The past is not something he likes to dwell too long on. He has admired heroes, those who were strong. Bakugou can remember a time his heart was so fixated on the idea of climbing to the top, being a star. Even as a child, the adults had fed him a certain image, some criteria he had to meet to feel worthy, to feel powerful. He loved the limelight. He craved the feeling of being envied, watched through jealous eyes. He wanted to flaunt his strength because it made him feel admired. He wanted to be admired as much as he admired that certain man, that certain hero who carried the world’s hope on his back. The young Quartermaster feels his chest shudder, lungs disrupting his moment of thoughts. The past bites him like a venomous snake, it coils along his heart. The memories ache to touch upon but they are always spinning and replaying somewhere in the back of his mind, remembered through that of a greyscale filter.

Before coming to this world, he had only known there was good and evil. It was a black and white world. Breaking the law meant you were a villain, enforcing the law meant you could be a hero. He never paid any mind when they called him a villain, he thought it merely amusing when he had been kidnapped under the impression that he would swap loyalties. And yet, after the one he had admired most had reduced to nothing more but a normal civilian – a mere bystander of events, he begun to re-evaluate himself. He was destruction, he brought nothing good. Bakugou bites his bottom lip. Then there was the day the apocalypse came. People were dying and, when the time came to prove himself, he died a worthless death. He died letting his guard down, letting his weakness arise. It hurt accepting that things were his fault, hurt accepting the blame. He was angry that he had let himself die in the first place and the sensation of death had haunted him the moment his eyes opened.

There was that strange grogginess of waking up in this world, the same sensation of waking up after not realizing you have fallen asleep. It was that awful in-between of being blank of thought, not remembering who you were and not caring. Then the identity returns – your history, your feelings, your thoughts. A shock emerges, panic overwhelming that tears begin to flood, and your body burns with emotion. He cried until he felt dry, couldn’t handle the fact that he had failed. He was vulnerable to the feeling of fear that crept upon him, the realization that he had been dead and not known he had been dead. There is an indifferent calmness that comes with not existing, no conscience to speak to him that his mind is a void, a nothingness that encapsulates his body. It was like sleep and the fact that he had made the comparison to death and sleeping frightened him. The simple act of closing his eyes could induce trauma.

The young Quartermaster hurries his steps, focusing on his walking as he pushes his memories aside. He’s bad at clearing his mind. He always has to think of something but, to be honest, thinking of his presence or the future is just as unbearable. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve his role. He is aware that he is unpleasant, that he is an awful soul. Caesar’s outcry of his promotion is still fresh in his mind, remembering the way the Savannah had lashed out in rage to attack the Captain. He would have been fine with that duel. It was insulting that no one had believed him, that everyone had gone out of the way to protect him. He didn’t want to keep thinking of himself to be weak. Funny how his emotions become so vulnerable through a simple act of respect, but he didn’t want anyone to extend themselves trying to save him. He wanted to feel strong again, to validate himself so he can finally breathe a little easier.

Bakugou stops instantly, halting his self-brooding when he hears a voice cry across the territory. Birds flutter from the trees, the silent forest suddenly alive, moving and rustling as it tries to once again reach that middle ground. He changes directions, following what he assumes to be the source to investigate it, ears rotating like radars and nose twitching for any new scents at the border. An ugly creature, mummified in appearance but, unfortunately, living and breathing. The foreigner he has come across is the undead, a moving plague that he looks sickly to touch. The idea of being too close to him almost makes him feel germophobic, like the male is a walking disease. Dirty, awful. Bakugou is hesitant to get too close and one can see clearly in his eyes that he intends to maintain a distance from the feline, clearly judgmental of his appearance.

”What are you doing here?” Bakugou asks blandly with a scrunched up nose, head raised slightly as if he were a picky child turning his eyes away from the look of broccoli. ”If you’re lost then you’ll find the cemetery can be found in that direction.” He was pointing to nowhere in particular but if the foreigner were going to die, he would prefer he left his corpse somewhere else. It would be rude to die out here. Of course, to Bakugou’s misfortune, the stranger would turn out to be mute and will likely take up more of his time than he wanted.

//this is terrible and rushed but your writing is wonderful!!

The awful things people did to each other for so many equally terrible reasons was- a haunting pain, and the almost healed burns itched like a reminder of the sorts of things they were willing to do to each other for association. The "us" versus "them" mentality harmed so many, but he couldn't force communication or conciliation. With his duties, the most he could do was...clean up after those incidents and try not to get in the way, though the latter would be difficult. When someone needed help, they needed help; it wasn't Pip's place to decide whether they were deserving, or what counted as worthy. What he did consider right was lending a hand. Turning a blind eye was one of the worst things a person could do to someone else when they were in need, and the young canine wasn't going to start now.

"Bakugou." Pip said nothing else to admonish the rude comment, allowing the tone of voice he said his name in to do that for him, since chastising the feline wasn't why he'd approached. The stranger was...bedraggled, certainly, and seemed malnourished. He couldn't be certain whether it was a lack of access to food or something else, but regardless, he began formulating a dietary plan. He assumed he was here to stay. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" Pip didn't hesitate to approach, able to blithely overlook the scent, mismatched gaze on the shoulder instead. "Are you feeling any pain?" He didn't appear to be, but some people managed to hide that.

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