Heavy Rain (Katsuki Bakugo x Reader) Ending A
Katsuki Bakugo x Reader
Hello! I think that I have decided to make two separate endings to this story, hopefully both of which being posted in close proximity to one another. This one is a bit longer than the original post and takes place from Bakugo’s point of view more than anything. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for the support!
Important: Includes mentions of infidelity, angst with no comfort, depictions of injury, and inexperienced writing.
Word Count: 6.6k
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It had already been weeks since the accident.
So why did it still hurt him so bad?
Could it be because of the last interaction he had with you? Could it have been because of all the lost time between the two of you while he regretfully pushed you away? Could it be because he truly loved you in the end? Whether he admitted to himself or not, it was probably just the feeling of guilt consuming him mercilessly, smothering him in an inescapable toxic haze. Did he truly love you? You wouldn’t do that to someone you love. If you did, doesn’t that just make you a filthy shit stain on the surface of this world? He would never admit that to himself. He would never admit to him acting upon his own selfish desires leading to him losing what he didn’t realize he cared for most.
He’s shut himself off from the world, letting his friends’ and family’s phone calls go to voicemail, not answering the door when people come by, hell- he hasn’t even checked his mail for the past few weeks, scared to see your name on it; or even have others see him in the rawest, most emotional state of vulnerability he could be in. How could he expose himself to others in such a manner? How pathetic could he let himself be?
Instead, he has thrown himself into his work, pushing himself far beyond the limits his body could take. But what other choice did he have? To sit in the silence and be reminded of you and what he lost? No, that’s selfish… it wasn’t just him that lost you that evening.
… 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 …
He was sitting in his living room, a bottle of whiskey on his table as he held his head between his hands. He had put the bedding to wash in case you decide to come home tonight, knowing that the last thing he would want to do is sleep on those same bedsheets. Instead, he made the bed with new, fresh-smelling bedsheets. His phone rings once again and he has just about had it, ready to take his phone and shatter it against the wall.
He was sick of that stupid bitch calling him- how hard is it for her to get the fucking memo?! He was NOT fucking interested. He did not want anything to do with her. Fuck- if it was his way he would’ve fucking chugged the bottle sitting in front of him a while ago; had it not been for the thought of you eventually returning and him wanting to be sober for that discussion that was to take place keeping his sobriety in check. How many times has she called him now? Seven, eight times?
He should have never spoken to her.
He should have never met with her that one invite out to a bar downtown.
He should have never let his selfish desires get the best of him.
He should have never taken advantage of you like that- and he swore up and down the walls that he never would again.
Fuck, if it was he could turn back time he would change everything he had done up to this moment. How could he prove that to you? He doesn’t know just yet- but he is so, so very willing to try all he can.
Having enough, he sits up, roughly wiping off the frustrated tears that didn’t seem to stop flowing no matter how hard he tried. He walks over to the kitchen, reaching over to grab his phone and casts a quick glance that stops him from throwing it right in his tracks.
The Musutafu Hospital? Why in the fuck are they calling?
He eyes his phone, eyes and eyebrows narrowed in confusion, thinking about what could have possibly been the reasoning behind them being so desperate to get a hold of him-- shit, three times? He slowly brings his thumb up to tap on the voicemail notifications he had been left with and tapping on it, holding his phone up to his face to scan before allowing him access. He hesitantly sits down as he additionally waits for the transcript to be processed for him to read along with it, if it’s even accurate in its review of the audio.
Hello Bakugo Katsuki, we are calling you as you are the only remaining emergency contact for (L/n) (Y/n). She has been transported to the emergency room after having been in a car accident. We believe that she had been driving too quickly and couldn’t accommodate the sharp left turn quickly enough to avoid the trees in the area. Due to the speed of the collision, she has endured a lot of physical damage and we would like you to come down to the hospital as soon as possible.
We are uncertain she will survive.
Call us if you have any questions. Thank you.
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...
… What?
Bakugo’s heart begins to beat irregularly, unable to understand what the hell he just listened to. In his stupor he opens safari, googling the Musutafu Hospital’s phone number, before switching back to the voicemail.
What kind of sick, sick joke is this? He isn’t fucking laughing.
More frantically than he’d like to admit, he opens his contacts to compare the two numbers, fully prepared to lash out at whoever’s idea this beyond shitty prank was. You were going to be home tonight- hell maybe even a little later tomorrow since he knows how badly this may have hurt you; but he knows you’ve always been forgiving. He can only pray that you’ll be able to see how willing he is to prove to you how deeply sorry he truly is, and how ready he is to start over if you’ll let him. His eyes flicker between the two numbers, his mind and heart racing a little faster for each and every digit that remains the same. As he works his way down the list, his breathing picks up a little more before he reaches the final digit.
Aha! See! I god damn knew it was going to be the fucking same!
…
Wait- same?
His heart stops as his mind short circuits. His shaky hands slowly reach back over to exit out of the contact profile before looking at the voicemail again. He pressed the play button and read through the transcribed messages for each of the voicemails as it played through. Once the message ends he just sits in silence for a moment. Then another. Then another. Several beats of silence pass, replacing the ones that should have been felt in his bestilled heart, before he is racing out the door faster than he could have ever anticipated. He yanks his car keys off of the key-holder, pulling the frame down and out of the wall, leaving it behind him as he slams the door and runs to the hospital, forgoing any shoes at the door. The rain felt to have picked up, harshly pelting at his exposed skin. For what reason could the sky have to be weeping so harshly? To hide the lamenting tears of his own through the sting on his cheeks and back?
He whips open his car door before starting the car, closing the door behind him. His eyes practically bulging out of his head in disbelief, pulling out of the drive as fast as he possibly could. It was good he had decided to stay sober.
Surely he will remember to slow down.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around the message he received. What do they mean you were in a car accident? There is no way he is going to lose you- it just, it just doesn’t make sense? Why would this happen to him? How could this happen to you?
God you fucking idiot, how could you have been so careless?!
...
Yet, how could he have let her drive away…?
You…
You made him happy.
You made him happy, but he let you leave the house thinking that you never did.
He let you leave the house, knowing that he was responsible for making you unhappy.
And now he has left the house, hunched over in his car racing to get to the hospital with the understanding that he was also responsible for you being in the hospital.
Were his hands clammy from the sweat of his nerves or from the rain that is outside?
He barrels down the road, weaving between cars and remaining oddly quiet when encountering any trace of a traffic stop.
When he arrived at the hospital, it had been a little less than half an hour, when it would have easily taken almost forty minutes any other day. He reaches over to the passenger seat and takes his shoes out of the gym back he keeps in his car, grabbing a hoodie and slipping it on over his bare chest as he scrambles to get out of the car as quickly as possible. He nearly slips on the white vinyl flooring in his desperation to get to the front desk, to which he takes his wallet out of his pocket with trembling hands, growing infuriated when he couldn’t get his I.D. out of his wallet as quickly as he wanted.
The woman at the front desk looked concerned at his disheveled state, “Hello Sir, how may I help you? Do you need help?” She asks, to which his eye twitches slightly.
“Where is (L/n) (Y/n).” He demands more than asks, an incredibly pointed yet unfocused gaze coming from Bakugo in response. “There was a car accident and I need to know where they put the fucking love of my life- so please fucking tell me where the fuck and which god damn room it is!” He follows up, not giving her a moment to reply, feeling like every second of silence stretched on for an hour. She simply looked down to the side, scanning the papers on the side of her desk, growing anxious under the piercing stare of his.
“Sir please refrain from raising your voice- do you happen to be Bak-” “Yes.” “Okay! I’m going to need a form of I.D.-” she starts before his infuriated hand comes down on the counter, sliding his I.D. over to her as he began to fidget even more so. She jumps slightly at the noise before taking it and beginning to input his visit in the system.
Of course, given the lack of action to expend the physical build up of energy on his part, he simply pushes himself off from against the counter before scanning the doorways to either wing, looking for the one he’d assume you’re in, “Fuck this place.” He growls under his breath before breaking out into a sprint into the general vicinity he thinks you may be in that stops halfway as his gaze turns to the right.
Oh-
Oh my god.
You look… horrific.
It didn’t take a genius to read the room as he scanned the faces and behaviors of all the doctors and nurses surrounding you during the transport trauma center to the operating room, having needed to get x-rays and scans done to see what damage had been done to you. He nearly threw up seeing the large branch impaled in the left side of your chest.
You appeared, for lack of a better word; dead.
Images of how you looked from the moment he met you, hell from just earlier, flashes through his mind. How healthy your vibrant and warm skin, which now looks colorless and cold, looked against the light, and felt against his hand. How your eyes, now looking stuck shut- though the swelling from the large laceration across your face certainly doesn’t help, once reflected the beauty of the world around you.
He… he did this to you…?
He… he never wanted this to happen to you- no, that can’t be you.
There is no way that’s you
.
The receptionist that had attempted to help him just moments prior ushered around to the other side, “Bakugo-sama, I’m going to need to ask you to calm down-” She starts, though noting the faraway look in his eyes, she follows his gaze over to you. Shit.
She begins talking with the other nurses, trying to make decisions on what to do next as Bakugo mindlessly goes along with them, head reeling from the sight before him.
He did this.
While everything felt to have been going at a million miles an hour before, it was as though time couldn’t go any slower. Everything was happening around him faster than he could keep up- so it only makes sense his mind would compensate through changing his perspective in such a manner. He couldn’t think. He feels a stabbing pain shoot up from his chest, and he reaches a hand up to grasp at his hoodie, pressing against the area. His face was void of emotion, eyes following his hand to the offending pains in his chest. Why? The nurses grew concerned and sat him down, one of which attempted to get his attention but failed miserably. When had his breath picked up? He was beginning to get overwhelmed with so many unfamiliar faces crowding.
“Get the fuck away from me! Fuck I need some f-fucking space- shit…” He shouts, shoving one of the nurses further away from him, causing him to stumble a little far back. They backed off and while security was on alert, they were left on standby. “He is undergoing psychological shock right now, we need to keep an eye on hi-” “I’m no fucking child!” He responds, nearly standing up, had his legs not given out on him- when did they become so unstable? Tears began to well up as his throat felt like it was closing in on him, he didn’t need some shitty babysitter- he’s made mistakes but he can change!
He can be mature-- he knows what he did was wrong and he won’t do it again! He doesn’t need to be ridiculed by strangers who don’t know what they are fucking talking about, damn it!
His throat was getting tighter, and it felt like it was about to completely shut on him, his strained breathing becoming evident as they transitioned into labored wheezes. He reaches a hand up to grasp at his throat, struggling to breath in as deeply as possible. He pushes his back into the chair as he tries to regain his senses, covering his eyes with his arm to reduce to stimuli he is fronted with. He pulls his arm away from his face, taking note of how wet it became from his tears, his embarrassment becoming evident as he curls in on himself more. This was pathetic. How could he have let himself fall so far?
His eyes frantically scan the room to see a few of the other patients looking at him with concern.
God he fucking hates it.
He fucking despises it.
“I’m fine now get the fuck away from me.” He says, dismissing everyone as he hunches over himself, hiding his face from the view of others. “I said I was fine, damn it! Now leave the me the fuck alone shitty staff!” He proclaims, standing up successfully, looking the nurses dead in the eye to prove his point.
The exchange glances with one another, conflicted glances being exchanged amongst each other.
“Damn it…” He curses, just standing up and pushing his way through to get out of that shitty hospital. He can’t be seen like this. He needs to recollect himself. He can’t have everyone swarming him when he is focused on someone else entirely. He’ll prove to them he’s fine, he just needs a moment.
Fuck- did he fuck up his chances of seeing her?
God fucking DAMN this place and...
god fucking damn his shitty self.
He ignores the calls of the nurses and escorts himself to his car where he sits down and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t start the car or anything, he just needs a moment of silence to get away from everything. It isn’t long before noises begin to ring throughout the car… and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t help it.
The sobs that erupt from his mouth are ones of grief, frustration, and helplessness. He covers his mouth attempting to silence his cries, even going so far as to bite down on his finger, but it just wasn’t enough. His shoulders shake from the strength of them, because who was he kidding?
What were the chances of anyone surviving a crash from the looks of that?
Miracle stories are labeled miracle stories for a reason.
He slammed his fists against his steering wheel multiple times, cursing anyone and everyone through choked cries for the predicament he was faced with. This went on for several minutes until he tired himself out emotionally, which wasn’t very hard to do for someone such as himself.
He bottled up a lot, so while his outburst had been violent and turbulent, it didn’t take much to exhaust him.
His sobs and roars of frustration eventually slowed to a halt as he rested his head against the top of the steering wheel, staring blankly ahead at absolutely nothing. He slowly lifts up and checks the time on his phone. It’s already been almost forty minutes?
He languidly sits back as he views the hospital entrance. He felt so heavy. Empty.
Is this how he made you feel?
He lets out a deep sigh and pulls the mirror down, inspecting his appearance and his reddened face. He simply reaches into the passenger door to fetch the pack of tissues he had left there for you and your frequent seasonal allergies or habitual colds you’d get from the amount of stress you’d accumulate. He blows his nose and wraps the used tissue before placing the crumbled ball into his pocket to throw out once he goes inside. He can’t imagine that your surgery would be over in not even an hour, so he debates just sitting back and waiting.
But isn’t his lack of action what got him into this mess in the first place?
He opens the car door and runs a hand over his tired face, and through his disheveled hair. He acted pretty unfairly to the staff, huh? They just wanted to help. He’ll need to make it up to them later.
That’s what you would’ve made him do.
He closes the door and waits a moment in the rain, before trudging his way to the hospital once more, heading in. The receptionist and a few nurses raise their gaze, relieved to see him calmed down and in a better state- though they can certainly tell he’s more fatigued than anything. He calmly makes his way to the front and brings his heavy gaze to the receptionist who simply nodded her head in understanding. She wordlessly hands him the forum he needs to fill out, and he fills it without question, giving it back to her a few minutes later. She fills a few things out on her computer before placing the documentation in a filing cabinet right beside her desk and gesturing to him to sit in the waiting room for now.
“The procedure they are attempting will take over twelve hours to complete. While you are welcome to wait here, we can simply give you a call as things begin to wrap up; however, if you are here when they transition shifts, I’m sure one of the surgeons would be more than willing to explain the situation to you.”
Bakugo nods his head in thanks and heads over to the waiting room, taking a seat in the uncomfortable padded chairs. Thus the wait began.
During the time of his wait, he alternated between pacing the room to sitting down, occasionally nodding off in his seat, or staring off into space. It remained that way until a woman entered the waiting room with a clipboard eleven hours later, having received instruction from the receptionist as to where to find Bakugo.
“Excuse me sir, are you Bakugo Katsuki?” The woman asks, her exhausted eyes flitting from the documents she held within her hand to Bakugo. He immediately shot up, standing up at a moderate pace before nodding his head in confirmation. “Yes.” he responds, cringing inwardly at the hoarseness of his voice.
She nods in understanding and bows slightly towards him. “It is nice to meet you, I am Takako Tatsuo. I am one of the lead surgeons performing on (L/n) (Y/n). I was informed that you would like a more detailed understanding of the injuries sustained in the car accident, correct?”
“Yes.” Bakugo responds, feeling a shallow sense of impatience, though deep down he understands there is no point in doing so.
“Alrighty, would you like to sit down for this or will you be fine standing up? It is to my understanding that you had received a glimpse of (L/n)-sama prior to my meeting with you.”
“Just tell me what’s wrong with her.” He replies in a very clipped tone, before his eyes cast downward. “Please.” He tags on, evident that he was remorseful for his prior response. The surgeon scans his face before nodding.
“She came in with multiple deep lacerations on her head and extremities; the most notable ones having been on her right arm and face- as I am sure you know. She also has multiple foreign objects that pierced her skin. Most have been removed, but there had been a large piece of glass lodged in the back of her head, very close to where the skull met the base of the neck- which is very lucky on her part,”
Despite that being all the luck that had been on her side.
“Though the most concerning had been the large branch impaled in the left side of her chest in the third intercostal space at the midclavicular line. It proved to be unstable due to the depth of impalement and active bleeding from the wound. Multiple ribs had also broken or fractured during the time of the accident, leading to a punctured lung on her right side- in turn leading it to collapse. We were able to drain and stabilize that lung to the best of our ability. Her right foot has also sustained great injury, being that the bones in the foot had shattered due to the sudden force placed on it, as well as the ankle itself fracturing. It would take nearly two months to start walking normally, if she can even walk again.”
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If she can even walk again…?
…
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bakugo asks, eyes narrowed as his heart picked up the pace a little bit. He knew full well what it meant.
“Well, she underwent a lot of blunt force trauma during the time of the collision. She sustained a lot of traumatic brain injuries that will likely inhibit her ability for movement or speech; though her pain sensors still work fine.” The surgeon sighs quietly before continuing. “To be frank with you, I foresee the best case scenario for this surgery being that she is left permanently immobilized and on a ventilator for the rest of her life.” She puts forth bluntly, scanning Bakugo’s face for his reaction.
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“... best case?” He repeats, a hazy look clouding over his glossy eyes.
“Best case.” The surgeon reaffirms, a look of empathy washing over her face.
“We are doing the best we can for her, but it was a miracle that she had lived for as long as she did prior to arriving here. She had apparently been in a critical state for over forty minutes before paramedics arrived due to the secluded area she had the accident in.” Bakugo turned his gaze to the side, feeling twinges of the sharp pains in his chest once more. “I am telling you this as she had authorized you to make emergency medical decisions for her approximately a month and a half ago, which is not something to be taken lightly. It does not appear that she has any living relatives left, so if a need for a decision arises, you are going to be given the ability to make the decision; though if you choose not to, the hospital will do so for you.”
A month and a half ago…? Guilt courses through his veins as he remembers the conversation that happened hours earlier, calling him out for his lack of loyalty to his partner. Who was he to make such an important decision for someone who he so royally fucked over?
He begins to feel nauseous, and swallows that feeling down.
“I want you to be fully educated on her condition and the possible outcomes when faced with it. You will get a more updated outlook as the procedure comes to a close, and there is always the possibility that things may turn to be more positive; however, if not, I simply want you to keep that in mind.” Her eyebrows turn upwards, reaching a comforting hand to his shoulder, before giving him a reassuring pat. “I can tell you care a lot for her, and that this has been affecting you greatly. No matter the outcome, I know you’ll be able to pull through. I wish you and your loved one the best. Do you have any more questions?” The surgeon inquires one last time, stifling a yawn. Bakugo simply sits himself down and remains silent for a moment.
“How much longer until the procedure is over…?”
“Approximately nine hours, including the time necessary for them to prepare for visitors.”
“... okay.”
“Anything else?”
Bakugo simply shakes his head no, and she nods.
“Don’t forget to take care of yourself, if you have any more questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. Have a good rest of your morning.” She finishes, casting a glance down to her watch, reading eight a.m.
She leaves Bakugo and he runs his hands through his hair, stilling to tug harshly at the roots.
How could this have happened? He just can’t understand.
With this new information came an intrusion of thoughts-- did she say that to suggest that he let you die if it came down to it? Were you even going to make it long enough to make that decision?
He didn’t want to make that decision-
He didn’t want to own the title of a killer more than he already does.
His dry eyes left no tears left for him to cry, leaving him to bite his lip out of frustration as he squinted towards the ground. He felt so deeply remorseful for all that he’s done. Will this shitty world not give him the chance to make up for it?
Fuck- he can’t let you die.
He still has to make it up to you! He can’t- he won’t let you die.
Yet… this feeling of helplessness can’t help but drag him under, suffocating him and inhibiting his every move, leaving him unable to stay afloat. It truly was nauseating.
He stands up, restless as he moves to go get a drink from the water fountain, reflecting further on what his possible plans of action could be. He would have to move the two of you to a new home-- which wouldn’t be so back given the memories left behind in the one you two shared. The home would only have one floor, and plenty of space for any of the health equipment you need. It’d be close to the hospital in case of an emergency, hell-- he had enough money to afford a nurse to stay with them if he really wanted to. But he could take care of you! He knows he can.
He will finally get that cat you’ve always begged him for! Shit-- what is he waiting for? Why doesn’t he do that now? He has time, doesn’t he? He looks out of the window towards his car, and then back towards the hallway you were.
What’s the harm in it? He can go really quickly and pick up a cat that he would take care of, so that all you had to do was receive and give it love! He can pick up a coffee while out and about, too. He nods to himself before standing up and making his way out, alerting the woman working at the front desk of his temporary absence.
He leaves to the city’s shelter, adopting a tiny little white kitten with long fur and heterochromatic eyes, one a stormy gray resembling the clouds of an incoming storm, slowly merging with the (y/e/c), reminding him oh so much of yours.
The image of you on the hospital bed crossed his mind.
He then makes it a mission to stop by a nearby coffee shop for straight shots of espresso to wake him up, both the bitterness and caffeine boosting his alertness.
He starts making his way back approximately an hour and a half later, picking up small gifts and a bouquet of your favorite flowers as well.
When he reenters the hospital, he has to wait out another seven hours, and he spends most of the time pacing back and forth in the waiting room, occasionally going back out to the car to check on the kitten he just picked up (and yes, he left the car running and air conditioning on), and sitting down, bouncing his leg. He felt too unsettled to eat, so it wasn’t really much of an option in that manner. As he watched people come and go, he couldn’t help but yearn for the moment he could walk out of the door with you.
Sooner than later, another seven hours pass before his name is called. He never jumped up faster than in that moment, immediately approaching the source of the voice. It belonged to a middle aged man, who’s gaze landed on Bakugo as he approached. It felt as though he had the jitters from all the caffeine ingested, as he felt his extremities and stomach shake slightly- though one could argue it’s partly due to anticipation as well.
“Hello, I am Chinen Kin, the head surgeon during (L/n) (Y/n)’s operation. It is nice to meet you.”
“I’m Bakugo Katsuki as you know. How is she?” He asks, the most anxious he has ever been but a hopeful glint in his eye, heart racing as he scans his face for any hint on what was to come.
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The Surgeon grimaced, and just like that, any hope that Bakugo had diminished within that very moment.
“She is fully stable and currently recovering from the procedure; however, I would like you to come with me.” He alerts, to which Bakugo simply nodded his head and began to follow him. The walk was silent until they entered a room with a large curtain hanging on one of the walls.
Turning to the side of the wall, Bakugo could see different scans placed against the lightboxes mounted on the wall, illuminating the photos.
“So Bakugou-sama, the scans on the wall here are of (L/n)’s brain. As you can see there is a lot of discoloration in both the frontal lobe, prefrontal lobe, cerebellum, and hippocampus in particular.” He points out, gesturing to each area respectively.
“The discoloration is all dead brain tissue, which unfortunately, means that over 40% of her brain has suffered from irreparable brain damage. Her memory will be impaired and her ability to both recall and store information will be damaged; furthermore, her decision making abilities and emotional control will also be altered due to the damage to her frontal lobe. She will no longer have the ability to physically control her body, rendering her permanently paralyzed from the neck down. Despite being paralyzed, her pain receptors are still fully functioning; with that being said, she will still experience pain in areas that are rendered immobile; similar to patients suffering from ALS, who tend to be in a lot of physical pain due to such immobility. I’m sure the prior surgeon you spoke to also alerted you to the possibility of her being put on a ventilator for the rest of her time alive, correct?”
What
The
Fuck?
Bakugo was frozen in his spot, taking in all this information at once. This is a lot to have to process at once-
“In addition, we have also been unable to wake her from her comatose state.” Bakugo’s gaze slices through the air to meet with the surgeons. “We don’t think she will ever wake up. Currently, she is entirely dependent on technology to keep her alive.”
Don’t fucking finish what you are trying to tell him-
“So we have come to a crossroad. We can either continue to have her live on a ventilator with a slim chance of her waking up, or... we can pull the plug.” The surgeon finishes, a firm but compassionate look in his eyes.
“It is entirely up to you, but I told you all I did in hopes that you’d understand what your spouse would be undergoing should you decide to keep them alive. There is absolutely no judgment in whichever decision you choose, but unfortunately, we need to know your decision as soon as possible so that the preparations can be made for either choice.” Chinen finally finishes, observing Bakugo’s broken state- his exhaustion not doing well to conceal the rollercoaster of emotions he has been experiencing all day. He looked absolutely crestfallen. This was a choice he didn’t want to make, and it was obvious.
Bakugo simply pressed his lips down into a thin line, eyes swirling with different emotions battling for dominance. “I want to see them.”
There was a beat of silence as the surgeon regarded him, before nodding his head. “Okay.” He slid the curtain from the window just enough for him to see if the area was reading for Bakugo to enter, and seeing that you were comfortably seated in your bed, he nodded his head and beckoned Bakugou over to the door that leads to the room you were in after the both of them washed their hands.
Bakugou’s breath became uneven as his heart rate sped up- practically beating out of his chest, eyes flickering all across the room as his trembling legs carried him through the door. When his eyes landed on you, all the emotions from last night came rushing at him at one; and for a moment, his joints locked up and he was unable to move forward. The heavy and beeping machinery surrounding you really brought the reality of the situation down on him.
He couldn’t even hold your hand.
He couldn’t even see much of your face, as most of it was covered with bandages.
Fuck-- was that even you??
He could feel his eyes begin to well up as his lips began to quiver, clenching his jaw. He approaches you slowly, hands balled up at his sides, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. His breathing gets harder the closer he gets to you and he stops right at your bedside. He brings his shaking hand up to touch a small exposed part of your cheek,
And he nearly flinched with how cold your skin was.
It was like everything was happening in slow motion as he collapsed by your bedside, eyes blown open before he slowly, but surely, began to simply outright sob.
It started off quiet before gradually getting louder and louder.
“(Y-Y/n) I-I’m s-so fucking sorry… I’m so fucking sorry! I-I did thi-s” He chokes out through his sobs and clenched teeth. “I promised you-- I f-fucking PROMISED you that I’d a-always be there for you god damn it! I fucking PROMSIED you-- a-and I f-fucked up-- I am s-so sorry p-please,” he pleads, face buried in his arm by the side of your bed.
“I-I got you that cat you’ve always wanted god damn it! Fuck, I didn’t even get it a tag yet so you could name it-- but you c-can’t do that if you’re not fucking awake you shitty idiot!” He shouts, pushing himself up to cup the side of your face, wiping his tears away aggressively-- but they just never seem to stop falling, do they? His expression is contorted to one of absolute heartbreak and regret, tears falling onto the sheets beside you. “Y-you can’t leave yet… fuck you can’t leave get please you fucking idiot-- you- you fucking…” his voice cracks “I love you.”
He sobbed violently, a state he would never let anyone other than you see him in.
What is he going to do now that you're gone?
Is he really going to take that chance and let you lead a miserable life if you wake up?
IF you wake up?
Fuck, how selfish could he possibl-
Ah, wait a second...
Isn’t that what got him into this mess in the first place?
It always seems to go back to that. Him being selfish.
And that is a horribly terrifying experience for him to realize once he does.
During this time, he’s desperate to keep in contact with you, as he comes to understand this is the last time he will ever have that privilege. He doesn’t know when the surgeon will be back, but he knows when he does, he is going to truly have to let you go.
He will have to let you go knowing you’ll never know how sorry he was.
Knowing you’ll never know how much he truly loved you.
Knowing you’ll never know how much joy you brought to his life, and how he would give the world just to have those moments in time back.
Knowing you’ll never know how he realized he really did take you for granted.
And it hurt.
So when the Surgeon came in minutes later to check on him, and Bakugo asked to have as long as he could by your side before you passed, the surgeon simply nodded in understanding.
When Bakugo asked to lay by you once they removed the ventilator from your body to have as much contact with you as he could, holding your hand, they simply looked on in understanding.
When Bakugo pressed one final kiss to the side of your cheek as they waited for your heart to stop beating and brain activity to go dead, they didn’t think twice about his tears staining both his and your cheeks.
It’s why they didn’t rush him to let go of you after your passing, but provided as much support as they could when he did.
So when Bakugo came back to his car, he knew that he would take care of the cat he had gotten for your sake. He knew that the flowers and small gifts he got to congratulate your successful operation would be used to ornament the altar erected in your passing. He knew that when he got home, that the last thing he wanted was to smell fresh sheets on the bed when they could have smelled like you.
… 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 …
His friends and family still don’t truly understand what Bakugo had gone through that night, or even what happened to you outside of your passing in general; but hopefully he will heal in time to be able to disclose such information with them. Hell, they couldn’t quite understand why he got a cat, given that he doesn’t even like them all that much.
He worked himself down to the bone every day, exhausting himself so he doesn’t ever have to think. So that he never lays awake before being able to fall asleep; because nights where he lies awake and can’t help but think about you are always the worst. Mornings where he wakes up and forgets that you won’t be there when he looks to the other side of his bed are always the worst. Days where it couldn’t seem to stop raining were the worst.
But nothing is currently worse to him than knowing that maybe one day, he will wake up knowing you won’t be there. And that he might be okay with that.
