Listen up, a**hole - Chapter 7

When Bakugou woke up the next day, he felt like his life had imploded. His phone was blown up with messages – his agency passing on interview requests, his friends asking what the hell happened, even his parents who, admittedly, probably had a right to be upset that they weren't aware. Every news headline exclaimed “Ground Zero is deaf? Shocking reveal!” or “Disabled Heroes? It's more likely than you think!”

He wasn't fucking disabled, he was just...

Okay, so he hadn't figured out the right term yet. Sue him, he had more important things in life to worry about than labels. He already had the day off work – a reward, he suspected, for agreeing to do the press conference – so as he swiped the notifications away he found himself pulling up his father's number.

“Hey,” he murmured, when he answered on the first ring. “You two don't work today, right?”

“No, we have some free time today! How about you? You normally work Saturdays, don't you?”

“Agency gave me a day off after the conference,” he explained, pausing for a moment. “Before it happened. I'm not taking a coward's day off or some shit, old man.”

“I didn't think that for a moment,” Masaru assured him. “It's good to hear from you.”

“I thought maybe I'd come visit,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I probably need to tell you both some stuff. Just let me take a shower and shit then I'll come over?”

“You want to come here?” Masaru asked, and Bakugou caught a few muffled complaints in the background. “Why don't we come to you, son? You sound tired.”

“I'm fine, I just woke up is all.”

“Well then you take it easy, have your shower, and we'll bring brunch over soon. Is Izuku home too?”

“No, he's working this morning. He's meant to finish early, but he ends up staying all day most of the time.”

“Alright, we'll see you in about an hour! Relax, okay? Enjoy your day off!”

“Yeah, alright.”

As he hung up, he found himself torn. It was so damn typical of his parents – of his father, at least. Always thinking of him, thinking about press and fans and other random civilians who might feel entitled to an opinion on the matter. He had no problem telling them all to fuck off, but he supposed it was smarter to just not interact rather than go feral at them in the streets where everyone could see and hear it.

Setting his phone aside, he headed for the shower. He hoped it would wake him up a little, but considering his rather restless night he suspected it would be a fruitless effort. On some level, he kind of hated himself for not sleeping like a baby. He had nothing to be ashamed of, right? Nothing to be embarrassed about? It was just a thing he had to learn to deal with, it wasn't like it would stop him beng a hero.

Disabled Heroes? It's more likely than you think!

He wasn't disabled. They were wrong. They were idiots at a keyboard trying to come up with a good story that would draw people in and make them want to buy an outdated newspaper – seriously, who didn't just get their news online, these days? They needed to find a new means of income instead of relying on shitty old-fashioned media.

Before he knew it, the doorbell was ringing, and he trudged his way out to answer it in a baggy green hoodie and old sweatpants.

When he pulled the door open, he immediately found a cardboard cup in his hand, steaming hot and smelling of strong, black coffee. His thanks was cut off, though, by two skinny arms squeezing him extra tight around the waist, knocking him back a step in his surprise.

“Damn brat,” she complained, shaking him firmly but not letting go. “Give us a shitty phone call once in a while.”

“I called this morning,” he snorted. “Ain't that why you're here, old hag?”

He allowed the hug all the same, awkwardly twisting his arm to take a sip of coffee as he waited for her to wear herself out. He'd gotten used to letting people squeeze him half to death, between his overly-emotional parents and his asshole friends, but they still remained a one-way street. Bakugou's hugs only went to a certain shitty Deku.

“I like the hoodie,” she praised, tugging at it when they parted. “Very cute.”

Speaking of shitty Dekus, he looked down at the worn old hoodie with the stupid rabbit ear logo on the front. He decidedly did not wear it to support his boyfriend or any of that lame emotional shit, it was purely because it was so damn soft and warm, it made him feel cozy when he was at home chilling.

And it definitely did not smell like his boyfriend, either.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, waving them inside finally. “Come in, I guess.”

The pair knew their way around the apartment by now, after the years Bakugou had lived in it even before Midoriya joined him, as evidenced by the way they kicked their shoes off and headed straight for the living room to fall on his soft as shit sofa. He'd spend half his life on the thing if he could.

As his parents dished out brunch for all three of them, he started to feel a little antsy. When were they gonna ask the question? Were they going to freak out about him not telling them? Was his mother going to yell at him, or were they going to cry about how they should have known sooner? It was a waiting game to find out, and Bakugou hated waiting games.

“I'm not deaf,” he blurted out finally, as he accepted the plate from his father in the middle seat. “Ignore the stupid reporters.”

“You wanna explain these fucking articles then, brat? I woke up to a thousand news articles telling me my only son had lost his damn hearing, I just about had a heart attack!”

“We know you're not deaf,” Masaru smiled softly, holding a hand up as if he were walling Mitsuki's anger behind it. “We would know by now if you couldn't hear us. Do you want to talk about it, or shall we eat first?”

“I can do both,” he grumbled, poking at his food. “I was expecting the old hag to be louder.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, looking a little more like her usual self. “You're an adult, even if you never fuckin' act like it. It's not like you have to tell us anything you don't want to, but a damn heads up once in a while would be nice.”

Bakugou swallowed hard, suddenly choked up. He didn't realise the stupid tears were escaping until Masaru reached out, pulling him into his side and just holding on in silence for a minute.

“I don't know what's gotten into me,” he insisted, sniffing stubbornly as he wiped his face. “I'm fine and all these shitty reporters are just... Just... They don't understand, they're idiots, and I'm not fucking disabled I just have, like, an injury and yeah it's not gonna go away but neither do scars or... or vision problems. It's just like wearing fucking glasses, and you've done that my whole life, but you're not disabled, right, old man?”

“I guess you could call it that, in a way,” Masaru shrugged. “I don't think it's a big deal what we call it, do you? It's just like when you told us you were in love with Izuku. You didn't kick up a stink about labels like gay and straight or whatever else you might be, you just loved him and that was it.”

Bakugou nodded, stuffing food in his mouth when his father let him go, stalling for time to think by chewing instead. He carefully avoided his mother's eyes, but even out the corner of his eye he could see the shock in her expression, stunned, for once, into silence.

“It's been happening since high school,” he said reluctantly. “I probably should have told you back then, but I thought maybe it would go away. Every time I went to see Recovery Girl I thought maybe that would be the time it worked. I looked at... At surgeries, and doctors, and medical quirks, and... I guess it's just not a thing, you know? There are cells that died, and quirks can't fix something once it's dead.”

“I hope you know this doesn't change anything, to us,” Mitsuki told him with a surprising gentleness, looking him straight in the eye despite the way he struggled to keep her gaze. “You're still the most amazing hero, you're still our son, and we still... We still love you just as much, we don't think any less of you for... For needing a little help.”

The stupid tears threatened to come out again, and Bakugou turned away in a hurry, scoffing.

“Of course I'm still the best,” he snorted. “Like that would ever change. Shitty Deku is the only one even worth my time, and he's always been behind me.”

“The best hero in the world,” Masaru said fondly, ruffling his hair just like when he was a kid. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Whatever.”

He returned to shovelling down food, still refusing to look at either of them, but out the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of two fond little smiles.

When the food was gone, and he'd drained the last of his coffee, he turned to lean against the arm of the couch and look both of his parents in the eye.

“Alright, I know you have questions, so hit me.”

“Why don't you tell us the things you want to share, first, and we can go from there?” Masaru suggested, once again giving his wife a warning look when she opened her mouth. “Whatever you choose to tell us.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at him but nodded all the same, folding his arms as he contemplated.

“We have to do general check ups every year for work,” he began slowly. “Every time they did the hearing test I wondered if they were going to say something, but it never really came up until this year they showed me a graph.”

“A graph?” Masaru prompted. “Of what?”

“My... My hearing, it's always been lower than average,” he clarified. “And declining slowly, apparently, but this year it dropped a lot quicker than it had in the past and it hit the range where they were concerned about it. They called it mild hearing loss which seems like a stupid name, because if it's mild, it shouldn't matter, right? But whatever, it's the stage below below average which is probably even worse, because I've never been below average in my damn life.”

“And you agreed to get help?” Mitsuki snorted. “Bakugou Katsuki went 'sure doc, sign me up for-'”

“No, not really,” Bakugou cut her off before she could say the words. “I told them I didn't give a shit and I left, but they... Ugh, they told Deku. He's my next of kin, or whatever, and they were concerned, so they called him and explained what had happened and he just kept nagging about it.”

“Remind me to buy him flowers. Or a fuckin' car or something.”

“Shut up, old hag. Whatever. We went and talked to someone about it, and for a long time I didn't use the stupid things, but I guess I got curious eventually and they... I don't want to say help because that sounds dumb, but I get less headaches when I use them, and maybe it makes me less paranoid that someone will creep up on me on patrol. Sometimes I hate them, because everything is just so loud, you know? The dishwasher and the laundry machine and the fridge and just all of it. It's exhausting, sometimes. And don't even get me started on all the extras hanging around in the grocery store or at coffee shops and shit.”

He paused, glancing at both their faces, so full of attention and encouragement to continue.

“The doctor. The audiologist, I mean, not the agency dude. Um, he's actually a pretty good guy,” he admitted sheepishly. “He talked me through a lot of options for how to use it on patrol and shit, gave us a list of gadgets that can work with them and help. Deku had a field day going through them, but I managed to talk him out of buying the whole catalogue.”

“There were pictures from your conference,” Mitsuki told him. “You were holding a pen or some shit, was that one of them?”

“Yeah, it's a kind of microphone that connects to them through my phone. It like, prioritises the sounds it picks up, plays them above general background noise? I, um, got kind of overwhelmed once, when we went out to lunch with friends. I couldn't hear shit at the table compared to everything else around me, and it was just too much and too loud. So when Deku saw it he thought it'd be perfect for that kind of shit. It looks like a pen so I can just have it on my desk during an interview and stuff and no one will look twice at it.”

“That's very neat,” Masaru nodded. “And it works well?”

“Yeah, it... It helps.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair again, then turning his head sideways a little.

“You can't see them, right?” he asked quietly. “No one seems to notice them, so I assume they're invisible like the guy promised.”

“Are you wearing them now?”

“Yeah. I stuck them in after my shower, it's kind of become habit.”

Masaru was more delicate about looking, but Mitsuki threw tact out the window, rounding behind the couch to examine and consider.

“There's this little ball here,” he pointed out, just inside his ear canal. “It's the end of the pull string, which is actually more like a stick, and that's how I take them out.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I can see that,” she agreed, tilting her head to look a little closer. “But no, I'd never have guessed. I've kind of been wondering if you were wearing them today, but figured you'd complain if I asked.”

“It's fine,” he sighed, pulling the device out to show them. “They're tiny, see? They've just got this tiny as shit battery inside them that I change about once a week, it's a pain in the ass to change because they're so small, I generally use tweezers to do it. My phone tells me when they're getting low, anyway, so it's not a big deal, I can account for it, I'm not gonna have to change them during a patrol or some shit.”

He paused for a moment, pulling a face as he stared at it, then looking away pointedly.

“They call them 'hearing aids' but I hate that damn term. Sounds like my ears have a disease or some shit.”

“Is that what you get from aural sex?”

Mitsuki barely kept a straight face as she asked, but before he knew it a loud laugh was ripping itself from Bakugou's lungs, making him double over with how quickly and suddenly it hit him.

“I'm stealing that one,” he told her, stuttering a little as he regained his breath. “Fuck. When did you get funny?”

“Rude little shit!”

She slapped him in the back of the head, but it was a lot lighter than usual, a lot fonder than their genuine arguments.

“What do you prefer to call them?” Masaru prompted.

“Deku just calls them my support gear. I don't mind that, it's subtle.”

“Okay, I'll keep it in mind.”

Bakugou sighed, finally slumping in his seat, the tension seeping out of his muscles.

“It kind of makes sense,” Mitsuki began softly, after the pause grew a little too long to be comfortable. “I'm surprised no one ever thought of it when you were growing up.”

“Right?! All these dumbfuck reporters like 'wow what a shock! Ground Zero has hearing damage!' like my quirk is fucking exploding palms you imbeciles, of course I do. They're loud as fuck. Stupid gossip-mongering vultures.”

“Can I ask a question?” Masaru chimed in, a little reluctant. “I'm sorry if it's a sensitive one.”

“It's fine. Stop being so worried, old man.”

“Is it likely to get worse over time?”

Bakugou paused, drumming his fingers against his thigh, and after a moment he nodded once.

“It will, yeah. But wearing them on patrol is meant to help. They're designed to amplify quieter noise, they don't bother with louder stuff because I don't need it, so having them in my ears kind of protects me a little. They react really quickly, so even for sudden noises like my explosions they can stop transmitting quick enough.”

Masaru waited, and Bakugou pulled a face.

“So yeah, as long as I'm using my quirk it will still get worse, but by wearing these dumb things it should happen a lot slower. Reporters are jumping the gun with this Deaf Ground Zero shit though, I'm not even close, and I won't be for a long time. And... And I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, you know? Hell, I'm a hero, I might not even live that long.”

“Don't you dare,” Mitsuki warned him, punching him in the shoulder. “Don't talk like that, brat. You're gonna live a long and fuckin' healthy life along with your Izuku. I still want some damn grandchildren.”

“We're both dudes, hag, that ain't gonna happen.”

“Adoption! Surrogates! There are options!”

“Whatever. Idiot.”

She finally returned to her seat, huffing  just for show, and with a little sigh Bakugou leaned into his father's side again, closing his eyes.

“Thanks for still loving me,” he mumbled, cheeks flushing pink. “I know I'm hard to love.”

“You're not, not at all,” Masaru assured him, brushing hair back from his forehead lightly. “I love you more than anything or anyone else in this world. You're my son, and you're perfect. You'll always be perfect, to me.”

“Idiot,” he grumbled, ignoring the tears that fought their way between his squeezed eyelids. “Don't say sappy shit, Dad.”

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