Wander over, Lover, The Climb
BarbarianKatsuki! x Fem!Reader, In which an ordinary Reader tumbles through a portal into a realm of ancient magic and whispered prophecies.
Lost and world away from home, she finds herself accompanying the Chieftain's son and his sworn sword on a journey to save both his world and hers.
read chapter two here!
Word count: 4334
CHAPTER THREE: The Climb
Katsuki Bakugo was trying to enjoy the celebration. The crease in his brow poised ever so forgivingly to ease suspicions of his growing anger. But behind his teeth, irritation festered. He surveyed the area, treading heavily around the perimeter of the plaza. Circling the pit of fire.
Feral howls and guttural cries rose from the revellers, carrying on the rain-slick wind. The sound traveling over the ridged wooden branches that form the bonfire's body— rising to the stars as high-pitched whistles and hymns. They reverberate, ghostly and wind-whisked. 'The battle had been won,' the spirits cried. The ritual begun.
The crowd stomps a threshing song. Separating the grain of the wounded from those who did not fight in battle. Those who are maimed the worst raise in their hands dried sassafras, rolled over herbs and a colourful fungi. It's bitter on the tongue and worse going down. It bubbles in their gut and sweats their bodies out. Hot flushes erupt under their skin, pain long forgotten. They dance without regards for their wounds. Skipping and singing in glee— their minds are lost in a fantasy.
Even the half-limping, even the blood-slicked, even the dying. They spin in circles and thrash, delirious with laughter. They sing in madness. Joy. Or grief. It was hard to tell now.
Glowing sparks of amber flutter in the air, petals falling from a tree of flames. 'Just a sapling', the creaking of the wood whispers to the dreamers as the fire grows larger.
The people thrash, locking arms in pairs and groups as they dance in a frenzy, beating their feet against packed soil.
Katsuki watches from the shadows, stalking around the fuss of it all, vehemence bitten behind his tongue. He sees the people, lumbering in rings around the bonfire— wounds not yet dressed— devoid of concern for their fallen comrades. Dancing like the dead weren't rotting outside the gates. Dancing like the Nomu hadn’t nearly wiped out half their fighters. Dancing like they’d won.
The air is thick with perfumed oil and a hint of iron. He skulks, loathing the blissful looks on their unknowing faces.
Their memories are skewed, placated by the concoction. Visions of the horrors they faced are warped in their minds. Their memories fickle from dreams of ecstasy and euphoria, but never the havoc they encountered at the hands of the Nomu.
But Katsuki remembers.
He remembers the brutality of it all. How it felt to watch his people die horrible deaths from the force of their fists.
How it felt to slay the beast that stood before him— how instead of glory washing over him, he felt dread.
How it felt winning, despite the overwhelming loss of life.
How it felt to not actually win, he had to ask for help, after all.
Katsuki redirects his temper, eyes dragging along the crowds absentmindedly until the silhouette of Todoroki Shoto comes into his view. He stomps over, shamefaced and glowering.
Standing around Todoroki is an escort of soldiers from Endeavour's manor. They hold a fervent heat behind their eyes as the barbarian approaches.
One that looks like a strap of leather with a scowl for a face takes a step forward to sentry Shoto, only to be dismissed with an unworried. "Hold on." and a prim wave of his lithe hand.
"You—" Bakugo spits with venom, completely ignoring the older man.
"You'll address the Prince as your royal highness, if you know whats good fo—"
"That's enough, Kurumada." Todoroki, interjects. His eyes carry over Katsuki's body— filled with scars and stretch marks around the joints like estuaries of endlessly battled skin pulled tautly over muscle. Each scar is a notch towards a tally of victories. Victories won on his own. Until now.
There is a moment of stale silence around them. Thick enough to only be penetrated by the shrill yips and chitters of the throng— sounding harder to distinguish from animals the longer the festivity drags on. Katsuki's ears ring, he spits on the ground, just missing the prince's silver tipped boots.
"Fight me."
The festivities go on, despite the rain that pelts down from the darkness.
"Who the fuck is this?"
Katsuki's glare cuts to you, lingering briefly before meeting Kirishima's eyes. He's holding a hand to his face, blood crusted dark along the bridge of his nose. It trails down his face like warpaint.
"This is who the scouts saw during the battle. The one who fell–" Kirishima begins, only to be cut short by Katsuki's impatient tongue.
"Tch. From the sky?" The barbarian exhales from his nose. He stares hard at the ground briefly before pushing himself to his feet. His tone is heavy with mistrust and disdain, voice laced with childlike mimicry. Like he's retelling an old child's tale that he's too old to believe in.
The three of you are tucked away in a wooden roundhouse, lit warmly by a small fire in the centre of the circular room. The sharp smell of smoke and sweat clings to the air. Kirishima had dragged you both here once the crowd had begun to settle and Todoroki was led away, escorted by his foreign guard.
Kirishima pushes himself off the pillar he's leant up against, red eyes flicking to you before nodding.
You open your mouth to speak, hesitating for a moment until you glimpse the intimidating heat behind the barbarian's stature, "There was something—" Your head pounds, "—That i fell through. Like a bright light, or a mirror." Struggling to put into words what you saw, you shake your head, disorientation visible on your face.
"A portal. Like the Nomu have been coming through."
Kirishima's voice lowers as he leans forwards, peering at the celebratory dance still occurring outside. His jaw is clenched, sharing a look with Katsuki. They seem to talk without words. His thoughts lead back to you and the spaced look on your face.
"So." Bakugo breaks eye contact first, head swivelling in your direction as he stands from his squatting position. "She's with them then." Accusatory. Stomping over, his anger seems to build with each step he takes.
Kirishima breaths in sharply, "Woah man, what are you doing?" Getting between you and him. Tall enough to block your view of the other man.
"She came through a portal." Bakugo strains through clenched teeth, spacing out each word as if to make his thoughts obvious. "She's working with them!" He yells the last part, bringing a calloused hand up to Kirishima's shoulder to shove him aside.
You scramble up from where you're sitting, feeling the tension in the room. "Im not with them." You defend your case. Not even entirely sure who they are. "I swear! I'm not even from here. Like i said i fell–"
"Thats obvious." Folding his arms over his chest. Katsuki shoots Kirishima a look, bumping shoulders with him as he walks past. "Where are you from then?" His demands leave no room for you to hesitate, or to even think of lying.
"Im from Musutafu." The truth. Though it seems alien in this place.
Katsuki stares at you like you just spoke in tongues. His foot taps, fast and impatient. You watch his jaw tighten. The twitch in his face as his tongue pokes his cheek. The disbelief brewing behind his eyes.
Then he moves.
He grabs your collar, fist clenched in the fabric at your throat. His face is close, breath hot and sharp. You feel the violence under his skin like static in the air.
His lips curl downwards. "Don't fuck with me. Now tell the truth."
"I am!" You squint at the sudden closeness, watching how his eyes scan your face. You're almost certain he's about to rip your head off.
Kirishima places a hand on his shoulder.
"Bakugo. I don't think she's lying." Unyielding in his attempt to defuse the situation.
Kirishima continues, even as Katsuki doesn't move "You heard what the scouts said, she fell from the sky, she wasn't with the Nomu." He takes a deep breath, "I think she—"
"Shut up, shitty hair. You don't know what you're talking about." He jerks his hand forwards, pushing you against one of the wooden pillars— keeping you put as he turns his head.
"Well you were there, man!" Kirishima throws his hands up. "I wasn't. You're telling me you didn't see it with your own eyes? You didn't see her fall? The scouts sure did."
"You're right, Kirishima. You weren't there." Bakugo's voice grows uncharacteristically quiet. Ever the more hostile. "And shut up about the fucking scouts."
"Dude."
"Whatever." Dismissing Kirishima.
You clear your throat, drawing the attention back to yourself as you notice the twitch of Kirishima's brows. Katsuki doesn't budge. Eyes still, but he lets your shirt go, allowing you to slink down onto the wooden floor.
"I'm gonna figure out what's going on with you."
“Why don’t you let her tell us?” Kirishima mutters, retreating a few steps into the room. He unbuckles his sword and busies himself with the straps, giving you space. "She's probably real shaken up."
"Yeah well her heads' all busted up, so no wonder." Katsuki snorts. Nodding his head in your direction, pointing out the thick black blood dried to your temple.
"What?" Kirishima turns on his heel, taking a quick step towards you, head tilting to the side. Now both of them are looking at you.
"I—" You don't know whether to begin explaining or not, hand coming up to press against your wound. You wince. "I hit my head a couple times." You say under your breath to Kirishima. Something tells you not to look at Bakugo.
"I'll go get the doctor." He sighs, ducking out of the roundhouse without another word.
And suddenly it’s quiet.
Just you and Katsuki. Still staring.
Still not convinced.
"Asshole. I ask you to clear the woods of any enemies and you bring me back a headache." Katsuki scolds, biting the inside of his cheek— pouting ever so slightly.
The voices of the two men are muffled. You've been separated from them by a thin divider in the doctors building— having been moved there once Kirishima decided it would be better for you to lie down.
The doctor is quiet, deliberate in her movements. She doesn’t smile, not even politely. But there’s something comforting in her silence, like she’s heard every story a body can tell and still chooses to listen without judgment.
She carries herself in a way that displays her years of experience, brow wrinkling down as she tilts your head up with the palm of her hand. Her eyes are crystal blue dipped in a milky white. You find yourself fixated as she tends to you.
"Eat this, girl." She rasps voice dry as sand.
Then she's holding a bundle of herbs to your lips. Shoving it in your mouth when you hesitate.
The texture is gritty and dry. Unpleasantly enough, it takes a few laboured chews for it to be ground into a paste soft enough to swallow. There’s a mushroomy undertone, dark and loamy, hidden beneath the potent taste of leaf and herb. It numbs your throat as it sloughs down into your sorry gut.
It hits like a stone dropped into a still pond.
You sink into the bed of pelts. Stripped into your undergarments to save the furs from being spoiled from the dirt of you. Your skin is still chilled from your time in the wilderness, you find yourself missing the warmth from the flame of the great bonfire as you watched the barbarian wrestle. Though the aching in your joints, the sharpness in your skull, all of it ebbs away. You're weightless.
You blink up at the ceiling beams. They shift slightly. Not move—but breathe. Like the whole room is exhaling around you. A delightful fog clouds your thoughts. You smile without meaning to.
You catch the doctors eyes again, only now are they enlarged and pulsing, blue hues melting into vibrant reds and maroons. Her irises throb in time with your heartbeat and you find the noise from the celebration grow infinitely louder. Evermore savage.
Though you cant bring yourself to care. Its as if all your aching has been lifted from your body, replaced with a delightful breeze of content.
You don't feel frightened. Or worried. You don't fear your fever or your state of asylum. You could walk out of here right now. You could bite that barbarian's head off. Matter of fact, that's exactly what you'll do. You wobble as you stand, vision hazy as you toddle across the cool floor.
"We call that the Climb, girl. My remedy'll do that to you."
The Climb.
Your movements are ceased by a leathery hand wrapped around your forearm. You languidly roll your eyes down to search for the sudden contact, then back up to the woman's face. Only you recognise her this time. Those wrinkles etched into her skin speak lullabies of home to you. The curve of her brow bone and slant of her nose resemble the inchoate image of your mother, maybe—if your memories had been smudged and rewritten by the forest itself. Though her eyes. Her eyes burn on, blue and bird-like.
You try to nod but it comes out more like a sway your body threatening to topple.
She speaks again, or at least you guess she does. You see her lips move. There's a delay. Like the synapses in your brain have been staggered. Ears, disconnected from your eyes.
Her voice comes to you eventually, but its echoing and omnipresent. Octaves both high and low. Voices, male and female, rattling against one another in a long tunnel, echoing endlessly until you stumble back onto the cot.
"You need sleep, and a good wash once you wake. But first, rest." Her voice sounds nothing like your mother's did, you blink and she's gone. Replaced by the stranger. The doctor wishes you goodnight before leaving the room.
That night you dream of the forest.
Dead quiet under the guise of midnight. A breeze wafts through the branches of the whitewood trees, rustling their pale leaves like whispers behind closed doors.The smell of something vaguely burnt seeps under your skin. It clings to you, it follows you. You cant shake it.
You come stand at the edge of the trail. A thoroughfare of greenery so vast it seems to stretch oracularly far. Endless as it blurs into an impalpable blend of woodland. You feel a certain kind of indigence as you tread further from your starting position, following the calls of the night— the type that frustrates to no end.
Each movement feels like a betrayal of stillness. There’s a gnawing sense of wrongness that grows within you the farther you walk. Time forgets itself the longer you spend straggling in the dark, lethargic eyes lock lacklustre on the soil, a sight you've grown sore of. Home calls to you, though you don't know which way to turn. You’re searching for something. Or maybe something is searching for you.
Morose thoughts become sullen feet dragging a loafing, tired body down the line. A never ending walk. The forest darkens the deeper you go. You drag yourself onwards, feet heavy. You are compelled along further into an opening in the woods. The soil beneath you sinks as you drag yourself deeper, like its swallowing you with each step you take.
You come into the view of a deer, lonesome under the moonlight.
It watches as you step into the clearing. Its coat is pure white and untouched. All except its hooves which have kicked up filth, defiling its resplendence. The contrast is jarring. Large unfocused eyes bore into you. Reflecting the moonlight into two bright stars for pupils. Looking at you. Looking through you.
Adorning its head is a crown of chrysanthemums, petals long and sprawling out like fingers fanned behind the skull of the animal. The flowers shift when its ears flick, alert to something beyond your understanding.
Your skin prickles.
A cold breath glides down your spine, and in the same instant, the deer bolts, vanishing between the trees like a ghost.
Dawn.
Birdsong spills into the morning air. Fauna flourish in the morning rays. Chirps ring through the canopies surrounding the settlement. Small birds weave in the open air. They dance in celebration of the new day, they sing in remembrance of the last. Nothing at all like what you dreamed.
"Wake up."
A voice demands, like the crack of a whip you are ripped from your slumber. You stir slightly, eyes bolting open when a rough hand shakes you from your slumber. You shoot up, squinting and muzzy from sleep.
"Wha—" You're met with the sight of scorching eyes. Red hot and full of fury.
Katsuki.
You reach up to touch your head, only to realise it has been bandaged. The pain nullified. The taste of something bitter lingers on your tongue. Whatever the doctor gave you is still working through your system.
He grips your forearm, "Get up." Tugging you off of the bed, like a sack of potatoes. Inconsiderate of your lack of decency in your half-dressed state. Though his eyes never travel below your collarbone.
"—What the hell are you doing?" You're groggy and unsteady on your feet. The morning bitterness nips at your bare skin, pulling a pelt over your shoulders with your free arm.
"I got questions for you." Borderline growling, "Now come on!"
He tugs harder, causing you skid across the floor as you attempt to steady yourself.
"Can you not!!——Just hold on a second!"
You tear yourself from his grip, tumbling back onto the bed with a bounce. You furrow your brows at him, anger simmering in your chest at his petulance. God he's irritating. “You always this charming in the morning?”
He shoots you an unimpressed look.
You frown as your eyes wonder around the small space allocated to you. The room is dimly lit by a window opposite your bed. A bucket of soapy water sits on the floor beside the bed, murky in colour. Your skin is clean now— you wonder who washed you whilst you slept. Your clothes aren't anywhere visible and you doubt the barbarian will allow you to look around without shoving an axe through your head first.
Before you can voice your confusion, another voice cuts in from the doorway.
"The girl has just woken up, Katsuki. Have some dignity." Tone scolding. You expect a barrage of insults to follow from the man, but Bakugo only grumbles. Huffing as he steps to the side to reveal a woman.
She’s tall, and dressed in furs trimmed with light blonde pelts that glisten like oil in the light. Her eyes are sharp like his, imposing and assertive. Her hair is shaggy and hangs just below the scarred line of her jaw, the colour blends with the halo of pelt trimmings that rests on her shoulders.
"So, this is the trouble-maker i've been hearing about." She takes a few steps forwards, scent of spiced oils invading your senses.
"Outlander." She titles you. A string of curses escapes from Katsuki's lips, granting a raise of the woman's eyebrows.
"Don't tell me you believe that crap." He mutters, body recoiling from the name. He stalks around the room, heavy boots scuffing the floors.
She ignores him. "The scouts say you fell through one of the villain's portals, is that correct?" Her decisiveness allows her to take control of the interrogation, Katsuki forgotten in the corner.
"Villains?— Ah, yes… i think so." You nod.
You find it hard to hold eye contact with the woman, her very presence is overawing. Something about her feels deeply rooted—like the trees in your dream. Ancient. Unshakable. It clicks that this is the barbarian's mother. Her eyes carry her age, despite her youthful appearance— all the more similar to her son the longer you stare.
"Can i— ask a question?" You blurt. Hands clenching the furs that conceal your skin. You can feel Katsuki's eyes on you. You stare ahead.
"Yes. Go on." Giving you an inquiring look.
"Where am i?" It seems every time you ask, your words fall on deaf ears. Though a twitch of emotion reflects in the woman's eyes at your words.
"This is the Iron Hills, girl. My territory." She tilts her head down at you. Shifting her weight from one foot to another. Her authority is absolute and final, like she’s never been questioned in her life.
Her words garner a huff from Katsuki. She continues on, "Im assuming my boy here hasn't granted you the right of an explanation?"
You nod again. She speaks on, a husk of a sigh in her throat. "The lands are under attack— As i'm sure you have witnessed. And we have a reason to believe that your world may be next."
"What?" You blink.
"—You can't be serious." Complains Katsuki. He steps up to his mother, getting in her face, only to be quelled by a sturdy slap to the back of his head.
"You embarrass yourself, Katsuki." He grits his teeth but says nothing. There's a slither of tension weaved within her stern look. The woman's eyes cut back to you.
"My world?" Your throat dries, one of your hands come to clutch your chest. You think of the Nomu, the destruction at their will. You think of your mother and the choice-less grief that drives you to fear for your home.
"Yes." She ruminates for a moment, eyes flicking to her son. "As the Chieftain of this clan it's my duty to safeguard all my people." She stands up impossibly straighter. "Our tribe is strong, Katsuki. Though i can't turn a blind eye to all the lives we lost yesterday. Im sure you know that all too well."
"You know what i have to do. It's about time." She utters to him, her hand gripping his wrist. Though the touch is harmless and grounding.
"It doesn't have to be a scene." She continues gently, "I'll make the announcement once you're gone."
Katsuki's face is hidden by his hair, head hung low. He nods, mouth pulled into a tight frown.
She nods once more at you. Her eyes flickering over your body one last time before she exits the room.
"Katsuki, find a seamstress for the poor girl. Get her something to wear."
And then she's gone.
With your head clear, without injury or hallucinogenic– no pounding, or strange visions— you're finally able to get a good look at your surroundings.
And him.
The barbarian. You're stood behind him as he stomps ahead, watching the indented line of muscle down his bare back. Each stride he takes speaks volumes to his ego. Walking around like he owns the earth beneath him. The men around here seem to favour being bare chested, their bodies decorated with ornaments and vivid painted markings, scars worn like medals.
A gruff voice grabs your attention. "This is your fault."
"Me? How can you blame me for something i don't even understand? Mind you i still have no idea whats going on." You half-jog to keep pace with him, your new garments clinging awkwardly to your skin. They're made for movement, for function. Leather and linen shaped for someone else’s life. You tug at the shoulder where it rubs against your skin.
"Shit went wrong as soon as you showed up, Idiot."
You glare at the back of his head. "You're acting like i'm the one who coordinated this whole thing! Hell, you thought i was working with them."
He comes to an abrupt stop, swivelling around to face you. Nose crinkled as he sneers at you. "Keep that attitude up and i'll fucking skin you." He hisses, eyes ablaze.
You stare up at him, eyes leading upwards to meet his halfway. not quite flinching, but not pushing either. The tension coils tight, then slips loose.
“Whatever,” you mutter, voice low.
He turns away with a scoff and keeps walking. Up ahead, the scent of hay and horses fills the air. Kirishima stands near the stables, running a hand along the coat of a massive draft horse. He spots you, grinning, lifting a hand in greeting. He nods at Katsuki.
"Hey, you." He chuckles at the sight of you. You wonder if you look out of place, standing there. Dressed in linen and leather with a bandage around your head. "You look good! Hows your head?" He points with his chin.
Katsuki walks by, paying no mind to formalities— heading along the stable to seek out his own horse.
Your hand instinctively comes up to touch the bandage."Uhm, it doesn't hurt anymore. Which is odd.. The doctor, she gave me something to eat."
"Ahh—" He chuckles again, nodding knowingly. "I heard the news, man." Peering over his shoulder at Katsuki with a raised eyebrow. "You sure about this? I'm with you either way."
"That's a stupid question." He grunts as he swings onto his horse, watching you with scorn in his eyes. "Tch. This one's gotta come too— Outsiders are bad news around here. They cause trouble the moment you leave them behind."
"Huh?" You sputter.
Kirishima doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he smiles wider. "Oh. Ohh, okay." Kirishima inspects you one last time with a smile before climbing onto his own horse.
"Atta' girl." He pats the mare's neck. "C'mon you."
You stare at them. At the horses. At the stables behind you and the dirt path stretching into the unknown. A dozen thoughts crash through your mind 'Ive only just recovered from the fall. I didn’t agree to this. I don’t know how to ride. I don’t belong here.'
You sigh and nod.
“Try to keep up, assholes,” Katsuki growls over his shoulder, already kicking his horse into motion.
You swallow hard, mouth dry. “Shit,” you whisper, you know in your gut theres no going back.
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part four