumsy attempt to hide his wrists behind his back.
It didn't work.
Instead, Bakugo pulled the hand that he had grasped forward, examining it with a frightening look in his eye under the moonlight.
"What the fuck... What the fuck did you do to yourself?!" He snarled. "What happened?!"
He snapped his hand away, a grimace on his face.
Today was just not his day.
"Nothing."
The word was sharp and pointed, like shattered glass.
Like it wanted to hurt something and itself all at once.
Bakugo carefully didn't react.
"This sure doesn't look like nothing, Izuku," His voice grew more controlled, more careful. "Look, I know that neither of us like each other all that much, but I'm not gonna fucking leave someone bleeding out by my tree. Needless to say that Dabi would murder me in my sleep. And Toga would let him, provided she got my blood after the fact. Twice... Who the hell knows what that bastard will do..."
He clicked his tongue.
"And I'm getting off track. I'll call an ambulance-"
"Gr-... I did it. Already. Calling an ambulance."
Bakugo sighed, as some tension left his body.
"That's good, at least. I wouldn't put it past you to just bleed out and not care."
They were silent.
Deku shuffled uncomfortably against the tree he was sitting against. Usually, he'd be happy the blonde was shutting up for once, but for some reason, the silence felt out of place. Like it shouldn't be there. Like Bakugo, as he was, shouldn't be here.
He could tell the very moment he came into sight. Bakugo was different.
Incredibly so.
And it wasn't like those times when he forced himself unconsciously to change because of the guilt festering in his gut. It wasn't like that at all. The blonde wasn't going out of his way because it was him. He was just... doing things. Good things, even. Or trying to, with good intentions. It was like the Kacchan he remembered from his childhood, but more mature. More grounded in reality.
He felt... freer, most of all.
Freer than Deku could ever remember being, before middle school even.
And he felt a true dash of envy that even self-loathing and guilt couldn't entirely smother out.
"You-"
He was interrupted.
"You know, Izuku. It's somewhat foolish, but I don't think I ever said it-"
'No, no, don't, you can't-! You can't change that much, leave me behind that much-'
"-I never said sorry. To you. We didn't like each other back then, and we don't fucking like each other now, but still, I should have said it. You deserved that much from me. You deserved it a long time ago, but I can only give you my apology now. I really did fuck up back then. Big time. It doesn't make up for it, but I've taken responsibility for what I did do."
He sighed.
"I've forgiven myself. It might be fucking pretentious to say it to you, but it's the truth."
He stood up and brushed off his pants as red and blue lights danced across his person, the siren wailing into the chilly night air.
He craned his head over his shoulder, looking Deku in the eye.
"It'd be nice if you could forgive yourself too."