Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Todoroki’s declaration sends his blood boiling.

Seething, he watches as the half and half bastard challenges the idiot nerd -and worse of all, the dumbass reciprocates. What the fuck? Why Deku of all people, a one trick pony who broke his bones every time he used his Quirk?!

Why not-

The snarl he lets out is predatory. He’s out of his seat before Kirishima can hold him back. Stalking up to the dual haired brat, completely ignoring Deku’s squeak of fear as he barges past him.

“The fuck are you thinking giving Deku a declaration of war, you shitstain!?” He’s right up into Todoroki’s face, but ever the blank faced motherfucker just stares at him unblinkingly. Uncaring. “Him, really? He can’t even use his Quirk without ending up in the infirmary, the shitstain will be out by the first round!”

Like Katsuki was nowhere near enough of a threat to bother with.

(It makes the hair at the back of his neck rise up.

He’d seen that look before, long ago. The disinterest.)

The silence stretches across the room. The rest of the students are watching -waiting. Gauging their reactions. Probably chuckling internally at how well the Icyhot bastard was handling the class bully.

It makes his blood roar with rolling, unwavering violence.

(Mitsuki always said he got that poison from the old man.)

Kirishima comes to wrangle him back. Hand on his shoulder, hesitant but determined, Kaminari hovering nervously at his side. They say something, but he tunes out their attempt at calming him down in favour of glaring at the two idiots in front of him.

Deku looks determined, but then their eyes meet again and he looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, wavering courage falling apart like a castle of cards.

Ha.

Weakling.

Todoroki’s nonplussed by his threats. Unruffled as ever. There’s a gleam in his eyes, a quiet, vindictive determination Katsuki finds familiar -he sees it every morning in the mirror- but it's contained, directed more guarded.

It makes his blood burn .

Katsuki glares until Aizawa comes to fetch the class, takes one look at the commotion, and barks at them to get to the arena under the threat of expulsion.

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“Hey old hag, where’s my dad?”

A sharp smack is delivered to the back of his head, nearly bowling him over had he not braced for it against the kitchen counter.

“Don’t speak to me that way, you brat!” Mitsuki hisses as she fetches the condiments from the spice rack. “Why are you even asking?”

“Cuz’ I want to, duh?”

Another smack.

“Ow!”

Mitsuki’s nostrils flare. The look in her eyes is dark and guarded.

“You’ll meet him someday, kid. When he wants you to.”

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.

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“I just want to say….I’m gonna win.”

There’s pandemonium.

The crowd roars with laughter as the students rise up with a unified bellow. Katsuki stares them down through a impassive mask that didn’t betray the burning excitement roaring in his veins.

Deku’s the only one that stands his ground as he walks back into the crowd of students. Katsuki shoulders him aside when he strides through. Hands tucked in his pockets, he watches as the other first years scramble out of his way.

He ignores the weight of Deku’s eyes on his back.

(There’s a shudder travelling down his spine that he’s barely able to restrain and at that moment, Katsuki knows, just knows , that he is watching.)

.

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.

There’s a titan looming over him, fire burning in icy blue eyes. Katsuki watches him curiously, barely feeling the tight grip of his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Her manicured nails are digging slightly into his flesh, but he barely registers it.

“Introduce yourself, boy.” Mitsuki says, sickly sweet and pleasant. Then, under her breath and more sharply, she hisses, grip tightening nearly to the point of hurt. “Don’t slouch. Behave.”

Katsuki’s legs quake, but he stands his ground. He tilts his chin up, squares his tiny shoulders, and looks at the man straight in the eyes. For a three year old going on four, he doesn’t flinch under the weight of his stare.

“Hello, sir. My name is Katsuki.”

The man stares at him for a moment, taking in his firm introduction and unwavering stare.

Then he grins.

It’s not a nice smile; it’s sharp and predatory. Expecting.

It takes all but a fraction of a second for Katsuki to return it.

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.

Todoroki isn't giving him the time of day.

High in the sky, Katsuki glares at his back. The younger boy was still ahead, but the distance between them was getting shorter and shorter.

His opportunity comes when the minefield section rolls over.

Todoroki slows then, carefully stepping around the loaded mines as fast as he could. With the finish line so close and his hands starting to cramp, Katsuki joins him on the ground. Running up to his side, snarling as the half and half boy sends a small blast of ice his way as he nearly passes him. Well, Katsuki might have tried exploding him first, but that was just a detail.

In response, Katsuki ducks under his swing and brutally elbows him on the side.

The choked sound Todoroki makes is music to his ears. The taller boy stumbles, faltering at the sudden lack of air in his lungs. Taking the opportunity, the explosive blond leaps over a mine and accelerates, heading for the finish line.

Unfortunately, just as Katsuki has victory in his grasp-

Fucking Deku promptly barges in with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

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“When can I start?”

“When your Quirk manifests. Only then you will start down the path to becoming a hero, boy.”

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.

.

He can still win this.

He can still fucking win this.

Deku somehow had stolen the first spot from him, but mark his words, Katsuki was going to stela it right back and bash the nerd’s face in while he was at it, because if Katsuki was anything it was a overachiever.

But for now, he has to get a team ready for the second half of the tournament.

Which is a bit hard when he barely paid any attention to his classmates during the first semester. They’re crowding around him, students from his own class and other clambering for him to pick them. All Katsuki hears is the pounding of his own heart in his ears and a burst of frustration when Horns shrieks at the realization he barely even knows some of their names.

Give him a fucking break, it’s not like its been a full semester yet. Besides, why the fuck should he care about people he doesn’t even talk to? He barely knows a handful of their names; that’s enough in Katsuki’s opinion.

Mina Ashido apparently disagrees, if the way she forces herself into his team with a upturned nose and a indignant huff has anything to do with it. Katsuki’s not sure where Shitty Hair -Kirishima- comes from, but he pushes through the crowd gathered around Bakugo begging for attention and looks him straight in the eyes, unwavering.

Just for that, Bakugo listens.

That doesn’t mean he likes what he hears.

“I asked Todoroki, but he already has a full team. So come on, can I join?”

Bakugo has to momentarily count backwards from ten to zero to keep himself from bodily tossing the redhead into the stands with an explosion. He’s useful, he thinks as Kirishima continues to argue his case, showing off his Quirk as he did so.

He doesn’t know. I can’t hold it against him.

Then Kirishima mentions Deku and the ten million ribbon and the only thing Bakugo can do is bite.

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.

They meet, again and again.

Katsuki learns that the fire does not burn him -could not burn him- and every few weeks when he sits on the couch next to his goliath of a father, he can bask in it’s warmth as he talks about how he laid another classmate low or pushed Deku around, or fought a boy a grade higher than him for looking at him wrong and won, even without his Quirk.

At this tale of violence, his father does nothing like his mother. He does not shrug his shoulders and ignore him, does not chastise him for cutting into her work time. Instead, his father smirks and lays a hand on his head. It’s warm and cozy against his hair.

“Good, good. You’ve shown them their place.” The look in his eyes is proud. “Under your feet -and you, at the top.”

Katsuki preens.

The next time he crosses path with the boy from the higher grade, he taunts him and then fights again, just so he can regail his father with another tale of conquest and feel the basking warmth of a hand on the top of his head -the first time anyone had touched him so comfortingly.

He does it again and again, his teachers’ scoldings and Deku’s cries only a background noise compared to a touch that was so drastically different than Mitsuki’s sharp nails and cutting words.

Violence is in your blood, his father tells him one time when he comes home, knuckles bloody. You’re meant for the top, boy.

Caught in his gravitational pull, Katsuki believes his every word with all the fibers of his being.

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.

.

They pass, if not barely.

His first match is against Round Face, the girl with the gravity Quirk that trailed after Deku like a lost puppy. She looks ridiculously out of place as she comes to stand in front of him in the middle of the arena. For a moment, Katsuki expect her to just turn around and run back into-

Round Face plants her feet and stares him right in the eyes.

Well, there was that.

In the end, Uraraka’s utterly batshit strategy does not work -the insane bitch could have killed them both and some of the audience- and he watches as the nurse staff wheel her out of the arena on a stretcher. His classmates jeer at him for hurting such a girl but honestly, what were they expecting?

They were here to win and become heroes, not to fuck around.

At least Uraraka got with the fucking program.

.

.

.

“....then you’ll take me home?”

“That’s right, Katsuki. Then you’ll come home.”

.

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“And now from the hero course, the son of Endeavor, Todoroki Shouto!”

The crowd cheers. Katsuki has to bite his lip to force down the wave of humiliation clogging his throat. He focuses instead on giving his opponent a sharp, predatory grin that Todoroki answers with his ever blank mask.

“Versus his beast of a classmate, Bakugo Katsuki!”

Amongst the cheering, there’s more than one boo. Katsuki shoulders through it, using the screams and jeers to fuel his rage.

This was his fucking moment, he was going to have the lot of them gaping by the end of this match. After this, they’d know who was the strongest.

Who was the best.

(Who had the better Quirk.)

Right away, Todoroki tries encasing him with ice. Katsuki was having none of that shit, and he tears through the glacier with his explosions.

He’s not here to play with fucking snow.

He wants the flames, bright hot and sparkling, their brilliance and warmth enough to be felt from several feet away.

He wants Hellflame .

Which Todoroki refuses to give him. He pushes and pushes and still, Todoroki ignores him, gaze clouded and unsure as he sends waves of frost at Katsuki, who roars and kicks and curses, the filth spewing out of his mouth enough to make a sailor blush.

Despite this, Todoroki is unflappable as ever.

Stoically keeping him away with his ice, unperturbed by Katsuki’s demands.

Like he doesn’t matter.

Like he isn’t even worth the time to respond.

Katsuki’s heart beats like a drum in his ears. He can’t fail now, not when he was so close. Goddamn it the fucking popsicle had to use his goddamn flames otherwise Katsuki was going to kill him!

Am I not even worth that?!

Then Deku shouts from the stands and suddenly Todoroki is alight with fire -fire that is warm and bright and familiar. Katsuki turns giddy at the sight, excitement lighting up his veins -even the fact that Deku is the one that brings the flames out, again, is ignored as he leaps into the sky. Twisting in midair, Katsuki begins going through the motions of a special attack he’d been working on for months, long before he ever came to Yuuei.

Howitzer Impact.

Standing in the eye of this miniature tornado would be dizzying but for Katsuki, he only feels exhilaration at the thought finally, fucking finally doing what he’d been dreaming to do for years -to show the old man that he could shove his Quirk up his own ass, that Katsuki was brighter and better than any fire Hellflame could produce.

Now now now-

But then Todoroki lowers his arm and looks down, flames dying away to wisps of smoke -and Katsuk’s plan, his dream, withers and dies once more by the hands of a Todoroki.

Later, as Midnight puts him to sleep, the last thing Katsuki thinks is that this was a hollow victory and the whole world was there to see it.

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.

Bright popping heat and sparks emitted from his palms as he held his hands up, smile blinding and ferocious. It hurts, but Katsuki pushes through it with a burst of adrenaline and excitement.

“Look! I did it, dad, I did it!”

From the corner of his eyes, he can see his mother in the adjoined kitchen, expensive manicured fingernails tapping against the stone counter. The placid, perfect smile is gone from her lipstick red lips, replaced by a small frown.

His father is also quiet.

Katsuki wavers.

“Dad?”

There's no response. His father shifts away, expression closing -locking him out. Katsuki watches him stand up, confused at the sudden change. He doesn't understand. Why isn't his father happy, wasn't this what he wanted? What he had been looking for?

What did he do wrong? He worked so hard to make his Quirk appear early, he'd done everything right, why wasn't his father proud?

How could Katsuki fix this?

“That's not Hellflame, Katsuki.”

...oh.

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.

Later, when he’s chained to the stadium under the crowd’s roaring cheer, Katsuki likes to think he’s giving the bastard second hand humiliation.

He fucking hopes so, because he's definitely feeling it, more so than the metal digging into his wrists and the muzzle keeping him from screaming obscenities. Every twist and push he makes to break out only makes the crowd holler louder, mocking him with their laughs and jeers and his throat tight. Fuck, the bastards are enjoying this.

(He has to wonder how Yuuei obtained these things in such a short notice.)

Something prickles at the corner of his eyes, but he fights it back with all of his might -the humiliation at being bound and restrained like a animal burns , but crying on top of it would incinerate him.

When All Might descends from the sky and holds up a medal for him, Katsuki balks. Like hell he was accepting it -even if it wasn't a empty victory, like hell he was taking that piece of shit while bound and gagged like a fucking rabid animal. He wasn’t going to accept some shitty participation prize, not when the real winner was standing to his right.

Just the reminder makes his blood boil even further.

Unfortunately, Todoroki is too busy staring down at at the ground to notice his baleful glare.

It's fine.

Fucking fine.

Katsuki is used to being ignored.

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.

.

When a fourth week passes by and still, no looming giant stepped through the doorstep. No man waited for him in the dinning room after school, bulging arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Katsuki brashly explain how he beat children one or two years older than himself.

There's nothing but silence.

And Mitsuki.

“You just had to inherit my Quirk.” She’d muttered as a passing comment one day as she walked by him, phone held up to dial. “Had to break our agreement.”

Katsuki feels tiny and insignificant when she turns her bright, scarlet red eyes down at him, her perfect dark lashes falling over that disdainful glare.

“Now I'm stuck with you.”

She pushes past him, heading for her bedroom.

Katsuki lets her go; his mother -Mitsuki- had never been one for affection. The most he ever got from her were sharp fingers digging into his back so he would stand straight, brisk shushing when she was one the phone, and complains when he returned home with clothes covered with dirt. Barked reprimands when he didn't finish his food quick enough, or did things to her liking.

He doesn't remember a time where she'd given him anything else.

He does, however, remember a too big hand on his head and a sharp, roguish smirk mirroring his own, toothy and razor sharp. A short, proud, low chuckle when Katsuki was just a bit too loud, a bit too brash, a bit too much like-

His feet carry him to the large window by the front door.

Katsuki sinks against the windowsill, arms crossed under his chin as he watches out the road. Pointlessly hoping to see that sleek back car roll up in front of their house.

Nothing happens the longer he stays there, curled up against the window. The summer sun was bearing down on him through the glass, making him sweaty and uncomfortable, but Katsuki ignores it. Soldiers through the discomfort and pain because maybe, just maybe, if he pulls away now, if he leaves the front door unguarded he might miss...

He squeezes his eyes shut.

It's pointless.

He knows it, deep down.

He's being useless. Being a Deku.

He should be strong. Unrelenting. Should be standing stall and swallowing it all down and be-

Katsuki buries his face into his arms, quietly screaming into them with enough strength that his body shook and seized. The sound is a buildup of energy from weeks of waiting, weeks of hoping, weeks of being disappointed, over and over again.

A cycle, a wheel that finally spun out of control.

Why wasn't he coming back why why didn't he have his Quirk there's no fixing it Katsuki you know it you're useless useless a failure a fucking defect-

Once the first sob escapes, he can't stop the tears.

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.

In all honesty, Katsuki hadn't expected to run into Todoroki when leaving school. He’d taken a route out of the school specifically to avoid the hordes of excited students. Todoroki seemed have had the same thought, for when he walks around the corner of the corridor, he’s greeted by the sight of said bastard standing in front of the stairs, about to head down to the ground floor.

Upon hearing his loud, stomping footsteps, the taller boy turns around. Katsuki bristles when their gazes meet. The sight of that single blue eye makes the hair at the back of his neck rise up.

(It never failed to.)

“Out of my way, popsicle.” Katsuki grumbles, snarling.

Todoroki offers no resistance as he shoulders past him. The lack of response, while expected, only makes Katsuki’s blood boil even more. The festering rage simmers just underneath the surface of his skin, searching for a way out. It takes all of his will to not spin around and punch the damn bastard in the face.

Katsuki puts one foot on the first step-

“Why?” He hears Todoroki call softly to him. Katsuki halts, not turning. Not yet. The other boy’s tone flat as ever but for once it was tinged with a edge of confusion. Ha. So the robot had emotions, who knew. “Why are you so fixated on winning against me?”

Katsuki grinds his teeth so hard it hurts .

Why aren't you? He wants to yell at the dumb brat. At that moment, he wants to grab the taller boy, shake him violently, slap him upside the head. Make him see. Make him understand .

The helplessness burns at him, but he holds back.

For all of his brash attitude, there's a lot Katsuki holds back.

The chains are fraying though, rusting, groaning and creaking under the weight of lies and truths and expectations , of days spent standing at the doorstep of his home, waiting for someone who would never return. Waiting for a tall, looming figure to step through the doorstep, fire burning like a crown upon his head, a familiar form that had never failed to bring a rush of pride and love in four-year-old Katsuki’s heart.

You got the shiniest, most powerful Quirk in the class and you're just cruising along instead of putting your back into it, you bastard.

Because what was the point in winning when the guy you fought against was half-assing it? When everyone could see who between the two of them had the superior Quirk? After that fight with Deku, Todoroki’s battle with him might as well be a commercial cut.

Everyone could see that.

“It’s nothing personal.” There’s a moment where Katsuki hesitates, where he thinks on what he’s about to do. Then he remembers why he was even here in the first  and his resolve boils like lava, hardening into something jagged and unbending. “Then again, that would be a lie.” He snorts.

A pause. His skin tingles with something -excitement- as he tilts his head back and looks at his classmate in the eyes.

Should he?

There was no going back from here.

...he already knows the answer.

Even Mitsuki said it; Katsuki was just as much of a spiteful little bastard as his parent.

“I just wanted to see if the defect could one up the masterpiece.”

He watches with bitter amusement as Todoroki freezes .

Eyes widening, mouth slightly gaping like he'd just been slapped in the face. Face as pale as the right side of his mismatched mop of hair. The realization of Katsuki’s words slowly sinking in, leaving him off balance and mute.

It's the dumbest look Katsuki had ever seen on his half brother’s face.

“What-”

“Give the old man my regards.” Katsuki cuts him off, turning away. The corner of his eyes prickle but like fuck he was going to let the other see this moment of weakness. He waves a hand over his shoulder, barely restraining the urge to flip him off. “Guess he was right after all.”

He leaves Todoroki there.

Feet rooted to the ground.

(It’s not satisfying at all.)

Chapter Text

“Dude, Todoroki’s staring at you again.”

Brilliant observation, dipshit.

It wasn’t like Todoroki was hiding it. Either the taller boy didn’t care about his open staring and how their classmates perceived it, or he had as much tact as a toaster and didn’t realize openly spying on Katsuki during and after class was drawing attention. Katsuki was leaning towards the toaster theory.

It’s only been what, a few weeks since he’d met Endeavor’s masterpiece but it was clear by now that Todoroki was completely unable to grasp basic social cues or bother to try not acting like a creep.

“Let him stare, Shitty Hair.” Katsuki replies gruffly as he scrolls through the news on his phone, not even looking up. “It's none of my business what he does.”

“He’s being doing that a lot.

“Maybe he's starstruck after you won against him?” Pink G- Ashido speaks up from the other side of the table where she sat next to the yellow haired brat who kept shortening out his own brain. Kaminari, if Katsuki remembered correctly. “Puppy love is a thing, you know.” She continues with a sly, purring tone.

It’s enough to get him to finally look up -only to see both her and Kaminari wiggle their eyebrows. Katsuki fights the urge to retch at her suggestions. There goes his dinner.

Goddamnit, why did he even put up with these idiots.

Right. Because they weren’t leaving him the fuck alone since the Sports Festival. Katsuki had no idea where they got the idea he tolerated their company, but apparently they decided that not getting their faces blown off after the first two times they’d plopped down next to him at lunch was green light for them to follow Katsuki like a puppy.

(He hates to admit it, but their chaotic presence made the long stretches in-between classes somehow less lonely.)

Tape guy makes a odd noise from Kirishima left. He’d almost forgotten the boy was here too. “Well in that case, shouldn't he be doing it to Midoriya? I mean, they started sitting together.” He questions, brows furrowed. “After their fight-”

Kirishima promptly elbows the dark haired boy in the side, just hard enough to make him snap his mouth shut. Katsuki glares at him. He’s fucking lucky the redhead was sitting between the two of them.

As if sensing his narrowly avoided death, Tape croaks and ducks his head, chuckling apologetically. “R-right. Sorry, Bakugo.”

“Fuck off with your apology.” Katsuki retorts, shoving his tray away. He’s not really that hungry anymore. “I’m leaving.”

Kirishima immediately perks up, looking concerned. “Dude, you haven’t even finished eat-”

“I’m going.” Katsuki growls, glaring at him. The redhead wilts.

He goes to dump his tray and then heads to the exit, tucking his phone into his left pocket. Katsuki stiffens hears a chair scrape as someone gets up. It’s too close.

Immediately, he starts walking faster.

Unfortunately for him, his brother had inherited their father’s height, and his long legs catch up to Katsuki before he’s halfway across the cafeteria.

Within moments there's a hand around his wrist, keeping him from darting away. Katsuki has to stifle a yelp when he’s yanked back, nearly crashing headfirst into his brother’s chest.

Did the fucker just- Katsuki snarls and jerks his head up, glaring straight into the other boy’s eyes.

Todoroki merely tightens his grip on his wrist to ensure that he wouldn’t leave.

“The fuck do you want now?!”

“To talk.” Todoroki blinks, slow and not unlike a owl. That fucking blue eye never fails to make the hair at the back of his neck raise, and this time was no exception. “You keep running away.”

Katsuki bristles. “Fuck you.”

He wasn't running away, fuck him. It was a tactical retreat. After the massive fuck up at the stairs two days ago -because it was a cluster fuck, Katsuki had spent the better part of that night agonizing over his own stupidity.

He just had to be petty.

Just had to tie a boulder to his leg and throw himself into the deep end of the pool.

This was a mess of his own making, but that didn’t mean Katsuki wanted to take responsibility for it.

“We need to talk.”

“Like hell we should. I already said my piece.”

Todoroki’s eyes narrow. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve said enough during our match.” Katsuki growls, just loud enough that only the other boy can hear it.

His brother scowls. “I didn’t know during our match.”

“Well good for you.” Katsuki replies bluntly, jerking his wrist back insistently. Todoroki’s grip doesn’t relax -if anything, it grows even tighter. “Now let go.”

“No.”

“I said let go, you fucking half and half bastard!” Katsuki’s sharp yell is almost loud enough to be heard by the entire cafeteria. He can hear the students around him grow quieter, and it makes something small and meek inside him flip and twist nervously.

Todoroki clearly had no tact if he was trying to pull him into a conversation in the middle of the goddamn cafeteria. God, if he opened his mouth and said anything, Katsuki was going to throttle him with his fucking tie .

Why did I tell him? In what world would that have made things any better, you dumb shit?

Katsuki knows the answer to that. He was a petty, spiteful bitch through and through and after the Sport Festival he’d been just so raw, he couldn’t stop himself from shoving a big fat wrench into Endeavor’s plans.

“...are you alright man?”

Katsuki blinks. He’d never even noticed Kirishima sliding up to stand next to him, unsure red eyes flicking between him and Todoroki. His body language was strange, tilted in a way that suggested he wanted to slide in between the two of them to break up the fight -because Katsuki’s free hand was smoking and sparking, and the blonde was barely able to keep himself from slamming it into Todoroki’s face.

Finally his eyes shift down, noticing Todoroki hand tightly locked around Katsuki’s wrist. His expression goes from confused to worried and slightly serious.

“Dude, let him go.” Kirishima exclaims softly, looking up from Katsuki’s trapped wrist to Todoroki’s face. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

Reluctantly, Todoroki lets go.

Katsuki immediately jolts back, putting at least a feet of distance between the two of them. Kirishima makes a odd little noise next to him, questioning, but he ignores it in favor of looking at his brother straight in the eye.

This time, he’s so angry he doesn’t feel the instinctive jolt of fear when his gaze connects with that bright blue eye.

“We have nothing to talk about, Todoroki.” His voice was unnaturally cool and composed even to Katsuki’s ears. “Just drop it. You’re good at that.”

Then he spins around and stomps out of the cafeteria. As if sensing his bad mood -or more likely, seeing the twisted snarl on his face- students all but threw themselves out of his way.

.

.

.

Shouto watches as the blonde hurries out of the cafeteria.

Just drop it. You’re good at that.

Why did it feel as if Bakugo wasn’t talking about him?

“You didn’t have to grab him like that.” Blink. Oh. Kirishima was still standing there, looking at him with a slight frown. “That was rude.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology tastes bland on his tongue. “I see that. It won’t happen again.”

As if sensing that Shouto wasn’t feeling like talking, Kirishima nods gently. “Okay...okay. Just don’t do it again.”

Mina calls for him from their table, and the redhead wanders off. Todoroki watches his back emptily.

That went well.

“Is everything okay, Todoroki?”

He knows that voice, and turns around to greet the speaker. His eyes soften when they meet wide, confused green. Midoriya was out of his seat, wringing his hands nerviously as he looks up at him with a tiny, perplexed little frown.

“It’s alright.” Shouto murmurs, eyes briefly flicking to the exit Bakugo had left the cafeteria through. He knew better than to follow. “I just have to talk to him, but he keeps dodging.”

Midoriya chuckles nervously. “He does that a lot.” The shorter boy tells him, voice soft. “He doesn’t like talking things out. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, though.”

Todoroki hums in response.

“Want to go back to eat with the others?”

“...right.”

He follows Midoriya back to the table where the boy’s friends were still sitting. Iida scolds him lightly for the comotion he’d caused and Uraraka pats him on the back, and dinner resumes as normal. Still, Shouto’s mind can’t help but wander.

He knows, deep down, that only one person other than Bakugo that could give him the answers he needed.

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.

.

The house is eerily quiet when Shouto returns to the Todoroki estate.

He makes his way inside, stopping by his bedroom long enough to leave his bag behind. Shouto doesn’t take the time to change, instead heading straight for the deeper bowels of the house.

At this hour of the afternoon, his father was standing in his office. He turns at the sound of the door opening.

“Shouto.” The man rumbles, a brow quirked and expression dark. He has no doubt that the man was confused as to why Shouto was approaching him first.

“I know.” He merely states, fighting the urge to clench his fists. Now now. He needed to stay calm. “About Bakugo.” Shouto adds, watching as his father’s expression slowly darkens, lips pressed thin.

Endeavor doesn’t answer right away.

“...I see.”

The fact that the man doesn’t say anything else makes something inside Shouto bristle .

Coldly, he asks. “...how many siblings do I have out there that I don't know about?” His father stays silent, refusing to respond. Shouto can’t help the low snarl from leaving his lips. “...why?! ”

Endeavor looks away. Shouto watches as his gaze shifts from him to one of the glass cases lining the walls of the office. They’re full of awards and other memorabilia of his work.

The silence stretches out, long and uncomfortable.

“I needed a heir.” His father finally states, voice blank and expression carefully calm. “Your dual Quirk will take you far, boy, that I don't doubt -but I needed someone to continue the family line.”

The realization immediately clicks.

“You needed someone with Hellflame.” Shouto breathes.

Endeavor nods once.

“Bakugo had the perfect temperament for it. It took some encouraging, but that wretched woman made it easy for me to mold him however I saw fit.” His father rumbles, unconcerned. His eyes were dark and narrowed, as if was recalling something that left a bad taste in his mouth. “With what I taught him, he was shaping up to be a worthy successor of my title as the next Endeavor.”

Shouto felt sick.

Suddenly, he remembers how much he’d hated Bakugo during the battle trials. Seeing him beat Midoriya within a inch of his life, demanding that the smaller boy with the unstable Quirk fight him at his best. Roaring at him to get up, to stop being a weakling and fight back. Back then, Shouto had been utterly disgusted by the blonde’s actions.

Now he knew why.

Because Bakugo acted exactly like his father.

Because that’s how Endeavor had intended it to be.

Because his father had groomed-

“Unfortunately, he didn't inherit Hellflame.” Endeavor continues, oblivious or just uncaring of the dark, dark pit that was opening up in Shouto’s gut.

“And because of that you dropped him like goddamn trash, didn't you?”

His father makes a minute shrugs. “His mother and I had a agreement.” The pro-hero says in a tone not unlike if he was talking about bad weather and not abandoning his own child. “If he didn't have what I wanted, he would remains hers. If he had Hellflame, I would have brought him to live with us, as a Todoroki.” He pauses, eyes turning back to meet his. “To raise him, alongside you.”

Shouto’s mouth snaps closed; he can’t stop his expression from faltering, eyes widening as the confession left him reeling.

To raise him, alongside you.

God. He could have had a brother.

For a moment, he imagines it. A boy his age, sun-kissed hair and blazing red eyes running after him through the estate. Filling the cold silence his mother’s departure had created with loud laughter and boisterous demands. Playing with Shouto. Growing up with Shouto.

Instead, he got a empty house and far away siblings.

And it seemed as if Bakugo had grown up alone as well -but not just neglected but forgotten, barely a thought at the back of Endeavor’s mind. Thrown aside like garbage once he didn’t fit their father’s plans. That knowledge makes Shouto want to retch.

He doesn’t know what to think.

He needs space.

He needs to think .

“Shouto?” His father speaks up, tone ever calm and rumbling. Shouto has to wonder how pale his face was. It must show, for Endeavor to question him like this.

“I…” The noise that leaves his lips is strangled. “...I just need to think.” His body moves on his own and he takes a step back. And another. And another.

His father’s eyes narrow. “Boy-”

“Shut up.” Shouto rasps, spinning around almost too fast.

He rushes out of the room, nearly tripping over his own two feet. All righteousness and burning desire for answers gone under the weight of the revelation.

His father doesn’t call after him, not even once.

.

.

.

The worst part, Shouto thinks, was how long Endeavor took to respond to his initial question.

‘...how many siblings do I have out there that I don't know about?’

Chapter Text

“Have you heard about what happened at the cafeteria?”

“...no?”

On the other side of the teachers’ room, Midnight smiled from her desk chair; it’s a slow, stretching smirk, all white teeth and plump, glossy lips. It’s the one she would make when she’d just laid her claws on very juicy information. It’s horrifying to behold. “Truly?”

Toshinori forced down the mild terror he felt upon sighting that grin.

Instead of excusing himself and fleeing from the premise like a ordinary, sane person would do, he instead took a polite sip of his tea and gave the other pro hero a curious quirk of his eyebrows.

“I’m guessing it’s important?”

The R-rated Hero huffed. “Well, it depends on how you view it.” She clapped her hands against her thighs. “Apparently, Todoroki and Bakugo got into a bit of a scuffle today.”

Toshinori opened his mouth to ask, but he was interrupted by muffled shuffling. He turns his head towards the source of the disturbance.

As if the names of his students were part of a mythical summon, the yellow bag near their table wiggled faintly. Taking a sip of his tea, Toshinori watches as one Aizawa Shouta emerges from his yellow bag like a horror monster crawling out of a television, complete with the hair falling over his head.

His eyes almost seemed to glow as they lock onto Midnight.

“They what.” The classroom teacher of 1-A states flatly, expression carefully blank. Promising apocalyptic consequences for the other pro-hero should she not respond to his liking.

Midnight’s smile merely grows wider. “They got into a fight. A scuffle really.” She tilts her head, knowing. “Todoroki got a bit physical with Bakugo, wouldn’t let the other boy leave. They were almost yelling at each other.”

Aizawa’s sigh was long suffering.

“Wait.” Toshinori set his cup down as he turned back to his female colleague. “ Todoroki instigated Bakugo?” Not the other way around?

“Yup! Right out of nowhere, too.” Midnight leaned back against her chair, crossing her legs.

Discreetly, Toshinori thought he didn’t like the look on her face. It resembled too much of a cat about to snatch a canary. He might be the Symbol of Peace and the Number One Hero, but he wasn’t even a full year into his new job and he already learned to be wary of this devil in the shape of a woman.

“Just as the boy was trying to leave the cafeteria. If I didn’t know any better, I think Bakugo was expecting it.” The dark haired woman pulled her tongue out, purring slyly. There’s a pleased gleam in her eyes. “My, how beautiful is good old school romance?”

At that moment, Toshinori quietly thanks the gods that he’d set his tea cup down. He’s most certain he would have spilled it all over his lap.

Why did I sign up for this position?

“How much of the cafeteria is left?” He asks, silently wondering how the principal would react to this news. Or more likely, the bill for repairing the cafeteria.

“Actually,” Midnight lifted a finger in the air, waggling it. “...I almost went in to stop the fighting before it even began, but that boy from your class Aizawa….Kirishima, redhead? He stopped the fighting.”

Toshinori couldn’t help the sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.”

At the confirmation that no, he would not get a talking to from Nedzu about property damage and keeping down costs for a already incredibly expensive school, Aizawa made a inaudible noise as he reburies himself into his sleeping bag. Toshinori was almost certain that the man was part eel with the ease at which he slides right back into his makeshift nest.

Yes, it was a nest. Toshinori could only describe it as that.

Still, it didn’t explain…

“Do you know what the fight was about?” He turns to Midnight as he speaks, reaching for his cup of steaming tea at the same time.

Midnight only shrugs. “It was mostly about Todoroki grabbing Bakugo when he tried to leave. I wasn’t able to catch anything else than the death threats, sadly.”

Toshinori frowns.

How strange. And unfortunate.

Todoroki was a generally well behaved child. He’d never caused any trouble beyond Quirk classes by hindering himself, and Toshinori had a feeling that his next few classes after the festival and internships will be different. But to outright attack another student? Even if it was just a harsh grab?

It didn’t seem like something Todoroki would do. Bakugo probably, likely given his temper, but not Endeavor’s son. Too bad there was nothing to go on.

As Midnight steers their conversation away to the rapidly approaching internships and later on, the summer camp, Toshinori guiltily listens only with a half ear, his mind elsewhere.

Try it all he might, Toshinori couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something more to this incident.

.

.

.

“Today we’re picking codenames.”

Fuck. Yes.

Katsuki tries to not let his excitement show as the other students murmur around him. When he gets his board and pen, he snaps the top off with his teeth and all but stabs the marker into the white, shiny surface.

He can barely control his excitement; it boils through his veins like fire, easing away the last of the cold discomfort he’d felt when Todoroki had-

Katsuki pauses, grinds his teeth enough that it hurts, and resumes his writing.

Midnight told them that it could be changed later on, but Katsuki didn’t want to fuck it up. He’d been waiting for this for a long, long time, from the very moment his mother had put him in front of a television to keep him quiet and he’d seen All Might on screen for the first time.

There’s a few possibilities he could go with. Lord Explosion was a old idea from his childhood; yet it was something of before, so he doesn’t write it down.

(Maybe in another life, he would be cocky and confident and happy enough to do so.)

No, he’s made up his mind a long time ago.

“Kirishima, you’re next!”

Red eyes flick up at the familiar name, just in time to see the other boy stand up, shoulders tense from nerves -but his walk is decided as he approaches the front of the class. Katsuki watches with mild interest as the redhead plants himself behind the pedestal and smiles at his class. All shark teeth and wrinkled nose from that enormous grin. It’s both annoying and somewhat reassuring in its familiarity.

“My name’s the Sturdy Hero, Red Riot!”

The class murmurs; Midnight perks up with a encouraging grin of her own. “Riot, huh? Perhaps paying homage to the Chivalrous Hero, Crimson Riot?”

Kirishima stammers and rubs the back of his head. Katsuki mostly tunes out what he’s saying after a rushed explanation of the origins of his chosen name. Something about the concept, while alright for the other boy, still didn’t rub Katsuki the right way.

He looks down at the name written on his board.

Honoring another hero.

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

...bah. It was Shitty Hair’s problem, not his. Katsuki had other things to worry about than a classmate’s inability to pick a good name.

It’s not that different, though...

Earphone girl, tail boy and the tall one with the multiple arms go up next. When Midnight shouts out Bakugo, you’re up! he feels ready. Or as ready as he could be.

He slams down his board on the pedestal and pins the class with a death glare as he growls out:

“The Explosion Hero: Revolt!”

Midnight croons besides him, nodding her head approvingly. “Spicy! Just the right kind of bite for you, Bakugo!”

Since he’s on this side of the classroom, he ignores her and sneaks a glance at Aizawa. The man was dead to the world, wrapped up in his sleeping bag. He was most certainly awake, Katsuki didn’t doubt it. But nothing came from him at Katsuki’s bold explanation.

Well, that might be as good as a approval as any. He rights his gaze onwards, smirk still plastered on his lips as Midnight compliments his name.

(Absolutely refusing to meet Todoroki’s intense, knowing eyes.)

Midnight shoos him off the pedestal. Kirishima gives him a thumbs up as he passes by him, a cheery grin on his face. Katsuki gives him a imperious raised eyebrow in response.

“Next, Midoriya!”

Shit.

Deku leaps from his seat. Katsuki watches as all of the familiar nervous energy coming from the other boy slowly eases the closer he gets to the pedestal.

When he’s finally able to read what the nerd wrote on his board, he feels like he’s been punched in the face.

No way.

On his far right, Kaminari makes a choked sound. “Dude, are you sure about this?”

“You could end up stuck with that name for the rest of your career, kid.” Midnight spoke up, neither soft not stern but a balanced in between. A teacher’s tone. “Think carefully.”

She might not truly know the meaning behind that tiny little word on Deku’s white board, but she could sense the energy in the room.

By the quiet little murmurs coming from around the class and the lack of cheering, it seemed as if the rest of the students held similar beliefs. Katsuki even caught a few glancing at him. He resists the urge to bare his teeth.

The green-haired boy nods fiercely. “I’m sure.” He fidgets, looking down at his board. Katsuki digs his nails into the palm of his hands, nearly to the point of bleeding.

The ugly feeling grows and grows in his gut like a fungus, feeding on each new word and shifty, panicky gaze. Bitter and choking.

(Shame was just as ugly as hopelessness.)

“I hated this name before, but someone...someone changed the meaning of it. Made me realize that it could change.” The green haired boy perks up, looking at the class as a whole, green eyes burning bright and proud.

The smile of a hero.

“-and if that can change, can get better , I could too! So this is my hero name, Deku!”

“Deku! Deku! A Deku!”

With each shout from the little troop, Izuku’s face drops even more.

Standing over his former friend, watching his entourage jump and jeer at this new nickname like a group of well trained monkeys, Katsuki grins down at the other boy, pride burning in his heart as fiercely as his father’s flames.

Oh, father was going to love this. Deku even looked like he was going to cry!

No wait, he was crying. What a baby.

The grin on his lips grows wider, sharper -sinister. It only grows when Izuku hobbles off, clutching his little plastic bucket to his chest like it’s a precious, precious treasure. His head is down and he avoids eye contact.

It only makes the frantic, burning thing in his chest more jittery with excitement.

Ha! Weakling should have stayed in his lane. Then, this wouldn’t have happened!

Katsuki couldn’t wait for the next time he saw his dad.

He tastes bile at the back of his mouth.

His classmates cheer around him at Deku’s declaration, their words of encouragement clashing with the memory of his friends’ yells and jeers as they chase Izuku out of the park. This time, Katsuki doesn’t join them.

(Never again.)

The rest of the classroom goes on quickly, like a sped up record. As if he was looking through foggy glasses, and cared little about actually seeing, content with letting time go by in favor of retaining a blank, empty mind. It’s only when Midnight calls for the class’ end that the world snaps back into place.

Good.

He can get out of this hellhole now.

Katsuki gathers his things and stuffs them into his bag, not even bothering to make small talk with the members of his classroom. He dumps his board on the growing pile at the teacher’s desk on his way out.

Deku hovers at the door, anxiously waiting for Uraraka to finish gathering her things. The tiny meep he lets out upon noticing Katsuki approaching was all he needed to know to understand what the nerd was expecting next.

Katsuki takes a moment to look at him. His hunched shoulders, his suddenly missing bravado in front of him. Another time, another day, he might have bashes his shoulder into the smaller boy’s just for the shits and giggles. Hell, in that moment, Katsuki was sorely tempted.

But he knew better.

(He’d done enough.)

He waits for Deku to shift aside, then steps out. He feels his gaze on his back, question and innocent, but Katsuki ignores it.

Unfortunately, the blond is only a few steps out when there’s suddenly a arm around his neck. It nearly makes him stumbles. There’s only one idiot who had the balls to do this, and his Quirk is the only reason Katsuki doesn’t blow him up right away.

“Hey buddy, you left quickly!”

Great.

“Shitty Hair.” Katsuki grumbles out. “Stop hanging off me like a leech.”

Almost reluctantly, the other boy relinquishes his death hold on Katsuki’s airways. There’s a brief lull when they walk together in silence, swerving around other students as they too are leaving.

“So,” Kirishima kicks at the ground a bit, fumbling for words. Katsuki quirks a eyebrow at him. “Revolt, huh?”

The grin the redhead gives him stretches almost from ear to ear. Like a fox. It's ridiculous. Katsuki cannot stop the huff from leaving his lips even if he tried.

“What are you trying to imply?”

Kirishima’s grin stretches wider. It almost gleams under the sunlight when they step outside. “I don't know man, I’m just thinking-”

“-that if it had anything to do with yours, don’t fuss about it.” Katsuki retorts as he kicks a pebble, then, adding quietly; “I had it picked out for a long time.”

The other boy pauses, then perks right up. “Really?”

“Really.” Katsuki parrots back. A reply burns at the tip of his tongue, and he takes a moment to consider. Inevitably, it slips out because Katsuki the petty bitch was still very much a thing. “There’s someone I needed to say fuck you to. This seems like the most appropriate way to do it.”

Kirishima’s smile does a odd waver. It’s enough to make unsettle the explosive hero in training. “....someone, huh?”

The breathy, worried way he did it, especially with what just happened in class-

Katsuki bristles. He doesn’t like the implication. Not at fucking all. “It’s not Deku.” He snarls, stopping to glare at the other boy.

Kirishima raises his hands in surrender, eyes widening in alarm. “ I never said it was!”

“You implied it.” Katsuki retorted, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. The burn of his nails digging into his skin is painful, but grounding.

“H-how!?”

“I’m not a dumbass, that’s how.” He hisses back. For added effect, he takes a step forward into his classmate’s personal space, getting right up on his face as he jams a single offended digit into his sturdy chest. “You don’t need to say it out loud for me to get the message.”

None of them needed to. The looks were enough.

Kirishima does a odd noise as he goes still under Katsuki’s narrow-eyed glare. His hands are frozen at his sides, still raised as if it was a intelligent attempt at stopping the boiling rage churning under Katsuki’s skin.

“I…”

Katsuki leans closer, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. Inches from Kirishima’s own face, which had grown pale and dreadful. Eyes so wide they were like dinner plates; they held a mixture of emotions in them. Confusion, fear, regret -and many more Katsuki couldn’t quite place.

“Well?”

“...is this a bad time?”

You know what, fuck you universe. Fuck you. Fucking fuck you right up the asshole-

Gritting his teeth, Katsuki slowly turns to glare at this other torn at his side. Todoroki merely stares back, unblinking from where he’d slid up into the conversation. He bore the perfect poker face; it's a very punchable one too, in Katsuki’s humble opinion.

“What do you want now?” He already knows the answer long before he opened his own mouth but nevertheless, he shoves that foot up there because he’s a masochist as well.

Todoroki offers him a small nod. “Can we talk? Please?” He asks politely, eyes fixed on Katsuki’s face.

The explosive teen returns that gaze with a simmering glare of his own. “Why should I?” He replies, challenging.

Give me one good reason why I should listen to you.

Todoroki breathes out slowly, like he was trying to keep himself calm and centered. Behind Katsuki, Kirishima was still silent.

“...we both know why.”

The underlying message was clear. I’m not going to stop until you hear me.

Katsuki merely narrows his eyes further in response. God, he hated logic.

With how persevering the taller boy ended up being, Katsuki knew, deep down, that he would not give up until he managed to corner him into having a conversation. And Katsuki had enough dignity and intelligence in him to know he did not want that to happen.

So ultimately, he can only sigh in defeat. The finger that had been jabbed into Kirishima’s chest slides off slowly.

Apparently, the combination of these two actions was enough to startle the redhead into speaking up. “Bakugo?” He asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

The sharp-toothed teen looked just the tiniest bit lost as he glanced between the two of them, likely not knowing what to think. His hands had dropped down to his sides somewhere during the exchange between him and Todoroki, and his shoulders seemed more slumped.

Katsuki almost want to come to his help because of just how hopeless the idiot seemed, but then he remembers what the other boy had lowkey implied, and that rage rose up like hot oil splashed with water.

He turns to his brother fully, sneering as he took a step to the dual-haired boy’s side.

“Fine. Lead on.”

At his answer, Todoroki offers him the tiniest smile.

(It makes things even less satisfying.)

Chapter Text

“Okay. Talk.”

They’re sitting at the outskirts of the campus, far away from the rest of the students and prying eyes. Just like Katsuki intended. Because fuck it like he was going to shove another foot down his throat.

He was already stuck doing enough damage control as it was -and the main problem was currently sitting next to him on a park bench, hands resting on his lap. Spine ramrod straight, mismatched eyes staring right into his soul. What a robot.

Fuck, his brother was barely even blinking.

Addressing the half and half bastard as his brother, even in the safety of his own mind, left a bitter taste in Katsuki’s mouth. It’s made even worse by the stupidly idyllic scene.

Fucking vanilla, Katsuki thinks sourly as he watches a bird fly by.

A little more, and there would be cherry blossoms or some shit in the breeze. At least the sickeningly peaceful atmosphere was completely ruined by owl eyes over here.

Shouto had barely spoken a word since he’d lead him away from Kirishima -the redhead at a lost of words as Katsuki stomped away, half and half in tow. He was certain it wasn’t due to a lack of a subject to talk about -god knows if there was a lot- but more that Todoroki had learned from their last discussion in the cafeteria and was looking for a angle to approach the topic without Katsuki punching him in the face and walking off.

….tempting.

Truth be told, anything was better than the fucking staring.

“Okay, buttmunch,” Katsuki spoke up, tilting his head back towards the other boy. The frigid piece of cardboard named Todoroki Shouto makes no physical sign of distaste. “...are you going to tell me why you dragged me here sometime today, or are we fucking staying here overnight?”

Silence. Katsuki waits and watches as Todoroki looks down at the grass at their feet. Any moment now. Please .

He hated the silence. The waiting for the bomb to drop. He knew he had to get this over with, but it didn't make things any better.

“...have you figured out who you’re going to intern with?”

Against his will, his body jolts at the unexpected question. What?

That wasn’t anywhere near what he was expecting. Why would he-

...right.

A conversation starter. Breaking the ice, so to speak. Break his fucking face, more like. It was a slight improvement from the creepy stalkerish staring. Deku would be proud.

His insides squirm unpleasantly at the thought of the green haired brat. Almost immediately he wants it to stop -ignore, avoid, lock it up in a box and toss away the goddamn key- so he latches on to his brother’s topic.

“Not yet, haven’t finished looking through the papers.” He answers truthfully, “I think I’ll go with Best Jeanist.”

Todoroki tilts his head. His expression remains as flat and uninterested as ever, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his unwavering attention. “The Number Four.” He mutters. “I’m surprised you picked him. He’s not…”

Katsuki quirks an eyebrow at his silence.

...your style.

“Might as well reach for the top.” Katsuki bites out without any real bite, looking away. “You?”

There's no answer.  Thinking the other was playing the long game, Katsuki waits. After several seconds of just sitting there like a idiot, he has to fold and look over to his sibling.

The look on Todoroki’s face said it all.

“....you gotta be shitting me.”

“Might as well reach for the top.” His half-brother parroted back in that stoic patronizing manner, making Katsuki bristle. This fucker was really doing this? He didn’t know wether to be impressed or angry.

“Not worth stepping on that landmine.” Katsuki grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms.

His brother still heard him.

“Maybe. It's a matter of perspective.” Todoroki’s gaze darkened, something soft and sullen dulling the mismatched eyes. “...the old man might be a right bastard, but there's much I can learn from him.”

“Like what, learn how to look both sexually frustrated and constipated at once on live television?”

Todoroki just stares.

Katsuki raises a brow. “Oh come on,” He exhales gruffly, leaning back against the bench and swinging his legs a bit too energetically. “-don't tell me you haven't heard of that one before.”

“Not...not really.” Todoroki made a odd little audible swallow. Katsuki tracked the way his lips twitched strangely, as if he’d only just barely been able to keep his trademark blank expression. “...I didn't get to go outside the house much before Yuuei.”

Katsuki looks away at the mention of a house. “Glad I didn't end up in that dump.” He murmurs softly, torn between being angry and remembering the weeks after their father stopped visiting. His memories of that time were blurry, a disorganized chaos of sensations and images that almost made his stomach churn.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget sitting in front of the door for hours on end like a pathetic dog waiting for its owner to come home.

….what an embarrassment.

Don’t think about it, Katsuki thinks sourly. When  he turns his gaze back to the dual haired boy at his side, he finds a look on the others face that he didn't like.

Immediately, he knows something’s up.

“Stop making a face and spill.”

This time, its Todoroki’s gaze that is averted. “...do you know why he left?” The younger boy asks him.

Katsuki blinks, taken off guard.

I thought you would connect the dots, he wanted to say with a bit of smugness. The blond held his tongue however, the urge to establish his dominance all but a weak ember inside him. If it was any other situation, god he would all over rubbing it into the other boy’s face. Any other.

But it was this situation, this specific fucking topic that Katsuki found very little humor in.

(Only frustration and anger.)

“My Quirk.” He admits.“He just stopped showing up after I manifested my Quirk. Told me that wasn't Hellfire and then fucking left.”

For the first time, Todoroki’s mask breaks completely as he bites his lower lip, brows furrowing. Katsuki tracks the movement; the other teen still wasn’t looking at him, and it rattled his nerves.

“I spoke to him.”

So quiet. Hesitant.

Katsuki’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

“He wanted you to be the next Endeavor.”

Silence.

Katsuki swallows and stops swinging his legs. Tries to absorb the information as a biting cold sweeps up and down his body that had nothing to do with the wind or the boy at his side.

Emphasizes on tries.

‘...the next Endeavor.’

(It explained so much .)

“-Bakugo?”

Like a slingshot Katsuki is slammed back into his own body, and all too aware of the long stretching silence his lack of response had created. Todoroki was even leaning forward, brows slightly furrowed in...confusion? Worry? Just the fact that the other was making anything else than a resting bitch face at him felt-

-wrong.

This was wrong.

Katsuki never felt the urge to leave as strongly as he did not. He blurts out the first thing he can think:

“I need to go.” The sound that left Katsuki’s lips in response sounded too much like a croak for his tastes. “-there’s shit I need to do.”

He scrambles up from the bench.

Todoroki makes a small jolt at the sudden exclamation. As soon as Katsuki is on his feet -his wobbly, wobbly feet fuck- the taller boy is as well. Leaning close, looking down at him with what couldn’t be mistaken as anything else than worry.

Katsuki’s mind swims.

Fuck fuck why is he looking at me like that he’s not supposed to-

Against his will, he jumps at the sensation of something warm on his shoulder. A hand, grabbing him with the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to keep him from runn -leaving like his mind desperately screamed at him to. Todoroki was touching him, trying to keep him from leaving and as much as Katsuki felt the reflexive urge to explode his face off, he felt too frazzled to even lift his hand and activate his Quirk.

Fucking pathetic, fuck fuck fuck-

“Bakugo wait-”

“Todoroki.” The snarl that leaves his mouth is enough to make the taller boy pause and god, Katsuki is grateful. Grateful because he’s not sure that if he used his Quirk right now to shove the other away he’d end up sending the both of them to Recovery Girl. “Fucking touch me and I’m breaking your nose. I need to go.” He repeats, stressing the word need, silently hoping that the braindead bastard would catch on to the meaning Katsuki was too prideful to say out loud.

I need to think.

He watches as Todoroki’s eyes narrow imperceptibly, the gears in his head no likely spinning behind that dumb face of his.

“Give me your number.”

Katsuki blinks.

Eh ? The storm in the explosive blond’s head pauses as he turns his head towards Todoroki, questioning.

Mismatched eyes held his gaze.

“Your phone number.” Todoroki said lowly, insisting and likely having no fucking idea how much he was screwing up his older sibling’s train of thought. “That way we can talk.”

We can talk at school , Katsuki immediately wants to snap back. I don’t need to give you my fucking phone number for that.

It seemed fucking insignificant, to give that up.

But it meant everything.

Establishing such a line of communication with Todoroki...it would change things. It would cross a line Katsuki was not sure he wanted to cross -one he’d never thought could be within reach. After Endeavor, he’d grown with the knowledge that he likely would meet the masterpiece at Yuuei, because there was no other hero school he could ever go that would spite the old bastard as much as this one.

Following the plan Endeavor had set out for his greatest creation from Yuuei all the way to the number one spot in the Hero Rankings was Katsuki’s fucking dream . Winning the Sports Festival had been part of that very same desire -a desire born out of years of wallowing in feelings of betrayal and not being fucking good enough.

Telling Todoroki the truth wasn’t part of the plan.

In fact, it had very much not been part of the plan.

...but Katsuki the spiteful bitch couldn't stop himself from shoving that mountain-sized foot up his own mouth. Figures.

It still left a big, tall, Todoroki Shouto-shaped hole in his plan. Which was quickly falling apart since the Festival.

...fuck.

(He really brought this upon himself though.)

Did he even want to give him his number? Did Todoroki even realize what this meant?

No. That was the first thing that came to mind in response. Because Todoroki was clearly a shut in and had no sense of what was acceptable in a social setting. Then again Katsuki wasn’t exactly a shining jewel when it came to talking to other people, so he was being a hypocrite. Probably.

Likely.

Sighing, he closes his eyes.

“Bakugo?” There’s a pause. The hand on his shoulder slides off. “...you don’t have to answer today.”

Well. There went the idea that his half-brother didn’t know what exchanging phone numbers meant. If anything, it seemed like Todoroki knew exactly what this meant.

Giving numbers meant establishing a link beyond classmates. It left the possibility of communicating with each other outside of the social expectation that came with sharing a class. It was everything that Katsuki was adamant against since he enrolled into Yuuei and saw the fucking mismatched mop of hair amongst the crowd of students, a sight that left him furious, frustrated and ashamed all at once.

(Ashamed because how dare he, after all these years, still feel that fucking yearning ?)

He hears a noise in front of him, forcing Katsuki to flutter his eyes open to face the outside world and namely, the boy in front of him. Todoroki was still standing in front, waiting patiently with the same familiar expression as always. That is, at least, what a observant person would say, for Katsuki could spy a little nervous gleam hidden deep within his eyes, as if he’s unsure what button to press next for fear of detonating the human landmine that was Bakugo Katsuki.

...at this point, he’s not sure he has a choice.

Defeated, Katsuki opens his mouth.

“Fine.”

.

.

.

The clicking on nails against stone were the first thing that greeted him when he got home.

“You’re late.”

“Shit happens.” The words taste dead and bland on his tongue, but nevertheless Katsuki pushes through, feeling just as empty. “Train made a few halts.”

Bakugo Mitsuki looks down at him from her perch on one of the tall chairs of the kitchen counter. Her stocking-clad legs are crossed, glossy sharp red stilettos glinting under the light fixture. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and she was wearing a silk blouse alongside a short skirt.

If her appearance was nice, her face was anything but. No amount of makeup could hide the disinterest in her eyes as she looked down at her only son.

Katsuki kept his gaze fixed on her chin, refusing to meet those scarlet eyes so similar and yet different from his own. He really didn’t have it in him to get into a argument with his mother today, nor having the shit slapped out of him because he ‘dared’ to look at her in the eyes when she was mad at him.

Instead he stood there, school bag still over his shoulder, shoulders drawn. Refusing to catch the metaphorical ball.

“I took out the soup from the fridge.” Mitsuki finally responded, glossing over his rude response. “Eat that.”

And with that, she hops off the stool and walks past him, her shoes clicking loudly with each step. Katsuki clenches his teeth minutely when he feels the smallest brush of a hand on his shoulder as his mother passes, a small contact that could have been mistaken as affectionate for anyone else, but he knew better.

His mother knew just how little physical contact he had in general since he was a child. Her touching like this was not to make him happy -it was just another way to lord over Katsuki.

Look, I can touch you, that tiny, single touch told him, and you can’t do anything about it because if you did, you’d be out of this house so fast your head would spin.

He tilts his head to the side, tracking her movements carefully as she leaves the kitchen.

It’s only then that he turns to the food set out on the counter.

His mother is no great cook. Not from the lack of skill, far from that. It was simply the matter that she did not care. She ate most of the time at her modelling agency, where they provide perfectly cooked, perfectly healthy food that would sustain her disgustingly specific diet.

In truth, she didn’t cook because he had no need to cook.

From the age of nine and onwards, it had mostly been Katsuki who took up the role of making sure he wouldn't starve to death. His mother accepted his newfound job easily, with just a cold don't make a mess, clean up after yourself and a few hundred yen slapped on the counter every morning so he could buy the necessary ingredients.

He'd learned young how to squeeze out the maximum amount of food from the measly allowance.

Shooing those thoughts away, Katsuki looks down at the small bowl she left to him on the counter. By all means, it looks perfect -the napkin properly folded, a spoon set to the side and a glass of water next to it. It looked nice and presentable.

The illusion however last only until he sits down and takes his first sip. The soup is cold.

Katsuki can only chuckle dryly.

.

.

.

He feels only slightly less like shit the next morning.

Getting squeezed like sardines on the train didn’t help him mood any further, nor what accompanied it. He caught more than a few wary glances from strangers who recognized him from the Festival and disapproving grimaces from mothers who pulled their child out of his line of sight using their own bodies, all which he tried to ignore in favor of focusing on his phone.

When he steps off the train and reaches Yuuei, Katsuki has only a brief few minutes of respite from being in close quarters with other people before someone comes up behind him and swings an arm around his neck in a very familiar way.

“Hey Bakugo!” Kirishima chirps at his side, his sudden weight against Katsuki’s body nearly making him stumble. “Good morning, how are you?”

Katsuki grunts in response, sliding away from under the redhead’s arm. “..’fine.”

A mop of yellow invades his other side. Fuck, here comes the other walking talking headache. “Oi dude, if you keep making that face its gonna stay that way.”

“I think it's pretty late for that, Kaminari.” Tape Guy -Sero piped up behind him. Katsuki silently counted back from ten to keep himself from attacking the two assholes, even going as far as to pull his phone back out to resume his news reading.

It didn’t manage to distract him enough to keep him from baring his teeth at the taller boy.

A low whistle to his right alerted him to Ashido’s presence. The pink girl was walking next to Kirishima, the upturned tilts of her lips marking her enjoyment of the situation.

“Soooo,” Kirishima drew out the sound at his side, eyes searching. That’s when Katsuki knew it was coming. “-what did Todoroki want?”

“Nothing.” Katsuki responded half heartedly as he scrolled through the news on his phone. Nothing promising so far. Knowing that the redhead wouldn’t be satisfied with just that -and knowing that he was not up for any sort of pressing, he added at the end, “-he just asked for my number.”

Too busy looking at yet another article on the Sports Festival -fuck, those pictures with him on the pedestal were not photogenic at all, motherfuck maybe the old hag had a reason to smack him when he’d come home that night- Katsuki didn’t register at first how the others stopped walking at his side.

He did however, look up questioningly upon hearing two loud thumps .

What he found gave him pause.

Ashido had just walked straight into a lampost.

She was bent over, face twisted in a grimace as she rubbed her bruised forehead. Kirishima was sprawled on the floor like a particularly big and ugly starfish, school bag open scattering books across the sidewalk. From this angle Katsuki couldn’t see his face as the other boy was flopping on the ground, his ridiculous red hair hiding his expression.

The hell? Fuck, he really doesn’t have time for this. He’d spent the entire night yesterday mulling over his talk with the tall torn to his side and working through the rest of the pile of internship applications. Katsuki was decidedly not in the mood for this.

Annoyed, he reaches out with a foot and none too gently taps his classmate on the ribs. “Oi, Shitty Hair.” Katsuki calls for him gruffly. “What the fuck?”

“Yes.” Kirishima croaks out dazedly, making him raise a brow at him. Then, the other boy blinks and suddenly jolts up as if he’d woken up from a daze. He looks up at him, face red with embarrassment. “I-I mean I tripped there was a uneven brick I didn’t mean-”

His stammered responses became more and more incoherent and confusing. At this point, Kaminari had doubled over and was choking on his own laughter. Sero looked redder than a tomato, trembling from all the effort he made to keep himself from joining in.

Ultimately, he fails.

And Katsuki, who stands in the middle of this disorganized chaos, phone in hand and running on very few hours of sleep, can only mutter under his breath a quick prayer that the rest of the week wasn't going to be as much of a bitch.

...who was kidding, it was probably going to be just as much hell as today.

At least he had the internship to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Two days pass.

Before he knows it, Katsuki’s standing at the back of a horde of excited students at the train station.

To his surprise -not-, it’s complete and utter hell.

Someone’s yelling. There’s rambling, last minute checking, and general chaos as Aizawa checks each of their ticket a final time to make sure none of them would end up stuck in the train station by accident. Kirishima and Kaminari are engrossed in a conversation somewhere to his right, their voices just shy of grating as they argue about their choices of internship. Ashido is jumping up and down, her excitement gifting her extra strength to carry her heavy metal suitcase while having her little stupid dance.

Katsuki secures his bag over his shoulder, eyes shifting to look at his feet to the suitcase holding his hero costume. The metal brushes against the pant of his school uniform, a solid weight and promise of what was to come.

He exhales softly, looking at his ticket held tight in his right hand. It’s obnoxiously bright and yellow.

Here’s hoping for the best, he thinks sourly.

Looking just at the numbers, Best Jeanist was his best choice for a internship. Rarely did students get the opportunity to work with one of the top twenty heroes given just how many hero schools there were out there, but Yuuei being Yuuei Katsuki guessed they had special privileges, especially given that nearly half the current top heroes graduated from the school.

Strategically speaking though…

...he really knows nothing about the hero. By all means, Best Jeanist is a exemplary hero and earned his spot amongst the top, but Katsuki had a lifetime of experiences to know how much the hero rankings were truthfully just bullshit titles where heroes were shuffled back and forth at the whim of the public. The very fact that Endeavor was ranked 2th was enough of a example.

Heroes had nothing to do with who they were and everything to do with how the public perceived them.

Hawks was another example. Just a rookie, but the Winged Hero managed to snag the Number Three spot at the age of 22. Clearly how much work you put into what heroes were actually for meant nothing in front of the heroes who batted their eyelashes at the cameras and got the most clicks.

Fucking hypocrites, he thinks as he remembers the first headlines the media had run after the Festival. Doesn’t matter if I got to the final round on my own merit, I fight a girl and I’m automatically the bad guy. I shake around the fucker who decided taking a nap was better than putting work into the match and I get put down like a rabid dog.

He felt his expression sour as he remembered what happened after. He’d tried to leave but of fucking course, Midnight was there to force him to comply with the damn medal ceremony, at least long enough to put those goddamn chains on like he was nothing more than a-

A shoulder knocks against his, not enough to make him stagger but more than enough to snap him out of that spiralling train of gradually darker and darker thoughts.

“...ready for the internships, Bakugo?”

(Never had he been more thankful that Kirishima existed.)

“Hm.” Is all he responds with, tilting away from the redhead to keep their shoulders from brushing again. Just because the idiot liked physical contact didn’t mean that Katsuki enjoyed it, as different as it was from his mother. “It’s only a week. Nothing to worry about if you know what you’re doing.”

The other boy snorts.

“You’re overconfident.”

“Just realistic.” Katsuki retorted, not looking at the other boy in favor of checking his ticket one more time.

Kirishima makes a soft noise at his side, followed by a strange groan. A quick glance at the other boy told Katsuki that the redhead was stretching, arms raised up in the air and sleeves bunching up as gravity dragged them down to the boy’s elbows. In that moment, Katsuki finds that the other boy looked like a rumpled cat.

That stray thought gives him pause.

Must be that shit hair of his.

“-man, I hope Fourth Kind will like me.” Kirishima mutters, just low enough that Aizawa can’t hear him. The teacher was a few feet away from them, checking over Mineta’s ticket with a expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. “He has to though if he sent me an invitation, right?”

“Hm.” He responded, complacent in his dismissal.

There was a unsure look in his eyes though, one that gave Katsuki pause.

It’s not the first time he’d seen it. Kirishima had been...off lately.

The idiot had been acting strange since the day after he spoke with his brother, and Katsuki had no idea what to think about it so he did what he usually does when it’s something not related to his goals: play dumb and ignore it. Who the fuck cared if the redhead kept side eying him?

Certainly not Katsuki.

He had other shit to do than wonder what was going on with the other boy. Wasn’t that why Kaminari, Ashido and Sero were for? Katsuki wasn’t in this class to play nice .

He had shit to do, a old man to kick in the ass and a title to steal.

(And apparently, a brother who would not fucking leave him alone .)

“-make sure you listen to everything they say. It’s only a week, but this is a critical part of your semester. Don’t mess it up.” At Aizawa’s flat, droning voice Katsuki tried to snap back to attention, knowing his teacher wasn’t above giving extra assignments to those who irked him.

Too bad his teacher was rambling about pointless shit he already knew. In all likelihood, this was aimed towards people like Grape Boy. During these past few days, the ugly little shit had all but yelled from the rooftops with who he was interning with.

Urgh.

As Katsuki continued to listen to Aizawa’s last minute ditch attempt at not getting a student sent back to Yuuei before the week was over, his eyes strayed off to the side where a particular mop of hair drew his attention. Todoroki was standing a bit away from the main group, back straight and suitcase at his feet. He had no extra bag on him.

Of course not. The old man probably has a fucking suite for him ready at his agency, complete with all the shit he needs.

The thought almost made him want to snort at it’s hilarity.

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, mismatched eyes pulled away from Aizawa to meet his. Katsuki felt himself freeze for a moment, surprised by the other boy’s perception.

Todoroki tilts his head to the left slightly, peering at him inquistively. He says nothing, nor does he try to make his way through the horde of students to him.  For a moment Katsuki thinks about flipping him the finger, sneering at him, anything -things he would usually do at anyone- but he finds himself nodding at the dual haired boy instead, a small barely perceptible movement.

The youngest Todoroki blinks in that creepy manner -slow and calculated, did he think he was an owl or something along those lines?- then he nods back, a tiny jerk of his head that one wouldn’t catch unless they were paying attention.

Just like that, a small tension he didn’t know was there eases in Katsuki’s shoulders. It’s a curious sensation which he can’t help but try to dissect.

It’s not joy, or anger, or anything he knows. If anything it feels like a gentle burst of content energy -as if he was stepping into shade during a hot summer day.

...it’s not a analogy he likes. Thankfully, Todoroki’s attention is diverted by something Deku mutters so their little staring contest comes to an end and relieving Katsuki of the burden of having to stand there like a moron blinking back, because like fuck he was going to let the little bastard win.

He's been losing enough lately.

(Even days later with his fury having given away to a tepid, contained anger, the Festival still didn't feel like a win.)

It's then he noticed something he'd failed to do before. Kirishima was looking at him.

Huh.

His red eyes barely caught his attention when he tries for what felt like the fifth time to actually listen to Aizawa’s bullshit. When their eyes met and the redhead became aware that Katsuki had spotted him staring, the other boy made a odd, little sheepish smile and looked away.

It wasn’t one of his usual grins though, the kind that made him want to punch him in the face because it was just too damn peppy. No, this one was more...forlorn?

This sent a heavy, uncomfortable feeling down his spine.

What’s his problem….?

A loud yell startled him from his thoughts.

“Gotcha!” A familiar pink girl exclains, all but lifting her suitcase above her head in her enthusiasm. Ashido was practically vibrating with excitement.

Aizawa, however, was completely unfazed by the yelling. “Talk properly. It’s yes sir, Ashido.”

Ashido melts like ice cream under the sun at their teacher’s withering glare. Katsuki’s sure if her horns could move, they would be flat on her skull like a whipped dog as she repeated her teacher’s words dejectedly.

“That’s all.” Satisfied after crushing his students’ enthusiasm, Aizawa is quick to dismiss them. “Go, and remember what I told you. I want you all on your best behavior.”

Aizawa’s scarlet eyes trail over the assembled crowd of students for a final time. Katsuki sees them pause briefly as they met his own gaze before continuing on.

In that moment, he feels just the slightest bit singled out.

...fucking jerk.

.

.

.

None of the other students embark with him, thank god or whatever the fuck was up there that for once didn’t feel like messing with its favorite punching bag.

Finally alone, Katsuki settles in the very back of the last compartment of his train. It’s a five hour train ride to Best Jeanist’ agency in the Okayama Prefecture, so he might at well buckle up for an hour of having people glance at him like he’s a curious oddity they can’t help but look at, yet at the same time shy away.

Fuckers.

The lot of them.

Looking at him like he was a landmine waiting to go off. Fuck them. He’ll show them what he’s made of. That first place in the Hero Rankings belonged to him, god damn it-

Beep.

Katsuki blinks as he feels something vibrate in his pocket. It’s his phone.

...who the fuck was contacting him? He hadn’t kept in contact with any of his lackeys from middle school, his mother wouldn’t call him even if someone was dying, and he hadn’t given his number to anyone in the-

Right. That was a lie.

What does he want? He thinks sourly as he opens the phone and clicks on the messaging app.

Bakugo, I was wondering how things were going on your end.

He frowns.

Still on my train, idiot. He types back quickly, brows furrowing as he squinted down at his phone. I got five hours of this.

Just writing that reminded him how deplorable his current situation was. His seat wasn’t even remotely comfortable, the hard chair digging into his back. This was a fucking bullet train, couldn’t they have equipped this thing better?

My ass is going to end up flat after this shit.

Truly a tragedy.

Another beep. Katsuki blinks to stare down at the screen, lips pursed.

Two little beady black eyes stare back.

It’s a cat picture.

A cat picture.

He has to blink a few times to register this information properly. It’s one of those stereotypical internet cat, fluffier than a goddamn cloud and posing inside a coffee mug.  It’s so off and unexpected that Katsuki finds himself staring at this inexplicable picture in silence.

He didn’t even remember that this was from a message and not him accidentally browsing the internet until a second notification popped up. It’s another cat, this time with black stripes and spotted pale fur staring out longingly from the confines of a small woven basket.

Of course the fucker was a cat person. He had the whole look of one. Muttering under his breath, Katsuki replies:

The fuck is this?

The response is immediate.

Cats.

I repeat. The fuck is this?

I swear to god he repeats ‘cats’ as a response and I’m chucking my phone out the window.

Thankfully, that doesn’t come to happen. Still, he’s not expecting the sudden mountain of words to pop up on his screen after a few seconds of waiting:

I found a site full of these. They piqued my interest, so I thought about sending them to you since you have a long train ride. I wasn’t sure what to say either, so I sent them to entertain you. Is that alright?

Katsuki’s heart makes a odd lurch upon reading this.

….it’s not what he’s expecting. He knew Todoroki was trying to get used to this whole brother thing, but it was still strange. Katsuki spitting the truth at him after a Festival during a hissy fit was decidedly not supposed to lead to this.

His life was spiraling down the drain, wasn’t it?

Squinting, he responds:

Stop making walls of text. Do you even know how to use a phone?

This fucker just got his telephone didn’t he -just as he thought that, he gets a new notification. It’s from his br -Todoroki.

Apologies. I got this cell phone at the start of the semester.

Whoops, there it fucking is.

Snorting, he types back:

I figure.

Then he waits.

Surprisingly, Todoroki doesn’t write right away. Did the idiot felt insulted and was ignoring him now? Who knew. Katsuki distracts himself by pulling up some news article -only to quickly regret that decision as he finds that yep, the Festival was still the only thing the news outlets were talking about.

At that moment, he wished there was some big villain incident, something to get the media off his fucking back. It seemed that lately the only thing they had to do was trash talk Yuuei and him.

Then again, the medal ceremony had been some fucking disaster, probably unlike anything that happened in previous Festivals. He mustn't have been the first reluctant winner, but he sure as hell was the first that needed to be chained to be kept from running off.

There’s a reflexive surge of rage at the memory. God, he should accepted the goddamn medal and then done something. Like throwing it into the stands. Or at Todoroki’s face. Or maybe sell it online. That shit could have sold for a pretty penny, he was certain.

But then the hag would find some shitty excuse to pocket the money.

Just as he has that particularly sour thought, a notification for a message pops up at the top of the screen. At this point he knows what to expect as he clicks on it.

Once more, Katsuki finds the picture of a cat staring right back at him. It's tiny and fully, sitting inside what looked like a ugly green teacup. There was a splotch of black on its white fur right over one of its eyes, giving it an appearance that wasn't incomparable to a teddy bear.

Anyone else would find it adorable. Katsuki just snorts and types back:

Stop sending me cat pictures. Don’t you have something else to do?

No.

Huh.

Thought the old man would get you to work right away.

I’m taking a detour.

...what.

The hell do you mean by that?

No response, at least not right away.

Then, after a full minute of sitting there wondering if he’d finally managed to shoo his annoying classmate away,  he gets a picture.

It’s undeniably a selfie, or at least a shoddy attempt at one. He can see part of Todoroki’s mop of hair -the other boy must have been using the front camera. What he does mainly see is a clear blue sky and tall, arching skyscraper looming over his half brother’s head.

I’m talking a long walk before I go to the agency. Endeavor can’t complain to Yuuei about it. Not without jeopardizing my position in the Heroics Program.

Katsuki bites down a chuckle.

Can’t have his precious heir get kicked out of Yuuei, now can he?

No.

So fucking blunt, it could double as a hammer.

Katsuki has to cough to makes the snorted laughter that forced it’s way past his lips as the mental image of their shit excuse of a sperm donor standing in entrance hall of his agency waiting for a person that wasn’t going to show up for at least twenty minutes. God, he hoped the fucker had bragged about Todoroki coming so there was a crowd of sidekicks and paper pushers waiting around with him.

This mildly good mood is the reason why he types out a vaguely cordial response:

How’s your walk?

Not very eventful. I thought about enjoying the sights, but there’s nothing but skyscrapers here. A pause. There’s too many people; a few seem to have recognized me from the Festival and tried approaching me, but I managed to get them to leave me alone. It’s loud and tiring.

A snort leaves him.

Todoroki getting recognized wasn’t a surprise. That haircut was like a bright neon sign for everyone who even glanced at the Festival, of course he was going to be spotted. A part of him feels sour at the idea of his half-brother being approached by curious civilians; he’ll bet an arm and a leg that they had little negative to say about the younger boy.

So, feeling particularly vicious, Katsuki taps out his response on the phone:

Fuck them, then.

I’m unsure if fornicating with them is legal.

Truly a social disaster you raised there, old man.

Make them leave you the fuck alone, it's not that hard. You'll have a job to do.

Maybe. I’m fairly certain that interacting with civilians on a day to day basis is part of being a hero.

Katsuki stares at the new message emptily.

Then he looks up.

The curious onlookers who had been watching him from the corner of their eyes are quick to scurry away. He doesn’t miss the flash of fear in their eyes as they do. He knew he’d been recognized since the moment he stepped onto the train, but the fact they were still looking out for him like he was some kind of criminal made something ugly squirm in his gut.

They’re acting like they truly believed that he was going to hurt them if they got in his way.

Gritting his teeth, he tucks himself in his seat and tilts his torso to look out the window, phone held close to his chest. He stares resolutely out to the vast landscape, focusing on the passing trees and the occasional building.

The sigh that leaves him feels a bit too heavy.

Beep.

He looks down.

There’s another cat staring right back from the notification window.

By the time the train reaches his station, he’s huddled in his corner, nose in his phone, grumbling at the replies Todoroki offers. Some are just simple yes and no , others are vague ramblings. More so are cat pictures, and for some strange reason he’d need a few years to understand let alone process , one image of an alligator with a hat.

So engrossed in the conversation -or at the very least, a fumbled attempt at one- Katsuki momentarily forgets the wary stares of the people around him.

.

.

.

By the time he reaches the Okayama Prefecture, Katsuki accumulated an unhealthy amount of cat pictures. He does not save some of them.

Absolutely not.

(Fuck it, it’s not like anyone else was going to check his phone, right?)

Chapter Text

The person waiting for him at the train station has the most god awful hairstyle Katsuki has seen in his life. And this was someone speaking who had been dragged around fashion studios by his mother.

He’s seen some shit.

But this guy with his slicked down hair, too tight jeans and pale muscle shirt really took the cake. Dear god, who stepped out of the house looking like that? Who allowed anyone to step out of their house looking like that? The man looked like he was about to go to a rave or something.

Please tell me he’s neither a pro-hero or sidekick.

When the man spots him and starts walking towards him, he’s conflicted. For a moment, Katsuki contemplating turning around and just...walking away. Just going nope and disappearing off the face of the earth for the remainder of the week.

It was so very tempting.

Maybe if he j-

“Hey there! Bakugo right?”

Or not.

The man seems to notice his bad mood, so he doesn’t linger much after introducing himself -something that enters Katsuki’s left ears and runs out screaming from his right. He tries to grab one of Katsuki’s bags, but he levels a glare at the man and he’s quick to back off.

Unfortunately for Katsuki’s sanity, he gets it into his head that he’s free to run his mouth as they walk towards the end of the train station, dodging people as they went. Some, Katsuki noted with a sting of bitterness, took one look at him and stepped out of the way, their grimacing expression telling the blond that he’s been recognized.

“I hope you will be cordial. Nothing but your best behavior with Best Jeanist, alright kid?” The man continues on, unaware of perhaps uncaring of Katsuki’s lack of attention.

Call me that again and I’ll be setting that gel ocean you call hair on fire.

Despite the retort burning at the back of his throat, he merely nods and grunts out a quiet acknowledgement. “Fine.”

The walking talking fashion disaster of a human being seems to take it at face value, perhaps knowing he wouldn’t get anything better from Katsuki. “Alright then. Have everything?” He nods, and the badly styled man smiles. “Good! The car’s waiting for us outside.” He tells Katsuki, dragging him towards the exit.

Silent, he follows behind Bad Hair Day.

(He really, really has a bad feeling about this.)

.

.

.

If he thought Bad Hair Day looked like he walked right out of a clown festival, Best Jeanist was even worse.

Television didn't make him any favours. In real life and up close, his getup looked even more ridiculous. How did the man even function during the summer under all that denim?

“To be frank, I don’t like you very much.”

Katsuki blinks.

Well, fuck you too then, he thinks, but Aizawa’s threat is still very much fresh at the back of his mind so he swallows it down. Still, he glowers at the Pro-Hero.

The tall neckline of the man’s jean jacket -God, he's wearing jean over Jean, the fucking horror- made it impossible to figure out what expression the man was making. His eyes remained as flat and unimpressed, peering down at him intensely.

Scrutinizing him, no doubt.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. I know full well why you chose to intern with me.” The hero drawled after a long pause. Katsuki stayed silent.  “I am one of the top five popular heroes, and no doubt the highest ranking one who sent you an invitation, no?”

The careless, offhanded way the question was delivered was aggravating.

“You made an offer for me.” Katsuki found himself retorting sharply. “So I came.”

Why are you so bitchy about that?

Best Jeanist shrugs at his reply, unbothered by his tone.

“Recently all of my sidekicks and interns have been perfectly behaved, so you-” The Pro-Hero waved a few fingers at him, and Katsuki silently bristled. “-certainly stood out. Especially during the Sports Festival’s later half.”

Oops, there it was.

Here we fucking go.

“While I admit, your fighting abilities show potential, the way you fought and how you acted? Pitiful.” A pause. “Knocking that girl around while you could have blasted her out of the arena from the start?”

She could fucking handle it.

“Attacking an unconscious classmate after you nearly killed him with that explosion?”

I just shook him, I didn’t fucking hit him!

“Having to be chained to the podium like a dog?”

Because they wouldn’t let me leave . They wanted their little fucking ceremony regardless of what I thought.

“Truly this Festival was a travesty. It’s a good thing you came to me; I’m uncertain if anyone else would be able to fix you.”

Fix you.

It’s far from the first time he hears such spiel, but it has him bristling. Like hell . This time, he couldn’t stop the rumbling snarl from leaving his lips as he took a step forward. “Listen here fucker-”

Snap .

He doesn’t see it coming. Threads seemed to materialize from empty air, swiftly coiling around his limbs and tightening, pinning him in place like a bug in a net.

Katsuki didn't even have the time to react before he was completely immobilized. Bound up like a sausage in his hero suit, right in front of everyone like a misbehaving pet about to be stuffed in their pen after making a mess.

Fuck.

He knew why Best Jeanist was top ranked, but it was another thing being on the receiving end of his power.

He hadn't even seen the man move; in fact, Best Jeanist barely even moved, still theatrically slouched against his desk like a catalogue model. Only his raised hands and clenched fingers clutching nearly translucent threads straining in his grip betray that he was using his Quirk at all.

“As I was saying,” The man begins again, tone ever calm and composed. “I think there is a lot you need to work on, Bakugo Katsuki. Thankfully, I have expertise in this area.”

Katsuki says nothing. He’s been through enough rants to know that sometimes, it's better to shut up to get it over with.

“It’s my job to correct people like you. To protect society and adhere to my duty to society.”

Why was he talking like he was some kind of wild animal that needed to be tamed?

“Heroes and villains are the two sides of the same coin.” Best Jeanist continues, eyes shifting away from Katsuki, who follows his gaze. The man was looking at his desk. There’s a spread out newspaper article Katsuki hadn’t noticed upon entering the vast office. “You will do well to remember that.”

He can’t look away from his own face plastered front and center on the newspaper’s front. It’s a shot from when All Might was handing the bronze medal to Tokoyami: his muzzle was still very much on and he was glaring murder at the audience.

He still remembers how each renewed struggled had made them holler and cheer louder.

The threads were suddenly gone, causing him to stumble as he was dragged out of that memory. Stumbling, Katsuki scrambled to right himself. He felt his cheeks burn when low snickers came from the interns and sidekicks behind him.

Fuck, they’d seen everything .

This was all just a show, wasn’t it? To make it clear to Katsuki who here was the boss -like he was an animal that needed to be reminded how internships worked. As if he wasn’t a fully aware teenager enrolled in one of the top schools in Japan.

As much as he wants to start shouting and trashing, Katsuki knows it would only make him look worse. There was no way he was getting out of these binds either, not unless he complied. Knowing this he stays silent, letting Best Jeanist continue talking.

That doesn’t stop him from glaring.

“Your job this week will be to watch me and learn. I will teach you what makes someone a Pro-Hero. I will mold you into a proper hero.”

Mold.

Isn’t that a fucking fantastic word.

In that split second between Best Jeanist inhaling to continue his speech, Katsuki couldn’t help but think of Endeavor. He thinks of the Festival. He thinks of the Sludge monster and the League of Villains.

Finally, he thinks of the heat of a summer sun scorching his skin. Of a door that wouldn’t open, not until his mother came through and realized he was still there even after she’d left for work hours later.

The sting of her slap and her annoyed barks to go to his room were minor pains compared to the understanding that his father, the only person who had looked after him was gone. Even after he understood as he grew that his actions had been nothing but a ruse, the abandonment still hurt more than the manipulation.

Between his father and the League, there was no difference.

All people were shit.

“Well,” Best Jeanist sighing dragged him out of his reverie. Apparently, the man had grown tired of his lack of response. “..no matter, you will learn this during your time here.”

The threads loosen around him. Katsuki stays silent, keeping his mouth shut as Best Jeanist retracted the denim threads back into his own costume. The man stands up from his propped up position against his office desk.

“Let us go, we have much to accomplish in very little time.” Best Jeanist walks past him, then pauses. Katsuki feels his eyes widen against his will as he feels the adult’s hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I see much potential in you, boy. You only need to learn how to utilize it properly.”

His words were faint next to the warmth of his touch against his bare shoulder. Katsuki tenses as he feels a cramping, acidic burn rise up from his stomach, twisting like a furious snake in his guts. Impotence and rage boil under his skin at the man’s pathetic attempt at complimenting him.

In that moment, he wants to burn that hand.

...but he does not. Instead, Katsuki follows after him dutifully, ignoring the side glances from the sidekicks and their badly hidden sneers. He feels little of their scorn and amusement; if anything, he feels as if his mind is clouded with static, and the only thing left in him are the helpless rage and Best Jeanist’s patronizing speech.

My job is to fix you.

He feels the beginning of a snarl start forming on his lips. How dare he. How dare this bastard say those things, think that he would just roll over and do what he wants just because he has a shiny licence.

How dare he-

-mold you into a proper hero.

Todoroki’s words echo in his ears.

‘He wanted you to be the next Endeavor.’

The next Endeavor.

He can barely fight back the nausea.

.

.

.

...why am I doing this?

Chapter Text

This internship was shit.

Complete and utter shit .

If he didn’t think Aizawa would expel him on the spot, Katsuki would pack his bags and be halfway back to Musustafu by now. Fuck, he’d walk back if necessary.

It’s been three days and as far as Katsuki was concerned, Best Jeanist ranked just below Endeavor and his bitch of a mother.

Simply put, the bastard criticizes everything . 

The man always had something to say about his appearance, his posture, his behavior. Katsuki’s pretty certain there’s a list somewhere on the fucker’s phone on everything Katsuki was doing wrong, and what needed to be worked on. Like he was some sort of pet project for work.

It made him furious, how Best Jeanist was all over him like a bee swarming around honey, desperately attempting to fix what was definitely not broken.

And the jeans!

Dear god, he’d never look at a piece of apparel made out of denim the same way ever again. Within the first two days of the internship, Katsuki vowed to himself to grab every article of clothing he had that was made of denim, drag it to the backyard, make a neat little pile with, preferably, a little idol of Best Jeanist on top of it, and set it on fucking fire.

Maybe even roast some marshmallows over it.

How Best Jeanist tried to fuse his costume with his own style is enough to make Katsuki want to vomit. His pants, grenadier bracers and mask were all left rotting in the suitcase; the only thing he’d been able to save from the Pro-Hero’s rampage.

His hair was amongst one of the casualties.

At the reminder Katsuki rumbles low in his throat, feeling every single strand of his slicked down hair like they weighed tons. Best Jeanist had poured gallons’ worth of products on his head in an attempt to crush the resistance of his naturally spiky and fluffy hair, leaving him with that felt like a wet mop on top of his skull.

The cosmetics products’ smell was so strong it almost overpowered the constant sweet scent of nitroglycerin that clung to Katsuki’s body like a second skin as a result of his Quirk. The last nail in the coffin for Katsuki’s dignity was how his hair would randomly puff back up as the slight amounts of nitroglycerin he sweat out from the top of his head went off. 

It made for a comical sight apparently, if the snickers of Best Jeanist’ staff was anything to go by.

As it turns out, this internship was a learning experience.

A learning experience in goddamn self restraint.

Eraserhead was going to be fucking confused when they got back, Katsuki thinks sourly. After this hell on earth, he’d probably be able to sit through the worst of Deku’s mumbling sessions without screaming at the dumb nerd even once. He was going to breathe self control and zen and all the other shit, because this week was a walk through hell with a capital h.

It’s not that Best Jeanist was the worst thing alive and reason enough that their ancestors should have crawled back into the sea -that crown still belonged to the old man- but he was a close second.

At least the man was professional to a point. 

Though, maybe even too much. 

The matching clothes all of his sidekicks and himself were contractually obligated to wear was kudos point to his determination to maintain unity and decorum, but it also was added drops of water to the already nearly spilling cup that was Katsuki’s will to live.

At this point, it was a very tiny teacup.

There were some ups, though. 

Jeanist’s Quirk, for example.

At first glance Best Jeanist’s Quirk wasn’t incredible; by the time you glance however the man would probably already have you strung up to a light post by your underwear and be in the process of calling the detainment units. It was clear that the hero had perfected the ins and out of his Quirk, to the point it was kind of impossible to fight against him as long as you had clothes.

...he had to wonder if someone ever came after Jeanist naked. It seemed like a viable although dehumanizing strategy. 

Katsuki was almost tempted to ask, but under the disgustingly gelled hair and the suffocating jeans he still had some ounce of dignity so instead, he kept his mouth well shut.

That didn’t mean he didn’t make his displeasure known in other ways.

The first and last time Best Jeanist sent him to fetch him a coffee, Katsuki had the beautiful opportunity to see the man’s normally ever patient expression twist slightly in a grimace, betraying his horror upon taking his first sip of the lethal concoction Katsuki had brought upon his tongue.

To be fair, the salt and sugar containers in the break room were really similar.

“Anything wrong?” Katsuki asked innocently as he sat down at his own desk by the sidekicks, taking the small pile of reports Best Jeanist had tasked him with filling out and studying to have an idea of how patrol encounters were handled and registered.

He knew he was pushing it. Any time Best Jeanist could boot him out and leave his dumb ass to explain to Aizawa why exacly he’d been let go a few days early from what was supposed to be a week long internship. Katsuki could see the writing on the wall for that one.

But seeing Best Jeanist trying not to choke on the abomination he’d just put in his mouth did things to Katsuki. It tickled that pretty little vicious monster in Katsuki’s heart.

This must be what joy feels like.

Best Jeanist lets out one last cough and set the coffee mug down on his desk -as far away as his long arms could reach.

“It’s nothing.” The man says tightly, eyes staring at the cup warily. “Continue your work, Bakugo.” He adds after a pause, looking back at his papers. Never once he met Katsuki’s interested eyes.

That was the last time Best Jeanist sent him to make him coffee.

.

.

.

It was nighttime during their third patrol of the day when an audible vibration coming from his pants pocket gave him pause. 

Making sure Best Jeanist was busy with the crowd of adoring civilians that swarmed him after stopping a thief, Katsuki stealthily reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He was pretty much being ignored by the crowd -more like avoided like he stank something horrible, but that was just a detail- so it took only a little wiggling to step out of the crowd and take a breather.

What he sees displayed on the screen was the last thing he was expecting.

Midoriya Izuku has tagged his location!

Deku? He thinks, frowning. The fucker never messages me.

The only reason he even had the nerd’s phone number was because of a school trip back in middle school where the teacher had made them all exchange numbers in case of an emergency. He’d trashed all of his classmates’ a few days after that trip, though something had convinced him not to do the same to Deku’s number.

...was this a mass message?

Wait, what was Deku doing in Hosu?

Internship. Had to be.

From what he’d overheard, Deku was doing his internship with some old retired hero. But because he knew Deku, it was probable that the younger teen had attracted the worst kind of attention or got himself into a mess that of equals to the USJ incident.

Or maybe he got himself stuck in a closet or something. 

Katsuki knew he was being optimistic with that last one. Especially given whom he was thinking about. Deku was the kind of idiot who ran in without a plan to stick the landing. The fact he hadn’t broken every last of his bones during the Festival Race with that mine explosive stunt was proof of that.

If that wasn’t proof enough of his craziness, you could look at the USJ incident. Katsuki had no idea what would have happened if he didn’t blast the warp-villain when Deku went charging in to save All Might, of all people, but he’s certain he doesn’t want to know. 

Or if that still wasn’t enough, the Slime Villain was another example of how Deku was contender of the Darwin Awards. Fuck, the kid didn’t even have his Quirk yet and he’d ran into a fire to try and save Katsuki. 

Even now he’s torn between disgust at having to be rescued, horror that it was a Quirkless idiot like Deku, and begrudging respect for Deku’s inability to give a fuck about just how stacked the odds were against him.

..honestly, Katsuki is kind of impressed that the dumbass lasted this long.  

Still, as he looked down at his phone -at that tiny little pop up message, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

You better not fucking die, dumbass.

.

.

.

Something was wrong.

Best Jeanist cut their patrol early halfway through it to lock himself in his office. Katsuki had no idea what the man was working on, but the lack of response and the sidekicks’ befuddlement around him was enough of an answer that something wasn’t quite right.

“Is the Commission calling him?” He overhears one of the sidekicks mutter to the secretary with the ghastly slicked down brown hair. 

“He’s not…” There’s more audible shuffling as she ducks down to look at her drawers. “N-not as far as I know…?” Her head pops back from under the desk, her brown curls bouncing from the brisk movement. Her brows were furrowed in befuddlement. “There’s nothing scheduled for him now…?”

Slam!

Katsuki jumps up slightly at the harsh sound, he turns in time to see the same sidekick who brought him over from the station come in flailing his arms like a maniac.

“Tsuma! Turn on the television, now! Channel five!” Bad Hair Day exclaimed in an urgent voice. “Something’s going down in Hosu!”

Hosu?

Wait.

Katsuki feels his heart make an uncomfortable lurch. Deku’s phone had pinged him from that fucking city -the same city the Hero Killer recently struck.

Fuck.  

The secretary -Tsuma, apparently- scrambles for something on her desk. Moments later the television suspended over their heads by the break area turns on. 

What Katsuki sees is a warzone.

Holy shit, he thought as he watches overhead footage of massive, strangely familiar creatures with empty eyes and exposed brains swatting away heroes like they were flies. 

It’s unmistakable what those things are.

The largest of the Nomu-like creatures was a hulking thing made of bulging muscles straining under black skin and red marks. It’s brain covered most of its face, leaving no place for eyes or a nose. It bore no lips either, just large square white teeth that gave it an underbite and further made it look like a Frankenstein monster rather than a human being.

The amount of smoke made it hard to see what was going on; the heroes on the ground were struggling to see, fighting against the environment as carelessly as they were trying to drive off the monsters. 

Then Endeavor rushed out of the smoke like a nightmare taking shape, landing a sickening punch to the largest creature’s side that send it skitting backwards, arm horribly twisted out of place. One of the sidekicks whooped at the sudden blaze of blue and the Nomu’s ensuing collapse. 

Katsuki just felt sickened.

The nausea turned into something cold when he sees his father grab the Nomu by the skull and incinerate the head into fine ash, blue flames swirling around his hands.

The nausea crawls up and down his throat. He has to actively fight the urge to throw up.

Endeavor disappears again in between the smoke and fires, the fierce orange-red of Hellfire nearly matching the color of the flames around him. The camera tries to keep track of him, but there was just too much chaos and smoke to track the Number Two Hero.

Katsuki stares emptily at the television emptily. The members of Best Jeanist’s agency were practically hanging at the edge of their seat, cheerfully talking amongst themselves about how easily Endeavor had dispatched the villain. He can barely hear them over the static in his head.

...wait, wasn’t Todoroki interning with the bastard?

Any previous emotion or train of thought was suddenly wiped away.

That meant he’s in Hosu. 

Where the Hero Killer is. 

.

.

.

When he spots on the television a clip of Todoroki, Glasses and Deku limping into an ambulance while the Hero Killer is dragged into another, Katsuki feels himself deflate like a balloon. 

Something familiar and liberating floods him, an emotion he recognizes but given the situation promptly tosses into the darkest corners of his mind.

Like hell he was relieved.

.

.

.

First thing he did once he was alone was call up Todoroki.

Fucker better be alive, he thinks sourly as he stabs the numbers into his phone and put it next to his left ear. Otherwise I’m gonna dig his shitty ass corpse out of his grave and hanging it as a banner over the Yuuei gate.

The wait while the phone rings is almost painful. He shifts where he sits on his hotel bed, fighting back the urge to fidget. Seconds pass by, too long and too quiet, the stringent sound of the phone’s ringing grating at his ears until-

“Hello?”

Oh look, Katsuki immediately thinks, his heart jolting at the sound of that tired but familiar voice. I won’t be jailed for grave desecration. Truly a blessed day.

“What the fuck happened.” He bites out instead of the much more explicit insults burning at the tip of his tongue.

There’s a pause. “I got into a fight with the Hero Killer.” Todoroki finally breathes out with that familiar flatness. There was something different though. For once, he sounded exhausted. No, weary. More so he’d ever heard the half and half bastard be. “It was challenging. Nearly lost my left arm.”

Katsuki chokes on his spit. It might have been heard through the phone, for he hears his half brother asking in alarm:

“Bakugo? Are you alright?” Todoroki almost sounded worried. Katsuki ignored it in favor of hissing into the phone like an aggravated snake.

“-what do you mean that you nearly lost your left arm?”

“The villain tried to amputate it to keep me from using Hellfire. Iida stopped him.”

“Thank fuck.” He blinks, realizing what he’d said. What the fuck. Scrambling, Katsuki says evenly. “-that would have been a bitch and a half for Yuuei to address.”

Todoroki doesn’t seem to pick up on this falter. He hums. “...yes, it would have.” There’s a pause. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have said any of this to you.”

Katsuki frowns up at the ceiling. “How so?”

“The police chief told me not to.”

If he wasn’t lying down, he would have fallen over. Katsuki jerks up to sit on the bed, heart jolting in his chest. “Wait, what?!” He yells out, loud enough that his neighbor bangs once on the wall. “The Hosu police chief? The fuck, Todoroki? Aren’t you breaking the law telling me?”

“Yes.”

The bluntness of the response nearly has him in hysterics.

Oh my god, you fucking disaster. How the hell did you make it to fourteen?

The question, for once, lacked the furious bite he’s expecting in his head. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. 

Must be the exhaustion. These past few days with Jeanist were hell on earth.

Yeah, that.

He must have been silent for too long according to Todoroki’s taste, for the next thing he hears is a soft, questioning call of his name. “Bakugo?” 

“Just.” Katsuki breathes out through clenched teeth. “...don’t be a dumbass, idiot.”

He hears his younger brother let out a low chuckle. It doesn’t grate on his nerves as much as it should.

“Alright. Can I go to sleep now?”

Katsuki can only huff hauntily and end the call.

Fucking lunatic.

Chapter Text

“Huh, Todoroki?”

Shouto blinks away the last remains of sleep from his eyes. 

Slowly rolling onto his side, he looks at the occupant of the hospital bed next to his. The faint light of a rising sun coming from the veiled windows outlined Izuku Midoriya’s fluffy, bouncy green hair. The other boy was sitting in his bed, fiddling with the bandages around his injured foot as he waited for Shouto to react.

“...yes, Midoriya?”

The other boy seems to pick up on his sleepy tone, for he winces. “Oh, did I wake you?” Nonplussed, Shouto nods for it was the truth, somewhat. At this Midoriya grimaces sheepishly. “..I’m sorry, I thought you were already awake. Nevermind-” He shook his hands in front of him, apologetic. “Y-you should go back to sleep, your arm must-”

“No.” Todoroki cuts him off by sitting up on his bed, shuffling the covers to rest on his lap. Midoriya falls silent.“I’m awake. You can talk.”

The green haired boy blinks. “You were asle-”

Shouto shrugs. “I’m not asleep.”

“...but you were…”

“Midoriya.” Shouto interjects, because if there was one thing he’s been learned during the past two weeks since the Sports Festival while struggling with his new familial reality, is knowing how to interject and pick up on small clues about another’s behavior. Sure, Bakugo was a whole different ball than Midoriya, but he was the only thing Shouto had to work with. “What is it?”

There’s a soft sigh.

“I know -well, y-you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to, but…” Midoriya wrings his hands nervously. Shouto can’t help but look at the scars curled around his right hand. “-yesterday when you went to the bathroom, who were you talking to?”

Shouto blinks. Oh.

“Bakugo.”

Midoriya’s green eyes darkened. “...so you did exchange phone numbers…” At Shouto’s likely confused expression, Midoriya cleared his throat and clarified hastily. “I heard it from Sero. Did...did Kacchan say anything?”

What is he going for?

He knew Midoriya was naturally curious -that was the reason their fight turned out the way it did at the Festival, and more so the reason why they were in a hospital at the moment- but there was something nagging Shouto. Like there was something he should know, but wasn’t able to quite grasp at the moment. It’s frustrating, but he hides it behind a placid facade.

“He saw the news.” Shouto answered honestly. “-he also told me not to be a dumbass.”

“That sounds like Kacchan.” Midoriya does a tiny frown.

“Yes.”

The silence comes back. 

It’s odd, given Midoriya’s well known proficiency of talking about anything and everything. Shouto likes the silence usually. It’s nice and calming in its familiarity. After his mother was admitted, it had become a constant companion Shouto had learned to enjoy.

(It’s better than the crackle of flames and the loudness of a booming male voice calling for him to get up .)

But there was something about this particular silence that prevented him from relaxing on the bed and allowing his weary body to recover...and this was wholly due to the uneasy feeling sitting in his stomach at how Midoriya was acting.

The boy wasn’t saying anything, but the way he was looking at the floor with the slightest frown and dropped shoulders pulled at his heart. Now, Todoroki knew he wasn’t the best at noticing something was wrong, but he couldn’t let this slide.

“Is everything alright?”

"N-no! Everything’s fine, it’s just…” Midoriya looks away, hesitating. “-I’m surprised that Kacchan talks to you. Usually he’s...not the most social person.”

...oh.

Now that he thought about it, others might find it strange. Bakugo seemed more like someone who would prefer choking out a classmate than holding a civil conversation with them. It must be strange in Midoriya’s eyes to see such a deviation from the usual pattern.

Come to think of it, Bakugo going from outright ignoring his presence half the time to exchanging numbers with him must be whiplash for Midoriya.

For a moment, he considers opening his mouth and telling the other boy everything. It’s a thought that crosses his mind for a fraction of a second before it is thoroughly crushed by the belief -no, the knowledge- that if he did that, anything he was trying to build with Bakugo would fly right out the window.

It was clear that Bakugo and Midoriya’s history was charged, and as much as Shouto wanted to confide in his first friend, ask him for advice, he also knew doing so could irreparably damage his relationship with his half brother. In many ways Bakugo was like an easily startled buck, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger but just as much capable and willing to charge forward to fight off said threat.

Regardless if he ended up harming himself in the process. 

“You’re right. He doesn’t like talking with…” Anyone. Todoroki swallows. “-people. But I think I’m learning.”

At first, Midoriya is quiet. 

“...can we trade notes then?” The other boy finally pipes up. Todoroki frowns.

Trade notes? 

What could he possibly mean by that? The confusion on his face seemed to register in Midoriya, for he ducks his head sheepishly and reiterates:

“I’ll be honest, I’m really, really surprised how easily you two kicked it off.” The other boy looks away. Shouto finds himself following his gaze, eyes landing on Iida’s still form across from them. 

Their class principal was deeply asleep, faint snores coming from the taller teenager.  It’s strange, but the sight of Iida asleep and breathing calms something in Todoroki. It cements the fact they survived that nightmarish night -that they would live to see another day and hopefully, learn from their mistakes.

“It’s almost unbelievable.” Midoriya says quietly from his bed. “Kacchan never really connected with anyone.”

The curly haired boy turns his gaze back to him, green eyes filled with something heavy that takes little time for Todoroki to recognize.

Longing.

Midoriya and Bakugo grew up together, Shouto remembers in a flash. If anyone knows who Bakugo Katsuki was as a person beneath all that anger and distrust, it would be him.

That knowledge doesn’t bring him any joy however, not with Midoriya’s words rattling around his brain.

‘Kacchan never really connected with anyone.’

...had Bakugo been alone just like, all of this time?

“I thought you two were friends.” Shouto finds himself asking.

The look in Midoriya’s eyes was one of conflict and old pain. He curls up on himself a bit, falling over to lay the side of his face against his pillow. 

“Maybe, when we were kids. After...after his Quirk manifested, he became different.” The other boy admits quietly.

He fiddles with his bandages and swallows. Shouto waits quietly, a hole in his chest grew bigger and bigger the longer the silence stretched. There something gnawing at him that he doesn’t like, a creeping realization that slides up his spine like the cold of a chilly winter night.

“Looking back, he was always chaotic as a kid. But after his Quirk, he just grew...angry?” Midoriya frowns. His eyelids are dropping, like he’s struggling to stay awake. “Frustrated. Just...different. I think it was because he had a Quirk and I ...didn't.”

Shouto’s stomach lurched.

‘I think it was because he had a Quirk and I...didn’t.’

Midoriya had a theory of what could have caused this change...but Shouto had the faintest idea that he was the one who had the answer.

Could their father’s actions been the reason? Could Endeavor had driven Bakugo down a dark path just like he did to Shouto?

No, it was different. Todoroki’s life before Yuuei had been tall walls, training, siblings that tiptoed around him and their father and nursing wounds accumulated from said parent on his own in his room. 

Bakugo was allowed out on his own, as far as he knew. He was much more independent. He had the chance to go to school with other kids. He had a life outside of the walls of his home, outside of training and Yuuei and the expectations of becoming a hero.

And yet, Shouto felt he was missing something.

Suddenly a thought struck him.

What about his mother?

Todoroki feels a cold chill run down his spine. He….he hadn’t even considered that. Who was Bakugo’s mother? Had she remarried? How was she as a person?

(How did she treat his brother?)

Shouto looks back to Midoriya, a question burning at the tip of his lips. “Midoriya, may I ask if you kno-”

Instead of the boy staring at him with those ever curious green eyes, Shouto finds that his friend had fallen asleep on the bed, face smushed into the pillow and curly green hair flopping over his eyes.

….he’ll have to talk to Bakugo about this directly, then. 

There was a lot to think about, and more so that Shouto could not even begin to comprehend. His thoughts were a clumsy storm of ideas and possibilities that had him pinching the brow of his nose in order to stave off an oncoming headache.

The middle of the night was no time for this. Tomorrow they had to go home early, and Shouto was not looking forward to seeing the old bastard again. Endeavor had left him mostly alone, too busy angrily soaking up the fame that came with ‘stopping’ the Hero Killer and while that made him burn with repressed rage, it was also a relief.

He would not have to deal with the man anytime soon. Hopefully until after classes picked up again.

Sighing, Shouto let himself drop against his bed. The hospital mattress barely moved under him, firm and almost uncomfortable. For his weary body however, it was enough. He’d sleep in worse places during his youth.

This was nothing.

However…

The more he stared up at the ceiling, the more his mind was made up.

Because after all of this, all of this semester , Shouto was certain of one sole thing.

That this really wasn’t how he was expecting his first year at Yuuei to be, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

.

.

.

“Stay still.”

“Stop molesting me then!”

One of the sidekicks chokes on their coffee. It flies everywhere.

Die, Katsuki thinks as he watches the secretary scramble from her work to help the man to clean up the mess on his desk.

Best Jeanist’s hands pause on his hair, faltering as they watch one of his employees splutter and let out coffee from his nose. The Pro-Hero’s long suffering sigh was a balm to Katsuki’s soul. Good. Here’s hoping the bastard suffered as much as he did.

“Please do mind your language, Bakugo.” The man tells him, cordial despite the mess he’d just caused. “Your words matter as much as your actions. A Pro-Hero must be stand strong, but you also need to be polite.

Katsuki goes still, glaring at the floor. He really, really tries to ignore the fact he thought he saw a small smirk on the man’s lips.

Fucker had no right to look amused at Katsuki’s latest attempt at committing manslaughter.

The hands resume work on his scalp, slowly forming that horrible side fringe that has Katsuki’s blood quietly boiling. No matter how many times the nitroglycerin on his scalp goes off every day, somehow Best Jeanist manages to take the time out of his day to guide Katsuki to that hated chair and work his hair back into submission.

The first few times were the worst experiences in Katsuki’s life, save for that day and the Sludge villain. He fucking hated people touching him. Kirishima’s claps on his back and sudden half-hugs were mostly tolerated through a combination of will and him and Mina being just the absolute worst at understanding the no touching rule.

Best Jeanist was no different. 

Thankfully overtime that prickling, terrifying feeling in his chest had eased, and he could breathe easier. Even more, Jeanist’s touch threw him for a loop with how careful the man was. 

It didn’t stop Katsuki from attempting to slip salt into his coffee when the man wasn’t looking, though.

Best Jeanist quickly learned not to trust him with any sort of beverage or food for himself. Which was unfortunate, the fun was just fucking starting.

But the week’s ending in a few hours, a tiny voice pipes in his head as Best Jeanist proceeds to attack his spiky blond mane with a thin black hairbrush. For how light his hair was, it stood no match against the combined brush and oils Best Jeanist was using. Soon you’ll be back to Yuuei and in that shithole with the bitch.

Something dark and heavy settles in his gut.

Best Jeanist seems to sense something from him, for he suddenly speaks up:

“As much as you seem to think otherwise, I am not your enemy Bakugo.” 

Yeah, right. Katsuki snorts lowly, not loud enough to sound obnoxious but neither quietly enough that the Pro-Hero didn’t hear it. 

Nevertheless, from the corner of his eye he sees that Best Jeanist appears unfazed by his reaction. “Through the week I’ve been trying to instill in you the manners and responsibilities that come with being a Pro-Hero. I hope you got something out of this work experience.”

Katsuki knows better than to talk. He just stares flatly at Best Jeanist from the corner of his eye, unimpressed.

Contrary to what people believed, Katsuki could do quiet. 

He could do it really, really well. The goddamn king of passive aggressive , if his mother’s rantings had anything to say. Living with the bitch had gifted him with the skills needed to make his resentment known without needing to scream and shout at people.

For all Mitsuki had to complain about it, this was really her fault. Clearly Endeavor didn’t do that shit, so that came from her. He got the best from both of his parents, ha! 

Best Jeanist clearing his throat snaps him back to attention.

“As a ranked Hero, you will constantly be in the media spotlight. The whole of Japan will be looking at you, every day, waiting to find something to pick on.” The man’s lips twisted into a wry smile.  “Sometimes, maintaining your role as a public figure will be as every bit as difficult and draining as the very villains you will fight.”

It shouldn’t fucking be, Katsuki thinks sourly.

“The line between villain and hero is a blurred thing. Society has no issue shuffling those who don’t fall in the mold back and forth depending on the will of the public.”

Something sour grows in his throat. 

Katsuki doesn’t speak as a hand landed on his shoulder, the gentle, careful pressure just enough to be felt. Somehow, Katsuki doesn’t feel the instinctive urge to shove it off like he’s always done throughout the week.

It’s strange.

It’s...odd.

...but not entirely unwelcome.

The brush suddenly pulls away from his scalp. Katsuki feels a mixture of relief and something else. Guess the man was done?

“Please do remember what I’ve taught you.” Or tried to. It’s unspoken but it’s clear for Katsuki in the way Best Jeanist’s stare seems to be a thousand miles away. 

Katsuki finds himself glaring halfheartedly at his feet. 

“...sure.”

Surprisingly, Best Jeanist takes his answer as is and steps away. Katsuki hops off the chair warily, looking at the Pro Hero place the brush back on the cosmetic table in silence.

“Now let’s go. We have one last patrol to fulfill.”

Chapter Text

The next day is the end of the week . He heads for the train station.

To Katsuki’s complete and utter surprise Best Jeanist decides to tag along, inserting himself in the middle of Katsuki’s frantic attempts at batting away Bad Hair Day because like fuck he was going through the humiliation of walking next to a man who had no idea what a decent hairstyle meant, let alone look like.

Instead of that, Katsuki finds himself standing in Best Jeanist’s shadow as the man checks the train schedule for the third time. Both of them are silent, and Katsuki for once finds he doesn’t want to break this bubble of quiet -namely, for how odd this all was.

He’s fifteen, he can do this on his own. Sure Aizawa had done a last minute check but that was because the underground hero was a paranoid mess. One fuck up on their part and a student would end up halfway across Japan and very much late to their first meeting with their chosen Pro-Hero -thus hurting Yuuei’s image and likely getting Aizawa yelled at by Nedzu.

Would Nedzu even yell? He didn’t seem like the type with that demeanor, in his opinion. 

Bottom line was, there was no need for Jeanist to be here, Katsuki can do all of this himself. 

The bitch had made sure that Katsuki was independent and self sufficient early on, and even though her methods were more of throwing him into the deep end and walking off without checking if he’s sinking, Katsuki thinks he managed pretty well so far.

Which makes this all the more off-putting.

“Your train departs in twenty minutes.” Best Jeanist’s ever composed voice drags him out of his thoughts. “Do you have everything?”

Turning his head to look up to the man, Katsuki offers him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Yes.”

What did he think I was, a kid?

Unruffled by the uninterested reply, Best Jeanist nods and hands over the schedule to him. Katsuki takes it without fuss.

“This is it.” Jeanists says in that ever collected voice that had, for the better half of the week, driven Katsuki up the wall. Not anymore though, strangely enough. “Your train is leaving in twenty minutes.

“Thanks.” Katsuki responds and surprisingly enough, finds himself meaning it. “Guess I should go now.” He continues gruffly, shifting on his feet.

The space between the two of them should be awkward. 

It isn’t.

Ignoring that thought as best as he could, Katsuki shoves the sling of his back further up his shoulder. He considers turning around and just walking off to his train, but the way Jeanist seemed to be patiently waiting after him had something inside Katsuki planting its feet and refuting this option entirely.

“Goodbye.” Katsuki finally manages to hack out. It feels wrong on his lips, but he pushes through it. “...and huh, thanks for the week.”

Well that sounded just dumb.

Katsuki dares to look up at the hero. He can’t see Jeanist’ mouth, but there’s an upward crinkles in his eyes that had something vaguely warm flipping in Katsuki’s gut.

“Good luck to you, Revolt.”

.

.

.

It’s odd how that single, tiny little phrase floats at the back of his mind as he sits quietly in the train carriage, on his way back to Musustafu.

‘Good luck to you, Revolt.’

Katsuki feels uneasy...or at least he hopes its unease, at the memory. Those words even from one of the top tier heroes shouldn’t affect him as much as they did.

For all intents and purposes, this week was not what he expected. Then again the whole semester had been an utter shitshow so guessing the future was apparently not one of his skills. Life seemed really fucking fickle and things could go sideways more and more easily as time went on.

….time. 

Huh.

Maybe that was that.

Maybe he would have needed more time to figure this out. 

For them to figure each other out. The last few days, Jeanist had been different. Less overbearing, more careful in his approach of Katsuki -something that was a first, to be honest. From anyone. He himself had been different the last few days in response. Softer? He’s not sure how to describe it.

It almost felt like they had finally started meeting each other halfway.

Doesn’t matter, he thinks as he gazes out the window, watching the sunset over the countryside. The grass was almost bronze from the weakening sunlight, and the sky was bathed in blues and oranges. It’s done with. I’ll probably won’t see him again. Time’s over now.

It’s unsettling how disliking of that notion Katsuki felt. He tries to ignore it, focusing instead on the countryside flying by. Even the whispers from the other passengers, their wayward glances and shifting bodies were forgotten.

Katsuki’s eyelids lower halfway down, and he leans further against the window, tucking his chin on his crossed arms. His legs folded against his chest, closer now. 

Distantly, he’s aware that he is still wearing the jeans the older man had gifted him.

.

.

.

There’s no one waiting for him at the train station when he arrives.

Katsuki doesn’t even bother calling. He takes the bus home, using his monthly pass to avoid having to pay for a taxi. When he gets home, she’s already on her way out again.

It might be a week long modelling gig, a vacation, a meeting -Katsuki does not care, and he is certain that she does not care either. Hopefully she would leave for the entire week, or the next two weeks if he was really lucky. Katsuki wasn’t that hopeful though. He learned quickly not to be.

His mother pauses in the main hall of the house, suitcase in hand and designer bag slung over her side. She’s all dolled up, hair pulled back in a stylishly messy bun. Her eyes meet with his own.

“Katsuki.”

Not a greeting. Just a statement.

Katsuki closes the front door behind him slowly.

Any sort of positive energy he’d previously felt was gone. Katsuki feels his skin pickling, his body tension and untensing. 

He feels the weight of his phone more than ever in his pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that if she knew about the number, his mother would demand it right away with a susuring voice and a sly smirk.

“You’re early.”

“Traffic.” He replies, flatly and with as much disinterest as her because they both knew he did not care to talk to her. They might as well be strangers living in the same house. “You’re leaving.”

Mitsuki shrugged. Nonchalant and uncaring.  Yeah, he’d definitely gotten his passive aggressiveness from her.

“Alright then.” Katsuki choses to say, tightening his grip on his suitcase and walking forward. Better store this and get settled, school started tomorrow and Katsuki was not looking forward to that particular brand of hell. “See you, hag.” He says dismissively, walking past her.

It’s a testament to how relaxed he’s become the past week that he doesn’t see the blow coming.

His mother’s closed fist connects with the side of his head. Pain flares out as he stumbles, choked down cry fighting its way through clenched lips as he crashes into the wall and slides to the floor, disoriented. Katsuki lays in a heap, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

He looks up at his mother. She’s picking at her nails, no doubt checking if she’d broken them. Katsuki had no doubt she would kick him while he was down if they were. She’d done it before.

After a tense moment, her arm drops at her side and she gives him a small, sickly sweet smile.

“Don’t stay up late, Katsuki.”

He knows better than to say anything. To yell, cry to ask why -he’d long learned as a young child how her fits of violence were erratic and never really something he could expect.

(When he’d been younger and not used to the loneliness, he’d tried placating her. 

Baking her foods specific to her diet and cleaning up the house and keeping an eye out for modelling gigs and always being of services. Desperate and starved for scraps of attention after Endeavor dropped him until that day his mother had smacked him for forgetting to follow her strict dieting plan when he’d cooked supper and right there and then, his want to connect with her -with anyone- and crumbled and shattered into dust.)

Shoulders dropping, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, waiting for the blurriness to fade on its own. Distantly, Katsuki hears the front door open and shut. She was gone.

He was alone.

“Welcome home.” Katsuki mutters under his breath, feeling hysterically giddy at the cruel irony that the world had slapped him with.

The lavish, empty house had nothing to offer in response.

.

.

.

His hair was still flat.

It was still fucking flat.

He stomps his way to his classroom, silently fuming. A few students notice and recognize him along the way, but they’re not in his class so it lessens some of the irritation currently threatening to sweep him away. Most were sensing his murderous intent and stayed well out of the way.

Okay.

That he could deal with. 

It was familiar. Their scurrying helped quell some of the rage stewing deep in his guts. It not unfamiliar anger, it’s old, almost as old as Katsuki. Anger that had cooled and dimmed during his week with Jeanist only to rise up bubbling and hissing after his mother’s loving goodbye yesterday.

At least it didn’t leave much of a mark. Katsuki had been running low on concealer.

He stops in front of his class door. It’s open. Great. He fights the urge to turn around and walk away because skipping the first class after a week was not a choice he was willing to do. Especially if it meant facing Aizawa’s wrath. For someone who slept half the day, he was really strict about scheduling.

Taking a deep breath, Katsuki steps inside.

Every head snaps his way. Nearly half the class was already at their seats.

The reaction is immediate. Sero chortles and falls over. Mina makes a deflating noise like a popped balloon and sinks down on her chair like one. Kirishima’s face contorts into a variety of strange expressions Katsuki can’t even begin to describe, and his face looks as red as his shit hair.

Thankfully the other students that weren’t part of his circle of sentient barnacles acted with a little more respect and dignity. Yaotorozou simply looks away to her school book; Jirou makes a nod of sympathy and then returns to listening to her music. Mineta knows better than to open his little shit mouth and simply chuckles into his palm instead of letting out hysterical hyena laughter like Kaminari was doing.

Speaking of which…

“Oh bloody fuck, shut up already!” Katsuki roars at the other blond. 

Kaminari does a hiccuped sound in between bouts of laughter.

“You look ridiculous!” He wheezes, arm around his midsection. “I mean loooook-!” Anything else he says devolves into more laughter, which Seros goings. Mina just giggles hysterically from her seat, banging her fist against the desk as she rests her head on it. Her shoulders are shaking.

Katsuki fucking hopes she’s choking on her own spit.

“It looks n-nice!” Kirishima grins, but it’s as weak as his attempt at placating him. Katsuki glares, embarrassment flooding his cheeks red. 

Kaminari lets out a high-pitched wheeze that wouldn’t, in Katsuki’s opinion, sound out of place coming out of a seagull choking on a hot dog.

“He looks like a banker’s squirrelly little son!”

Wait, what? Oh that motherfuck- Katsuki feels his face become even redder. He must look like a tomato right now, and that mental image was not helping him feel less murderous. Embarrassment turns into rage at the seemingly inconspicuous remark. 

At his sides, nitroglycerin pops almost uncontrollably in his palms.

Realizing he’d touched a nerve, Kaminari whimpers when he takes a step forward, and from the corner of his vision he sees Kirishima move forward to block his way. Katsuki was well prepared to leap over the redhead to get at the other blonde, and he readied himself so as he stalks towards his terrified prey. 

Before he can reach out and throttle the little shit, a familiar voice rings out behind him:

“Bakugo.”

Immediately, all anger evaporates. It’s like a switch had gone off -suddenly Katsuki’s attention shifts, anger fracturing and falling away to something still furious but mildly so as he turns to the source of the calm, collected voice.

It’s Todoroki. He standings a mere feet or so away from him, hands at his side and backpack still strapped to his back. Katsuki spies Deku peeking out from behind Todoroki. The nerd looks at Katsuki’s hair, reddens, then looks away, likely realizing how much of a mistake talking about the horror show Jeanist had turned his hair into would be, especially for Deku.

Todoroki hums, softly so. It’s enough for Katsuki to ignore Deku’s curious eyes and strange expressions and focus on the taller boy. Scowling, he glares at his half brother. 

“What?”

“You got a haircut.”

“Fucking yes.” He hisses, crossing his arms defensively. Katsuki’s not certain why he should be explaining himself to his half brother of all people, but the words leave his mouth anyways. “Jeanist put that shit on me.”

Todoroki squints almost imperceptibly, absorbing that information. The silence is almost suffocating. Then he opens his stupid mouth and deadpans in the same tone one would contemplate the weather:

“It looks horrible.”

Katsuki freezes. The distant class murmurs that he’d only been half paying attention to suddenly stop. Someone makes a wheezing sound. Kaminari stopped his hyena impersonation.

Even Ashido’s mad giggling had stopped.

Katsuki stares at the tall bastard. He blinks once, twice, mind slowly cobbling together what was uttered -and when it does he bristles, a low, angry growl steadily rising up his throat because he’s already got enough shit on his plate and how dare the little shit say that, did he see his own hair?! It looked like someone dropped a bucket of bleach on half of his head!

He takes a step forward, then the next, nearly chest to chest with a utterly unbothered Todoroki and yeah, it was the shitty unconcerned expression like he was fully expecting Katsuki not to punch him that really made his blood boil.

“Oi, you shitty motherfuc-”

There’s a pair of hands on his head. 

Katsuki freezes, and that’s all he gets to say before a wave of mild heat washes over his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut reflexively, body locking in place instead of lashing out right away. He hears a quiet, hissing sound, and feels Todoroki’s long, slender fingers gliding over his flat hair gently. Digging into scalp, gently pressing against his skin in a way that had Katsuki’s mind spluttering. Even his hands failed to rise up to rip off the taller boy’s touch hovering halfway up.

It almost feels...nice. Like when Jeanist touched his hair.

(He guessed that’s why he didn’t smack Todoroki off right away.)

Wait, what was he doing? Katsuki’s mind is slow to move, slurred and placated by this unexpected comfort. The warm heat was odd. Wait. Todoroki was using his Quirk to ...to…

Wait a minute. He’s making steam. That means-

Todoroki pulls away, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Better?” He asks with that ever infuriating flat voice.

Katsuki reaches up to touch his hair. It’s light and fluffy again, spikes standing straight up, liberated from their prison. If he had to guess, they felt like they had been blow dried. He’ll have to check himself out in a mirror to assess how messy it looked, but it already felt and he guessed looked marginally better than the flat atrocity Jeanist had made out of them for the past week.

“...better?” Todoroki’s voice repeating his question dragged him out of his musing.

He blinks, eyes shifting down to look at the younger boy. Todoroki’s expression was softer than usual, a tiny shift in his mismatches eyes that Katsuki wouldn’t pick up on if he hadn’t spent most of the semester glaring at his nigh perfect poker face.

If anything, he looked kind of hopeful.

It makes him feel even more aware of the state of the room. The class was quiet. Dead quiet. Not a murmur, not a laugh in sight. They’re all staring -Kirishima especially, with an expression Katsuki doesn’t recognize. It’s darker than he’d come to expect from the usually airhead of a classmate. Something torn between confusion and melancholy.

Another thing he’s not sure about.

“...yeah.” Katsuki finally murmurs after a moment

Todoroki’s eyes proceed to narrow slightly, an upward crinkling that was definitely not a not-smile.

“Good.”

With that, the asshole turns his back to him and goes to his desk. Leaving Katsuki staring, feeling slightly lost, at his retreating back.

What the fuck.

Even Deku seemed lost, the nerd’s green eyes trailing after Todoroki like a helpless puppy. Katsuki watches him none too discreetly, for Deku’s attention shifts to him. He bristles internally, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

Deku opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, that annoying hopeful glint in his eyes sending Katsuki’s insides twisting with a mixture of old anger and frustration.

“Kacchan-”

Just as Katsuki debates what to do next -go to his seat or disregard that silent promise of ignoring Deku for the rest of the foreseeable future in favor of shutting the nerd up before he can finish his sentence- there’s a loud thud that brings his attention to the class door, alongside every other person in the class.

A familiar disheveled man was standing at the doorway, hands tucked into pockets and unbandaged face set in a disinterested scowl.

Their teacher freezes upon opening the door, taking in the scene. Aizawa takes a look at him, at the entire class and then his expression somehow grows even flatter and done with all of them.

...even though it is the first time their teacher had seen them in a week.

“Get to your seats. Now.”

Well, at least some things stayed the same.

Chapter Text

Eijirou was pretty sure he was being a selfish git.

On one hand, he’s happy that Bakugo was learning how to make friends. Goodness knows the blonde needed to find ways to communicate with others that didn’t end up with poor Midoriya running away screaming to hide behind All Might after the green haired boy had accidentally tripped him into a lake during practice.

...granted that was really really specific and happened like, only once? But his point still remained!

So while he was happy that Bakugo had a new friend, Kirishima was also miffed about how things were going.

...miffed.

Alright, maybe not the right word. 

Confused? That could work.

Annoyed? No, he wasn’t that much of a dick. At least he hoped he was better than that. Granted, he hadn’t expected his crush to spiral out of control this quickly.

At first it was just simple admiration. Bakugo was pretty strong and really easy on the eyes with his pale blond hair, slanted red eyes, narrow waist and strong shoulders. Combined with how studious and dedicated he was, how headstrong and stubborn he was about succeeding, it was hard for Kirishima to not feel awed. 

Despite how aggressive the other boy was, how terrifying he seemed to the rest of his classmates, Kirishima never felt scared of him. Maybe that might say something about Kirishima’s choices more than anything or maybe like Kaminari suggested there was something wrong with his head. Either way, there was no denying the butterflies he felt in his stomach every time Bakugo’s scarlet eyes meet his. 

This feeling had grown exponentially worse during the Sport Festival. When he’d carried Bakugo on his back during the Cavalry Race, the way Bakugo’s sheer anger and determination had smothered away all of his, Mina and Sero’s combined worries in the face of their near impossible odds had been nothing short of outstanding. And they had made it into the last round through, undeniably, the blond’s near rabid persistence.

….which brings him back to his current problem.

Eijirou hated how he was feeling about all of this. He should be better. He should be being a friend to Bakugo , not a passive aggressive ass waiting on the sidelines for a chance to scoop the blonde up as his own. And it was that belief that gave him strength -Bakugo was his friend , first and foremost. 

He’d been that the moment they went back to back and fought those villains at the USJ, Bakugo’s determination and vitriol when faced with adults intent on killing them spurning Kirishima forward.

It was an amazing feeling and even during the Festival after his defeat Eijirou couldn’t help but feel so happy about the whole thing.

….and then the end of the Festival arrived.

And something changed.

Radically.

Kirishima’s not sure what it was, exactly, but he could tangibly feel it. From one day to the next, a dynamic in the class had changed. Some strange tension between Bakudo and Todoroki, an invisible rope tying them together beyond what normal rivalry was. Or resentment, given how absolutely livid Bakugo had been about their match.

Still not a good enough reason to do what they did, Kirishima thinks as he walks down the stairs, only half heartedly listening to Sero, Mina and Kaminari’s heated conversation of where they should meet up after school.

Bakugo was silent at his side, a reserved presence amidst their chaotic group. It was rare to see the blonde so calm around other people. Looking back, Kirishima noted that it was happening more and more often. 

Another thing the Festival had changed.

“-I’m just saying, why did Mr. Aizawa even do that?” Kaminari’s long, exaggerated whine steers him away from those dark thoughts. “I was paying attention, he didn’t need to call me out!”

“You were doodling in the margins of your textbook.” Bakugo’s nonchalant voice cuts through. He’s looking at his phone. Eijirou wondered what he was reading.

Kaminari holds his hands against his chest and makes a wounded sound. “Ow, no need to call me out. That hurts.”

“Not as much as standing for eight hours serving burgers for minimum wage.” Bakugo said without missing a beat and yeah, Eijirou had to wince because damn, that was harsh. Bakugo continues, not even looking up. “That’s what you’re going to end up doing if you don’t get your shit together.”

Mina whistles. Kaminari makes a face.

“...you wound me. Deeply.”

Bakugo finally lifts his eyes from his phone to look at the other blond. The sunlight almost make it look like he has fire in those carmine orbs. Its endearing.

“Die.”

Mina and Sero snicker. Eijirou quickly finds himself following. Just the deadbeat way Bakugo said it made the whole thing tie together. He’s not sure if the blond had intended it to be funny, but with the lack of ensuing blow up from the other teen he guessed Bakugo didn’t care.

“So, Kaminari’s bad life choices aside what are you guys doing this weekend?” Mina spoke up, disregarding the garbled squawking sound said teenager made at her words. “I know that the exams are next week, but I think it's a good idea to unwind for at least a few hours you know?”

Eijirou found himself nodding at this. They’d been stretched thin lately with work, so a bit of downtime would help keep their minds sharp ...or at least, sane. 

Jesus christ Aizawa was a slave driver.

“I like the way you’re thinking.” He agrees, stretching one of his arms. “So what, arcane? Movies?” Eijirou suggest.

Mina’s lips are split open by her wide, victorious grin. “I’m thinking shopping!”

Eijirou can’t fight the snort. “Of course its shopping.”

His childhood friend waves her arms at him. “Shhh, don’t question it. It’s a good idea!” She turns to the rest of the group and chatters excitedly. “What do you guys think?”

Sero bobs his head. “I could go for that.”

“As long as it gets me out of the house I’m good!” Kaminari pipes up. Alright, with Eijirou added, that made four out of five. Which left…

...the hardest to convince for last.

Chuckling to hide his nerves, Eijirou looks at said explosive teenager. “How about you, Bakubro?”

The dead eye glare was kind of deserved.

“Don’t give a fuck.” Bakugo responds grumpily. He tucks his phone into his pocket. “I’m studying. I’m not fucking getting behind.”

Aw, fuck.

“Oh come on, Dynamite!” Mina whines.

Kirishima feels himself deflate. Okay, maybe they needed to change strategy.

“Well, you don’t need to stay the whole outing,” He speaks up insistently, trying really hard to not sound desperate despite the fact that oh wait, he kind of was. Great going, Eijirou. Bakugo tended to be a bit oblivious about other people, but surely he wouldn’t miss that. “...you’re going to study for finals, right? We won’t take much of your time bro, promise!”

Bakugo gave him a flat stare.

“...we?”

Kirishima jerks a finger back, towards their group of friends. Bakugo’s eyes narrow imperceptibly. He’s contemplating -gauging the pros and cons of coming with them, there’s no doubt about it.

Kirishima was proud of being able to say out everyone in the class -sans Midoriya, of course- he was the best at translating Baku-speak. Though it seemed like his spot was being contended by Todoroki.

And just as he thinks that, Kirishima spots the dual haired boy from the corner of his vision. 

Panic creeps up his throat. The other boy seemed to be heading their way -specifically, towards a certain blond boy. If he ask, there’s no doubt Todoroki would whisk away Bakugo. The blond went far too easily with the taller boy, dumping anything he’d been doing previously without hesitation. Yes, he grumbled, but the way Todoroki could just stroll in and snatch him away from his group of friends had something ugly eating away at Eijirou’s insides.

Against odds, Todoroki suddenly stops several feet away, regarding them carefully. His eyes are slightly narrowed, a nearly imperceptive movement that eerily reminds Kirishima of Bakugo for some odd reason. In fact, the way his eyes shifted quickly among them was oddly familiar. 

Weird, but dismissable -especially at the prospect that Bakugo might just ditch them all to go hang out with the taller boy.

And Bakugo quickly does spot Todoroki.

The silent communication was all too obvious.

They seem to exchange a glance, then the taller boy turns away and walks off, heading towards the main gate. A gate where Midoriya and Uraraka were standing and trying, unsuccessfully might Kirishima add, to look busy while glancing multiple times their way.

Two beans in a pod, those two.

“....soooo, you’re coming or not bro?”

Eijirou blinks at Kaminari’s voice. It suddenly brought him back to the present. Right. Bakugo. Getting him on board with their weekend plans. That was a thing.

“I’m not.” Bakugo replied firmly, standing his ground. “I have other things to do.”

“...you just want to kick Momo off her pedestal, don’t you?”

“Since when do you know the word pedestal?”

“Oi! That hurts! I know words! The best words!”

“Clearly!”

“Aw come on. Ashido help me out here!”

Eijirou tuned the conversation out at this point, His mind was still stuck on what Bakugo said.

Other things to do.

For some reason, at his words Eijiru can’t help but look at where Todoroki had left, and back at Bakugo who was trying to fend off Mina and Kaminari’s insistent attempts at getting him to come along. He’s certain they won’t get anywhere.

That whole silent conversation was odd. What was that, twin telepathy?

.

.

.

“C’mon, Todoroki! You gotta at least say something!”

“I don't see why.”

“It’s Bakugo!” Uraraka quipped, bouncing in front of Todoroki. She almost seemed to be floating. “You even touched his hair and he didn’t give you a black eye!”

“I don’t think comparing me to Kaminari is a good idea.”

That’s the exact moment Izuku knew his friend just stepped into the live trap Urarakka placed -and it sprung, if the wide, slightly worrying grin stretching her face was anything to base himself off. Izuku feels the blood drain from his face.

Oh, Todoroki, no.

“Why not? He’s Bakugo’s friend right?” Uraraka stressed the friend word, eyeing Todoroki like she’d just captured him. “Like you are?”

Todoroki regarded her for the longest time. Then his gaze travelled forward -and stayed there, as they kept walking together towards the campus’ main gate. It was clear he was attempting to ignore her.

Uraraka puffs up her cheeks at his reaction. Alarmed, Izuku realized she’s about to jump into the metaphorical deep end of the topic...and would likely end up with her feet encased by ice accidentally. Her natural determination would be her undoing at this rate.

And so, Izuku slides in between the two by speaking up:

“But…” He starts, shooting Uraraka a look to keep quiet which she does, thankfully. “...you are friends with him, right? Since the Festival?” Izuku murmured. At first his question was more to offer an easy way out for his friend, but as it left his mouth it twisted into something more blunt. He could only blame himself for that, as part of Izuku wanted no, needed confirmation.

Izuku wanted, also, to know how he managed it. 

How he’d cracked Kacchan shell when he never was able to.

At the mention of the Sports Festival, Todoroki’s expression grows colder and more reserved. He straightens his back, the motion reminding Izuku of how much height difference there was between Todoroki and the two of them. 

The Todoroki heir looked down at them with a calm, placid expression, and yet it was far more reserved than it had any right to be.

“My relationship with Bakugo is none of your business, Midoriya.” The dual-haired boy told them sternly. He regarded Izuku’s first friend with slightly more narrowed eyes. “Uraraka, I would prefer if you would also drop it.” 

With that, he accelerates his pace and walks away. Shoulders low, back straight. The picture of determined resilience. Despite the effort the dual-haired boy made to look well put together, Izuku could see the tension in his shoulders. 

Todoroki was uncomfortable. 

Dejected and somewhat stunned, he stops to watch his new friend walk off.  It was the first time he’d managed to annoy Todoroki into leaving since the Festival.

“That went well.” Uraraka piped up at his side.

Izuku sighs, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Did you have to push it?”

“What?”

“He’s not going to say anything.” His shoulders slump. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Uraraka frowns. “...during the internship, right?”

“He’s not going to crack.” Izuku tells her, frustrated. “I don’t think forcing it will make him talk. I -I don’t think anything is going to make him talk.”

Todoroki probably knew enough about forcing to last a lifetime.

Uraraka steps closer to him. She’s biting her lower lip. There’s guilt in her face, but something else too. Something stronger. Worry.

“You’re frustrated.”

And just like that, Izuku feels something inside himself snap.

“Of course I’m frustrated. He did what I couldn’t do for years just like-” He snaps his fingers. “ -that ! Kacchan never approached anyone but now they’re all buddy buddy and it’s just…” He deflates.

Uraraka hovers close, frowning.

“Deku?”

“Is…” The thought was an old one, one he’d contemplated for years but never really wanted to admit it no matter how true it ran inside his head. “...is it just me?” The words come out too wet for his liking.

Uraraka’s expression falter and he looks away, has to, ashamed by how his reaction was affecting her.

So he doesn't notice her moving until she's against him. She was warm and soft against him, wrapping him up tightly in her strong arms. Initially shocked by the spontaneity of her hug, Izuku leaned into her embrace, trying to fight off the sniffs. And just like that, the words flowed out, things he’d never told anyone, not even his mother or All Might:

“We were friends. Best friends.” He murmurs against her neck. She smells nice. It was comforting.  “And then it just... something happened.”

Uraraka swallows against him. “...what ...what do you mean by that?

“Do you know the feeling that you know something, but you can’t prove it?” Uraraka nods against his neck wordlessly, and he can’t stop himself to talking on and on.“That’s...that’s what I feel like with Kacchan. We were friends, but then something changed.” He swallows. “Something broke.”

“Broke?”

“In Kacchan.” 

Her breath hitched. “...when?”

“I don’t know.”

That was a lie.

He knew exactly when things changed.

They’d been four. Their class had only just begun getting their Quirks, and Kacchan just got his.

He’d looked so proud that day, standing there with hands that seemed to be holding fireworks. Despite his own misery at not having a Quirk yet -Kacchan had been one of the lasts, and with him getting his it only left Izuku and a handful of other children- Izuku had loved watching how Kacchan’s Quirk bathed the room in yellow and orange, like the flames of a warm campfire.

Explosion was perfectly suited to his friend. Izuku was sure Kacchan couldn’t have been any prouder.

...and then the next day came.

No fireworks, no loud demands for attention, nothing. Kacchan showed up that day and was as quiet as a mouse. He’d stayed in a corner and ignored everyone who tried interacting with him, teachers and students alike.

Izuku remembered clearly the one and only time that day that their eyes had met.

Kacchan’s eyes had been dull and so very lifeless, devoid of any sense of self. So terrifying that Izuku couldn’t help but avoid him for the rest of the day.

After that, things changed. 

The cruelty that had begun to show before now increased tenfold. Kacchan seemed to delight in fighting for the simple pleasure of it and each time it was the most terrifying thing to behold. When he grinned after a fight with another classmate, or a kid in a grade higher than his -the blond’s face would twists into something feral, something nearly unhinged, and beholding that grin always left Izuku with a feeling of wrongness.

Sometimes he catches glimpses of the old friend in Kacchan.

Scattered they were, but sometimes Kacchan stood up for him in Aldera. Izuku remembered long ago that once occasion Tsubasa had pulled on his hair and nearly tossed his backpack into the garbage chute. Kacchan had calmly walked by, grabbed Tsubasa by the wing and thrown him into a desk.

Every bully in the school had left him alone for an entire week after that.

Izuku had tried then -and in every opportunity Kacchan had showed some signs of humanity- to approach the other boy, unsuccessfully. It would only result in spitted words, punches and crackling nitroglycerin. Eventually Izuku had given up any and all approach of the blond.

It never stopped him from speculating.

Kacchan hated him. Or at least, disliked him. On a good day, the blond treated him like the gum at the bottom of his shoes.

Sometimes, in the dark when he’s half asleep with only his own misery after a day of Kacchan’s spiteful comments, a thought occurred to him. It was a ugly one; that someone had hurt Kacchan when he was a kid.

Reached in and irreparably shattered his ability to trust in others.

It was a terrible, horrible, nauseating thought, but when he thought of then and now he can’t help but think of it as true.

And when he thinks of that day, with the Sludge Villain-

How Kacchan had told him to kill himself. The eerie, detached calmness of how he’d said it -Izuku didn’t know why, but it felt like Kacchan was just a mouthpiece, and the horrible twisting words directed towards him were another’s.

But whom?

Kacchan had no friends. The few students he was around in Aldera were always ditched as soon as it was acceptable because simply, Kacchan did not make friends. So there was no one there that could influence Kacchan into saying something so horribly twisted.

It left the one other option he was aware of, and it was dubious at best. His mother sometimes commented about Kacchan’s mother, Bakugo Mitsuki. A model, entrepreneur and generally high class lady. Very well put together and polite, Inko had told him once after encountering her on her way to an obligatory parent-teacher conference.

Izuku had searched her up on Moogle once. Kacchan was the spitting image of her, down to the little furrow of her brows.

Except Kacchan’s was more pronounced. More hateful. More intimidating. Less fake and more of something else, someone else, a welt of repressed rage that bubbled and feastered behind those scarlet eyes.

Izuku knew Kacchan had no father. He hadn’t pressed his mother about it, but the rumor was that Bakugo Mitsuki had gotten a donor and raised Kacchan alone. There was never a father in the picture -nowhere near. He could still remember how on Father’s Day when all the teachers would hold exercises for them to prepare cards for their parents, Kacchan would sit there and stare at his desk.

One kid once mocked him for it. He’d suffered a broken nose for his troubles. 

After that, no one bothered Kacchan on Father’s Day. He stayed in his corner alone.

...except when they were four. Before their Quirks.

That first year, Kacchan done a card. With that reserved, shielded excitement the other boy reserved for things he cared about but didn’t want to show it, as if he was expecting the teacher or the other students to get in the way of his fun.

Every time Izuku remembers that memory, he has to wonder where that card ended up.

(And why Kacchan stopped right after.)

.

.

.

Shouto doesn’t get a chance to approach Bakugo on the topic that had been burning at his lips since that fateful hospital night until half a week before the Final Exams. 

To put it bluntly, they had been overworked and overwhelmed.

Aizawa was running them into an early grave with training, drills and tests in preparation for the physical and written exams. Each night he loses a few hours to sleep to studying, and the exhaustion was starting to wear at Todoroki, making him more irritable.

He’s far from the only one.

Bakugo was far snappier this week -and as so, when the opportunity to spar against each other came up, the blond had all but jumped on it. 

Shouto had been hoping to have some time to spend with his half brother, but wrestling wasn’t exactly what he was wishing or expecting. 

Nor was the punch Bakugo managed to land on his face within the first ten seconds.

Bakugo was strong but Shouto had the height and mass advantage here. Years of personalized training against an opponent that was far bigger and stronger than his brother guided him to shove the blonde’s face into the ground and sit on his back, hands pinned on his back.

The older teen wiggles like a demented worm under him, gnashing his teeth and spitting curses.

“Get off, motherfucker!”

“Call it.”

“Ne-fucking-ver!”

Shouto knew he should never underestimate Bakugo’s ability to cram curses into even the shortest of sentences, but even that was worth raising his eyebrows at.

Bakugo’s struggles renew tenfold. Shouto feels himself slip off his brother’s back. Oh, that’s not good.  With a surge of panic he goes to right himself -and its at that moment that Bakugo twists, bending his torso towards him whilst fighting to get his arms free. He was determined, seemingly tireless in his quest.

Shouto goes to wrestle him back down when a sudden sharp, bright pain on his left forearm had him yelping rather loudly, his voice breaking into an embarrassing pitch. 

What the-

He barely looks down to catch a  glimpse of narrowed, angry ruby red before Bakugo lets go and surges forward, bashing his head against his already hurting face.

Shouto, obviously, lets go.

The next thing he knew, he’s grabbed by a shoulder and hauled out of the fighting ring, effectively forfeiting the match. Shouto tastes dirt and rolls several times before stopping, stunned.

Wobbling to his feet, he turns around.

Bakugo was heaving where he’d stood, arms still raised in a throwing motion from when he’d launched Shouto like a missile out of the ring. Sweat rolled down his face and neck heavily; even from here, Shouto could smell the caramel-like sweetness of his Quirk.

He remembers the first time he’d smelled it. How strange of a scent for such an angry, stubborn person. From what Shouto had uncovered from Midoriya -whom, as it turned out, was a fantastic source of Bakugo facts as long as Shouto didn’t show his hand too much- this sweet smell was due to Bakugo’s Quirk.

Another oddity, to have such a scent coming from a Quirk that deadly.

“Bakugo wins.” Aizawa’s voice called out, followed by several whoops and groans from Shouto’s classmates.

“Aww, he almost had him!”

“Why did Todoroki let go? He was winning!”

"How the fuck did Bakugo yeet him that far? That’s crazy!”

And that reminded him...

It only takes a look down for things to click. Befuddled, Shouto stares down at the bright red mark on his forearm. Then looks up at his teacher; Aizawa was standing by the ring, arms crossed and utterly uninterested. His grey capture scarf hid most of his face.

“He bit me.” Shouto found himself saying, not showing any emotion but still feeling utterly bewildered at the absurdity of what just happened. It didn’t hurt, but it was surprising.

From inside the fight ring, Bakugo hissed noisily like an agitated snake. Shouto doesn’t stray his gaze towards his brother, rather regarding his teacher expectantly.

Eraserhead’s face was of stone.

“Get off the field. Midoriya, Kirishima, you’re up.”

.

.

.

After training, he was able to catch up to Bakugo. 

Getting changed in record time, he hurries out of the changing room and looks around the campus. It’s the end of the day and Yuuei was slowly being emptied of its students, so it was the perfect time to approach his half brother.

...who he finds pretty quickly, leaning against an old, sizable tree at a respectable distance from the main entrance. Slouched almost nonchalantly against the tree trunk, it seemed like he wasn’t waiting for Shouto. At least, his half-brother made it look like he wasn’t.

One thing Shouto quickly learned was while Bakugo said or acted one thing, he could often mean the complete opposite.

As he walks towards the blond, red eyes lock onto his. 

Bakugo had noticed him. For a moment Shouto allows himself to look at his brother. The sharp, heart-shaped face, fluffy blond hair and furrowed brows. The tall, but not too tall stature. He looked completely and utterly different from Shouto himself.

There’s nothing of their father in Bakugo’s physical appearance. 

How he acted, though...

(Didn’t that thought make rage simmer under his skin.)

Instead of voice any of that out, he walks up to the other boy -who was waiting for him to approach with narrowed eyes -and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“What was that?”

Alright, maybe he didn’t want to say it in such an accusatory tone. Bakugo’s face twists into a scowl.

“I was fighting back!” The blond hisses, arms crossing.

Shouto regards him for a moment, then opens his mouth.  “You didn’t have to bite me for it.”

Bakugo’s shoulders hunched defensively. 

“I won, bitch.”

Shouto lets the insult slide. It would be far from productive to persist.

At the lack of response, Bakugo picks up his bag, slings it over a shoulder and starts walking. Shouto, not wanting to be left behind, falls in step next to the older teenager. Neither of them speak, which wasn’t unusual.

Shouto normally liked the silence. Not today though -he had plans. And those plans revolved around trying to spend more time with his half brother.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Bakugo doesn’t even take a moment to think it through. “Studying.”

“Oh.” Not unexpected. 

Silence.

Then, Bakugo tentatively asks: “...and you?”

Even if it was asked halfheartedly, like the blond is not sure what to say, his question still made warmth bloom in Shouto’s chest. Small steps are still steps, after all. What he had with Bakugo was still fragile, so fragile, but like hell Shouto would give it up. He’ll fight Endeavor if need be.

The old man already took enough away from them both.

“I’m going to visit my mother. It’s visiting hours.”

Bakugo is silent. “Huh.” He says after a pause, more reserved than Shouto expected of him. “Right. Forgot about that.”

The way he said it was unexpectedly nonchalant. It was different from the times Shouto mentioned his mother to Uraraka, Midoriya or Iida ...and while some part of him expected it -this was Bakugo he was dealing with- the deadness of his voice made something shift within his chest.

“....would you like to meet her?”

Bakugo freezes and Shouto suddenly realize what he’d just said. Oh. 

Oh.

….crap. Even Shouto realizes that he’d crossed some form of invisible line. He swallows, apprehension tingling up his spine. If asking that, offering such a thing was taken badly by the blond, it could damage the delicate bridge Shouto had worked hard to make between the two of them.

Bakugo suddenly snorts. 

“Does she even know about me?”

Huh. It’s...more bitter than he expected it to be. But it's better than yelling.

“I don’t know.” Todoroki responded honestly because he hadn’t, in fact, given it much thought.  “I...I haven’t asked her about you yet…..she’s not in the best mental state.”

Which was true, but the reason he had no approached the topic of his half brother to his mother was more due to his own hesitance, and the fact that mentioning anything related to his father had the poor woman clamming up for the rest of the visit. 

Shouto would, eventually, do it.

“You don’t need to come see her.” He continues, thinking for a way around this problem. “We can meet up afterwards. Unless your mother might have a problem with it.”

Alright, not the best way to slide the subject in, but no one ever called Shouto a master manipulator.

Bakugo’s steps falter, taken off guard by the topic.

“My mom?” The way he said mom had something inside Shouto squirming. The word came out almost alien from Bakugo’s lips, like he’s not used to saying it. “She’s just an old hag.”

“So she won’t care?”

Something dark passes through Bakugo’s eyes.

“I’ll have to actually be around her for that shit, Todoroki.” The older boy murmurs, so low and quiet that Shouto barely caught it. 

Just like that, the explosive teenager walks away. No another word left his lips, no goodbye, nothing. Just a cold back aimed towards him that put an instant end to their tentative conversation.

Shouto stares at his retreating back. He’s not sure why he feels so numb. He already sense there was something going on with Bakugo’s mother. There had to be.

And it was clear that his half brother didn’t want to give him the opportunity to pick at it.

I’m sorry Bakugo. But I can’t.

.

.

.

He’s on his way back to the estate when he receives a message. It’s from Bakugo, and it only has a scant few words and a location tag.

Sunday. 2 PM.

A quick check of the location shows him that it's a shopping mall. Shouto looks down at his phone, torn. He feels the faintest prickle on his lips, an unexpected urge to lips the corners up that he has to fight back.

Looks like there was still some hope.

.

.

.

“What’s up with those kids?”

Aizawa fights the urge to pinch the arch of his nose. Not this again.

“How would I know.” He retorts, not even looking up from his laptop. “They’re teenagers.” He replies, spitting out the word like it was an explanation -which, having spent years working with adolescent heroes in training, he was experienced enough to know it was an explanation in and out of itself.

He can hear Hizashi making a face at him, the other man unimpressed by his response. They’re the only two in the teachers’ room thankfully.

“I mean, you’re their teacher?”

Aizawa takes his eyes off the screen to fix the other man with a look. “Their interpersonal problems do not matter to me.” He retorts plainly, returning his attention to his work. The essays weren’t going to grade themselves after all. “As long as they do well in my class, I do not care.”

“Wowza. That’s cold, Shouta!” 

A chair is kicked up next to his desk; Hizashi dramatically drapes himself all over it like a model. Aizawa side eyes his theatrics. He’s spent far too long around the man though to feel any sort of true irritation at his dramatic actions though. He has to wonder if it could classify as some form of Stockholm Syndrome.

“But really, what’s going on with em?” Hizashi presses, nudging his elbow with his own. The pressing had one of Aizawa’s eyes twitching. “I saw that fight from the main building. Goodness if I didn’t know any better, they were squabbling like siblings.”

What.

Aizawa pauses hi work completely and turns to his companion. Hizashi returns his gaze with a smile -the idiot was probably content with finally having his full attention.

“Bakugo and Todoroki.” Aizawa clarifies, eyeing his companion dubiously. “As if.”

“Well, you can’t deny you’re curious.”

Aizawa opens his mouth, then pauses. Well, he was right. At least partially.

Because he’s not sure whether or not he should give Todoroki extra marks for somehow handling their second problem child. The way he managed to turn things around with Bakugo was nothing short of a glitch in the Matrix, so to speak.

The moment he’d seen Bakugo in the Entrance Exam, Aizawa had known he would be a challenge.

The first few weeks of classes had only cemented that belief. If he had the authority and was certain the boy wouldn’t outright refuse -something that legally, he was allowed to since his moments acting out had yet to be classified as dangerous to himself and others- Aizwa would have tossed the brat to Hound Dog for counseling at the end of the first week.

It was clear to any trained eye that Bakugo was an unstable, uncooperative, unpredictable mess . 

The kid had the mouth of a sailor and the attitude to back it up, and his Quirk only made things worse. Midoriya Izuku’s interactions every day to who was supposedly his childhood friend were enough of pointer that something wasn’t right. Aizawa didn’t know what, exactly, but there was something there.

Either it was a home situation, or lack of guidance or just Bakugo being that much of a little shit as a child and not receiving enough consequences for his actions. Any of these could go -and there might be more than Aizawa could spend days pondering about. In and all, this kid was a mess and the fact he’d managed to not end up in a detention center for troubled teenagers was a miracle.

...which was why Best Jeanist’ email at the end of the internship week was a surprise.

The Number Four Hero had actually complimented Bakugo in his message, going on about the boy’s dedication and fast work. It was a surprise. The part where the man had written ‘despite my hesitation to trust him with any form of sustenance’ had been a bit confusing, but the overall vibe of the email was positive. Glowing, almost, with the man going on about Bakugo’s cooperation during the week. 

All which was a far cry from what Aizawa had expected. Honestly, when he’d opened the email he was ready to see anything from a scolding letter, a bill for all the damages and maybe a restraining order.

Best Jeanist kindly but insistently requesting for the kid to come back next semester was not what he would have expected to see in even the most positive of scenarios.

You’re always up for taking the craziest cases, aren’t you Tsunagu?

“Weeeelll?”

Right.

“Like I’ve said before, it's not my problem.” Aizawa replies with certainty.

Hizashi looks at him, eyebrow raised. “But?”

Aizawa purses his lips.

Between the break-in and the USJ catastrophe, he’s not sure what to think. Both could have been much worse than they ended up being, and so far Yuuei had been lucky that the villains weren’t particularly organized. Who knew what could happen in the future? Shigaraki and his League of Villains did not seem to be the kind of criminals that would scuttle away and disappear from their lives after one defeat.

The decay-Quirk user was persistent. Stubborn. Childishly irrational.

Dangerous.

There were many things that could go wrong this year. Too many things. Aizawa knew one thing with certainty though -that he would be there to make sure his class would graduate. He already had the scars to prove that conviction.

“...if I see that this is affecting their schooling or health.” He says, turning dark eyes to Hizashi. The other man’s not smiling anymore, instead regarding him with a seriousness rarely seen outside of combat situations. “Then it will be my problem.”

Chapter Text

He tugs his hoodie further up, hiding his wild hair.

They ended up agreeing to meet in one of the busier shopping centers. Big stores, bustling crowds, all the same deal. Being around this many people had Katsuki gritting his teeth as he sat there by the fountain waiting impatiently for the other half of this miserable little party to show up.

Kirishima and the shitstains are probably somewhere like this spending all their money. Ashido had to be, given her impulsive nature. Kaminari wasn’t much better. A part of Katsuki wondered what their outings must be like. The most he’d been out with friends was in middle school and those people could hardly have been considered friends.

Acquaintances, a healthy person would say.

For Katsuki? Fucking leeches.

He’s not sure exactly why he’s doing this anyways. He only gets a set amount each week to not fucking starve to death so any leftovers had been preciously hoarded over the years -and today, in all likelihood, a chunk of that change was going to fly out because of social pressure.

God he hated his fucking life.

So far no one had recognized him thanks to the big, angry red beanie hat he’d thrown on his head, hiding his hair. It had been a hat he’d found in one of his preferred second hand shops a few years ago, and the elasticity of the hat survived a few more years. Then again it had been practically clean and new when he found it ...which meant someone got it and then never wore it.

Fucking bastard.

Grumbling, he looks down at his phone. Todoroki hadn’t answered his last message, though he had popped one fifteen minutes before saying he was on his way from the hospital his mother -so where was he now?

He shifts on the smooth marble of the fountain’s edge, grumbling as he stuffs the phone into his pants. He’s wearing the ones Jeanist had gifted him, less so because it was the last one he had clean but more because of despite how stupidly tight these things were, they were deceptively comfortable. Over his torso he’d thrown on one of his black sleeveless shirts and a pale grey jacket. It kept him relatively warm without getting him baked -because of fucking course of all the things he had to inherit from the dickbag, it was a high body temperature.

At least he was moderately fireproof.

It made it somewhat of an equivalent exchange. His hands would be a calloused mess because of his Quirk otherwise-

“Bakugo.”

Speak of the devil. With a little bit of the delay but finally! Katsuki turns his head to his right, voice rising as an irritated snarl:

“About fucking time you showed u-”

His reprimand dies in his throat at what he sees. Todoroki was standing in front of him.

Wearing a dress shirt. 

And dress pants.

And a black jacket.

And what looked like leather shoes worth a few years of Katsuki’s hoarded money.

“What the fuck.”

Todoroki has the gall to tilt his head at him. “What?”

Katsuki squints. “I said wear something nice not get ready for prom.”

His half brother makes that stupid owlish blink. “Prom?”

Katsuki sighs and sinks back into his seat. Turning around and drowning himself in the fountain sounded right about good now -hell anything sounded better than dealing with this. And to make matters worse, Todoroki speaks up in a careful but patient tone:

“Does it inconvenience you?” The taller boy asks, his expression remaining as complex as that of a fish. It was infuriating. “....I can go home and change if that’s what you’d-”

Katsuki holds up a hand.

“Nope.” He throws himself up on his feet, losing balance for a microsecond before catching himself. Todoroki eyes him, a glint of something akin to dubiousness in those mismatches eyes.

Which reminded Katsuki of something very important. Something that he had to address before they did anything today because like hell he was going to get his face slapped on the newspaper. Especially when it was all the fault of a certain someone who did not understand the concept of standing out and blending in.

And how did Katsuki know that?

Well.

The answer was white and red and for anyone to behold. Hell, Katsuki spied a few of the passerbies making double takes at Todoroki, who was none the wiser about how fucking identifiable he was to the general populace. 

Worse so than Katsuki, given his fucking candy cane hair.

He feels too old for this.

“Also motherfuck- ” He reaches up for his beanie hat, ripping it off his head as he advances towards Todoroki. The other boy grows tense as he approaches at a rapid pace, arm raised. Before he could do anything, Katsuki reaches out and slaps the beanie hat over his head and pulls, dragging it far enough that it covers most of his shitty mismatched hair. “-could it have killed you to cover up?!”

In his irritation he ended up covering the upper half of Todoroki’s face, leaving only his small nose and his mouth poking out. Katsuki steps back, arms crossed as he watches the other boy reach up and carefully tug the hat up enough to get his vision back.

His mismatched eyes blink down at him, confused.

“...thank you?”

“Thank the nonexistent gossip articles that would have popped up tomorrow if I didn’t.” Katsuki snaps back, turning away. He waves his hand back dismissively at his half-brother. “You’re a goddamn eyesore, Icy Hot.” 

More so than I am.

Red and white hair was far more recognizable than spiky blond, after all.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, keeping his tone even as they start walking without a clear direction. Todoroki falls in step at his side, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“I don’t know.”

-then why the fuck did you invite me?!

“I don’t need new equipment.”

“Well me fucking either.” Too broke for that shit anyways . “I’m good on clothes and school shit too.”

Their feet falter.

“...maybe we can just…” Todoroki pauses, considering. “...walk around?”

For a moment, Katsuki considers just turning around and leaving. But then something i him puts its foot down and hell, he’s already here, might as well finish the suffering.

“...fine.”

...this is going swell. Why am I here anyways?

Katsuki’s steps falters. Right. Really. Why was he here anyways?

“Bakugo?”

“Fuck it.” He mutters, more to himself than the boy at his side. “Let’s get a fucking coffee or something.”

It made it more likely that Todoroki would want to talk but honestly at this point, Katsuki was past the point of dreading the possibility of such a conversation. At least until it reared its head for real. 

Well, that was a problem for future Katsuki, not him.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Fuck me.” Katsuki parrots back with a snort.  “ I don’t drink coffee. Sure. Everyone fucking drinks that shit.”

“Bakugo I’m not lying-”

“-what, have you ever had one, even?”

Todoroki was suspiciously silent. It’s the kind of silence that is an answer in and of itself. Katsuki’s steps falter and he turns his head towards his half sibling, something dropping in his chest.

“Seriously?”

The taller boy’s nose crinkles as he looks back innocently. “Seriously what, Bakugo?”

“Don’t play that fucking card on me.” Katsuki hisses.

“Cards-?”

Oh fuck no.

“Zip it.” He barks and Todoroki does so almost immediately. “That fucking does it. We’re getting you a fucking coffee, you fucking strawberry cheesecake.”

“...cheesecake?”

Katsuki had to resist the urge to scream.

.

.

.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“This is a fucking cosmic joke!”

Katsuki has both of his arms extended towards him, head nearly hitting the table from how much his spine is curved forward. He knows he’s making a scene and other patrons are staring, but right now he can’t give a flying fuck about it.

Todoroki, subsequently, looks completely and utterly fucking inapologetic sitting there in his both, fork holding up another piece of strawberry cheesecake towards his mouth. There’s a plate next to him from the last one he’d all but inhaled within the first few bites.

Three other small plates line the table, a small assortment of desserts they’d ordered in Katsuki’s quest to educate his idiot of a classmate to the fact there were other kinds of food other than soba.

Todoroki, as it turned out, took that lesson like a duck to water. 

“I ordered that as a fucking joke,” Katsuki hisses with a waver in his voice that sounded far too much like a hysterical giggle for his taste. He leans back, pressing a hand to his face. Todoroki, the fucking gremlin, starts eating again. “-how the fuck is that your favorite shit?”

The white and red haired teen is halfway through the tiny cheesecake before he finally speaks up again. 

“What’s wrong with this?”

Katsuki nearly chokes, and he’s barely touched his spicy mocha. “What do you mean you don’t see it -your fucking favorite desert is like you!” He almost splutters, jabbing an indignant fork towards his sibling.

Todoroki blinks. His eyes are nearly cross eyed from looking at the offending cutlery aimed at his face. Katsuki hisses; he thinks it's going to be a habit now, with how much hell the other boy was putting him through. Maybe he’s going to turn into a snake if it kept up. Or maybe he had some Mutant Quirk in his ancestry.

Who the fuck knew anymore.

“I will shove your face into the cake.” He states bluntly, setting his fork down and glowering at the other boy. “You can’t tell me you don’t fucking see it.”

“That wouldn’t -oh.” Todoroki made a quiet noise of realization, tilting his head down to look at his meal. “The red and white. My hair. Of course.”

Of course.

Katsuki wanted to rip his own hair out. Did it really take you that long to figure that out?

He chooses to not continue with this, and instead turns his attention to his coffee and pastry. Todoroki may have decided to buy five from the shop, but Katsuki wasn’t made of money so he couldn't afford to splurge. The tiny coffee cake and mocha were a luxury as far as he was concerned.

Rarely did he have the opportunity to have some caffeine, seeing how it messed with his Quirk. Getting dehydrated when his Quirk relied on him being able to sweat was a bad fucking idea.

Todoroki doesn’t choose to talk either. It’s strange how easily they fall into a silent lull. It’s disarmingly easy, alarming even. Katsuki’s not sure he’d ever felt so...mellow. Was this what it felt like to be relaxed? He had no fucking idea.

This is weird.

Over his cup of coffee, he eyes the way the taller teenager nibbles on the last of his cheesecake mournfully. He looked like he was about to ask for thirds. It made Katsuki want to frown -didn’t he realize he had those half-eaten ones on the side from taste testing? Was he just going to fill up on cheesecake and leave those to rot?

The mere idea made him feel vaguely scandalized.

You better fucking eat it, Icy Hot.

Biting his lower lip, he tries to start the conversation again. “So. You visited your ol- mom.”

“I did.”

Katsuki fights the urge to raises his arms on either side of him in a really?! Motion. He really doesn’t like the idea of having to drag it out of the other. It was Todoroki’s choice to invite him out. 

He could at least do some of the fucking work, since Katsuki wasn’t really known for holding a decent conversation.

“... and?”

“I got her lilies from a flower shop. It was a nice assortment.” Todoroki says softly, looking down at the tiny portion of cake left. It should be gone by now, Katuski thinks. “She seemed to like it.”

Katsuki’s talking before he can stop his stupid mouth from running. “Get a plant.”

Todoroki’s head snaps up. There’s a crinkle of his brows. 

“Sorry?”

“A plant.” He repeats candidly. Katsuki pauses just enough to take a small sip of his drink. It’s warm and sweet and just what he needs right now to calm his nerves because fuck, he wasn’t supposed to say shit. “Get her a flower pot or some shit. Flower assortment are pretty and shit, but they die fairly quickly. She’ll probably get sad as fuck when they start to wilt.”

“Oh.” Todoroki falters, looking down again. “I didn’t think about that.” He murmurs more quietly.

Katsuki fights a grimace “It’s not your fucking fault. Bringing a bouquet is standard shit.” He pauses, noticing the strange way Todoroki was eyeing him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Todoroki immediately responds, flicking his attention down to his meal. He pushes away the empty plate and grabs one of the three remaining pastries, a mooncake with a red bean paste insides.

Katsuki doesn’t like the way his half brother pauses and eyes the remaining dishes. Not one bit.

“Eat some.” Todoroki points his fork at the two other plates left. 

Katsuki makes a face that does nothing to change Todoroki’s own expression. “I’m not eating your fucking leftovers.” The blond retorts, mildly indigent.

“I can’t eat everything.” Todoroki oh so helpfully points out.

“Why did you ask for so many then?!”

Todoroki blinks again. “You suggested it.”

“I said you should try whatever the fuck you feel like it, not buy the entire damn store!”

“I don’t want to buy the entire store.”

Katsuki has to take a mental break for that one. After a moment of contemplation, he reaches out and drags the plate with the mille-feuille that his half-sibling had taken a small piece of. 

“That one tastes good. It’s very sugary though.”

“It’s a mille-feuille. Of course it is.”

Todoroki makes a squint. “Miye feuil.”

Thanks, my ears are bleeding.

Katsuki lifted a brow. “You’re a disgrace. Mille-feuille. ” He said clearly, voicing the word slowly in an attempt to reach through the other’s thick skull. It wasn’t even that hard to pronounce. “It’s fucking french not Khuzdul.”

“Right.” Todoroki makes another of those tiny grimaces that aren’t really a grimace but are as close as someone like Todoroki would make. “I’ll...keep that in mind.”

“Sure.” Katsuki sighs. He pokes at his meal and mutters. “I’m sure fucking diva queen would love this shit.”

“Diva?”

“Lazer boy.”

“Oh, Aoyama.” Todoroki perks up as he says it, almost seeming gleeful about having correctly identified the right classmate. Katsuki nearly wants to raise his hands up in a sarcastic cheer.

“Of fucking course it’s Aoyama, who else-”

“Bakugo?”

Oh, fuck. 

Katsuki immediately recognizes that voice. How could he not, when he heard it nearly every day of the week? Bracing mentally for the inevitable fallout, he turns his attention to his right where the voice came from.

Ashido, Sero, Kaminari and Kirishima had entered the tiny shop. The pink haired girl was carrying a single shopping bag that Katsuki recognized as a clothing brand. The rest of his classmates had small bags of their owns, but none as big as Ashido’s. They were wearing ensemble of comfortable clothes that looked somewhat acceptable -that is, excluding Kaminari. He was wearing an eye bleaching, bright yellow shirt with a squibbled drawing that looked somewhat like All Might. It hurt to look at.

Katsuki didn’t linger on them as a whole for long. Kirishima, most importantly of all took his attention. 

..and it might have something to do with the way the boy looked like he’d just swallowed a sour lemon as he kept glancing between the two of them.

“Todoroki? What are you-” Kirishima’s ruby red eyes turn to him, wondering. Katsuki holds his gaze and keeps his own expression calm in the face of the clearly incensed question that came next.  “...weren’t you supposed to be studying?”

Kirishima’s declaration isn’t accusing in any way, more confused and befuddled than anything else. And yet, it somehow feels like it. Katsuki, inexplicably, feels his face heat up. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s been caught with a hand in the proverbial cookie jar, but somehow that’s exactly what he was feeling.

Thankfully(?) Todoroki speaks up, taking over the explanation:

“I asked Bakugo if he would accompany me today.” The taller boy interjects, firm. “The finals are...stressful.”

Kirishima’s odd little frown doesn’t go away. At his side, Kaminari blows out air and wiggles his eyebrows in a way that made Katsuki want to chuck his meal at his stupid face.

“Oh fuck yeah, tell me about it -ow !” He yips when Ashido slams an elbow into his side. She looks annoyed. And something else he doesn’t quite catch. It’s an expression that Sero inexplicably shares.

The glance she gives to Kirishima doesn’t help matters; its quick and furtive like she’s checking up on the redhead. Katsuki tries to keep his face from twisting into a frown. He fails. What the fuck was that?

Wait, what did Kaminari try to imply?

With a low, lumbering snarl he rises from his seat, teeth bared as he plants himself in front of the table. “What the fuck was that?”

“I meant-!”

Kaminari splutters and falls back but Katsuki quickly loses interest when Kirishima makes this odd, dying choking noise like he has something lodged in his throat. Why was the idiot making such a face? Katsuki turns his attention to him, eyes narrowed at the way the redhead was trying to look anywhere but him. From the corner of his eyes, he spots Ashido rolling her eyes knowingly. He files that away for later.

“What?”

“N-nothing!” Kirishima splutters in defence, hands raised in front of him defensively. His face was as red as his hair.

Yeah, like he was going to buy that. Katsuki crosses his arms. 

“Then why are you making that face?!”

“I’m not making any face!”

“You are.” Todoroki, oh so helpfully, commented in from his seat, tone as bland as ever. Katsuki gave him a quick glare, but the bastard was back to poking at his mooncake. “You look constipated.”

Silence.

Sero coughs. It sounds suspiciously like a snort. Katsuki resists the urge to facepalm and maybe walk out of the store entirely.

“Well, I guess we’ll leave you to it?” Kirishima says awkwardly, shifting on his feet. His face was still redder than a tomato. “Y-you two have fun now, okay?”

“..fine.” Katsuki grunts, tilting his chin up. He takes a step back and smoothly slides into the booth again, giving his sibling a glare that hopefully communicated to the other boy to shut his mouth. “Don’t fucking waste all your money, now.”

Ashido makes a grimace. SHe still looks faintly worried, but the way she grins at him is full of confidence. “Now now, don’t you know me? We’re responsible!”

You melted your desk once.

“...right. While you’re at it, try getting Dunce face to buy a better shirt.”

“H-hey!”

“He has a point!” Sero guaffs, waving him off as he took a step away. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Bakugo! See you on Monday!”

Katsuki grunts nonverabily.

Sensing that he wanted nothing more to do with them, the group started walking off. Kirishima lingers for a moment, their eyes meeting. Katsuki’s not sure he likes what he sees in them. Dejection doesn’t look good on the guy.

Wait.

Just as he reconsiders that surprising thought, Ashido grabs Kirishima by a sleeve and yanked him away. Just as she does so, the pink-haired girl peers over Kirisihima’s shoulder and gives him a wave. Her expression was still slightly... off but the cheery way she called out to him was far too familiar:

“Bye Blasty!”

Shoo.

He rolls his eyes at her and says nothing. It’s not unexpected for Ashido, who seems in a hurry to drag the rest of her friends out the door. Kirishima was especially quick on her heels.

...well that was fucking strange.

A part of him felt somehow bad for doing that -for going out with Todoroki. He did tell them that he wanted to stay in and study for the finals… and yet here he was. Yeah, Katsuki could see what it looked like to them.

He was blowing them off to spend time with someone who a week and a half before he would have gladly strangled in front of a teacher.

Feeling defeated, Katsuki sighs and sinks into his seat.

So much for some peace.

Todoroki just keeps sitting there, looking far too innocent for the headache he was giving him. Ridiculous too, given the fact he was wearing dress clothes and had that stupid old beanie hat on. Finally, as the last of their classmate disappear out the door, the half and half bastard turns to Katsuki and utters blandly:

“That went well.”

Katsuki picks up the last pastry and smudges it into his stupid face.

.

.

.

Inexplicably, Shouto still smells of strawberry shortcake when he steps out of the bathroom after cleaning up.

Bakugo leads him through the shopping mall with ease, avoiding the big crowds expertly. They don’t talk much. Bakugo doesn’t seem like the kind to enjoy idle chats and Shouto, in all honesty, feels the same way.

So he’s walking with the other boy, nosing around the front of a small clothing store, when Shouto’s eyes catch it. 

Or rather, them.

Two men were standing at the end of the large hallway, looking surprisingly relaxed. They would have looked like the common bystander, nothing Shouto should worry about. Except, there were familiar devices set on their laps. Small, compact black boxes.

Cameras.

And not the cheap kind either.

Shit.

Shouto was suddenly very glad for the beanie hat Bakugo forced on his head when they met up. But that leaves something else exposed. 

Namely, Bakugo’s bright blond mop of spiky hair.

His arm’s moving before Shouto can fully think it through; as they walk deeper into one of the clothing stores, he grabs the nearest thing on the nearby rack and shoves it over Bakugo’s head. His brother had his attention elsewhere and when Shouto slammed the hat on his head, he makes an indignant squawking noise.

Bakugo blinks at him from under the hazardously placed hat. His red eyes almost seem to glow in the shadows. “What the fuck, half and half.” He murmurs, looking faintly murderous. 

The smell of cinnamon tickles Shouto’s nose. He knows what it means and he quickly moves forward to explain:

“There were people looking this way.” Shouto tells him quickly, glancing at where the two men stood. Bakugo follows his gaze.

His eyes narrow upon spotting what Shouto was trying to inconspicuously point at. It was hard to miss the men, since one of them had the strap of a medium sized camera slung across his left shoulder.

“Goddamn journalists, probably.” Bakugo mutters with what he quickly recognizes as distaste. “You didn’t have to do this.” He grimaces at the hat, nose wrinkling. Shouto’s not sure why though. It’s a nice shade of yellow with blue stripes that reminds him of All Might.

“Let me pay for that-” Shouto starts to offer, but Bakugo makes a snapping motion with his left hand.

“Like hell you will.” The shorter boy barks, dragging him deeper into the store towards the register. “I’m not a fucking invalid. I got money.”

“I don’t mind.” Shouto defends himself. “The old man gave me a credit card. He never put a limit and he doesn’t really look at it, so this isn’t a bother.”

Bakugo opens his mouth to retort -only to freeze, blink, then look at him with an indescribable expression.

“Oi, dumb fuck.” Shouto has to stop himself from sighing at the declaration. “You have a credit card from the rat bastard. With no limit. Are you serious.”

“...so?”

Bakugo’s brows furrow in contemplation. “...is that why you were buying some much shit?”

“The old man foots the bill.” Shouto shrugs, nonchalant. “I don’t really care.”

Bakugo looks at him like he has two heads. It’s the most expression he’d seen on his brother’s face outside of, well, anger. It’s like he can’t understand how Shouto had such free reign on such abundant finances.

In a way, Shouto understood. He had grown up privileged. He’d come to that slow realization during this semester, especially after the Sports Festival. Hearing Uraraka talk about her old, dusty phone, hearing Kaminari lament about his allowance -it was all very alien to him, but at the same time a learning experience.

He may have been deprived of emotionally, but as far as materialistic needs were concerned they were fulfilled.

...and if Bakugo’s face had anything to say, they were more than fulfilled.

The blond turns away, grimacing. “Fucking hell,” He mutters, his voice quiet for once. It was...rumbly. A low tenor that was somewhat familiar.

All too suddenly it hit Shouto why Bakugo’s voice felt that way.

It was just like Endeavor’s.

Even the speech pattern aligned somewhat. Short, to the point, loud when not needed and quiet at the most unexpected of times. The realization had him blanching. Obviously, Bakugo notices.

His brother’s nose crinkles as he lets out a small snarl.

“What are you making that fucking face, asshat?”

Shouto fights the urge to grin. “Nothing.”

HIs half-sibling eyes him, eyelids narrowed into a squint that wasn’t as indignant as it normally would be. It makes him look ridiculous with that All Might hat on. His fluffy blond hair poked out from under the hat like a lion’s mane, disorganized and wild.

For a moment, Bakugo looks calm. Amused, almost. The left side of his lips was even twitching upwards, the smallest, faintest upwards tilt of his thin lips that told more than Bakugo probably was comfortable saying.

“C’mon. If you’re gonna pay for this horrible monstrosity let’s do that before we accidentally walk out of here without paying.” Bakugo bites out, but it’s quieter than expected. “I’m not going to tell Aizawa why I have petty theft in my file.”

Shouto snorts. Yeah, he can see how that would go.

Surprisingly, Bakugo doesn’t get irritated as his tiny laugh. He turns around and walks towards the register, but he’s not stomping his feet or trying to get away.

In a way, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for him to follow. And dutifully, Shouto does follow.

Any move forward, no matter how small, was progress. Shouto wasn’t going to let his father get in the way of that.

.

.

.

All that good energy grows cold when he steps into the house and finds a familiar hulking man sitting none too patiently at the front door’s bench. Endeavor’s face was the epitome of muted displeasure as he regarded Shouto.

No amount of glaring gets Shouto to back down, though. He sets his shoes by the door and steps inside, unconcerned by the man’s silence. Once maybe, a long time ago, it might have scared him. Knees shaking and shoulders hunched, he would have bent to his father’s will. He might have grovelled for positive attention, scared of what would happen if he were to displease the man.

But no longer.

Now Shouto stands tall, back straight, regarding his father with narrowed eyes of his own. He takes the biting silence and turns it around, weaponizes it as easily as his father had. 

“You went out.” The man rumbles, no emotion showing in his tone. Shouto knows that voice though, and he’s not fooled by the calmness of it.

“Yes.”

“You should have been studying.”

“My studies have been quite fruitful so far.”

“Not enough to secure you that first place.”

Shouto holds himself back from narrowing his eyes at the man. The Sports Festival. Right. The old man wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

Endeavor’s eyes narrow. “You spent over 9 000 yen in a pastry shop.”

“School project.”

His father’s eyes narrow at the lack of pause. Shouto steadies his own expression, keeping it blank and calm. The pictureste image of serenity -for he knew how much it would irritate the man. 

In his pocket, Bakugo’s scarlet beanie hat felt like a lead weight. They’d forgotten to trade hats when they split ways; Shouto would have to return it on Moday. Thankfully it was fully tucked into the pocket and with his coat over it, there was no way for his father to notice it.

After his mother was institutionalized, Endeavor had no real prize to hold over Shouto’s head. His siblings were practically out of the house and a lifetime spent training and studying within the safety of his childhood home lead to a complete lack of friends.

That was changing now, not that Endeavor knew. His father was likely already a bit on edge with him knowing about Bakugo, but if he found out the truth -if he found out that Shouto was attempting to connect with his second youngest son…

...Shouto had no idea if or what Endeavor had on Bakugo. What kind of control he had of his sibling’s life.

For all he knew, it would only take one call and a threat, and Bakugo would be sent to live halfway across Japan. Or out of the country entirely. Until he knew what he was dealing with, Shouto could not really afford to make a mistake. 

“I’m certain even you can grasp how much time you’ve lost ...going outside.” Endeavor begins with a disdainful but level headed tone. The way he said going outside made it clear that the man did not believe his excuses at all. “I hope you will make up for it.”

Shouto kept himself from reacting physically at that declaration -no, that demand. Making up for it only meant one thing. More training with his father ...and that ever rarely ended well. Especially since the Pro-Hero never pulled his punches, and training with Shouto was more of an excuse than anything else to lay hands on him.

“I understand.” Despite his dislike of that demand, Shouto knew he was in no position to argue. Until he was old enough to leave this house for good, he was under the old man’s control. 

By the look in his father’s face, the old man didn’t take his word for it. He knew as well as Shouto that his hold on him was getting flimsier by the day, faster now since the Festival -the greatest turn around of Shouto’s live since Todoroki Rei poured scalding water on his face.

The man did not know the true extent of the Festival’s impact, and Shouto was ready to keep it that way. At least until he was out of this house.

Endeavor stands up from his seat, dwarfing Shouto in height. He’s practically twice as tall as his son. The Pro-Hero gives Shouto one last look full of disapproval as he turns away, one that Shouto met head on.

“See that you do.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Shouto waits until he hears his footsteps fade away -he’s going to his office, good- before he allowed himself to move, striding across the entrance hallway and heading for the living quarters.

To his surprise, his sister was in the living room hallway, looking like she was about to head to her bedroom. Fuyumi’s expression is one of knowing sheepishness when she catches Shouto’s tired look and slumped shoulders.

“...he’s not happy, is he?” She guesses, correctly so. As far as he remembers, his sister had always been like a ghost in this massive house, standing just out of sight, catching everything going on in the home while doing nothing about it. Not that she could ...

Shouto nods. “He always is.” 

Fuyumi shifts on her feet, wincings empathically. With one hand, she held what looked like a textbook closer to his chest. “What ...what did you do this time?”

As if it takes anything other than just breathing to annoy the old man.

Shouto takes about two seconds to think it through.

“I just went out with my brother.”

Fuyumi frowns as flicks a stray hair over her back. “Isn’t Natsuo out of town?”

“Not him.”

Fuyumi pauses. 

Shouto watches as her eyes grow a bit wider and a series of expressions flash through her face; surprise, apprehension, worry, and finally acceptance. All pretty suspicious on their own -damming together. There’s no denying the truth lurking in her eyes.

So she knows about Bakugo.

(How many other people knew apart from him?)

“...how do you find him!?” Fuyumi asks slowly, and when Shouto fails to answer right away she flails a bit. “Did Natsuo tell you? He lost contact two years ago with Touya-”

Shouto feels his stomach drop to his feet.

“Who’s Touya?”

Fuyumi freezes. 

For a moment, they both just stand there, stupefied. His sister’s already pale face seems to grow even paler, bordering on grey. Shouto can barely breathe.

“W-who are you talking about then?” She stutters, her eyes wide.

“You said Touya.” Shouto presses, heart beating loudly in his chest. So fast did it beat, he feels like it’s going to tear him apart. “I have a brother named Touya ?”

Fuyumi takes a step back, hands raised in a placading motion. “Huh, p-please forget about-”

Indignation roars in Shouto’s blood. When he speaks next, it’s louder, much harsher than needed:

“What do you mean just forget- ”

It’s a mistake. Fuyumi lets out a squeak and turns away. Before he can do anything, his sister takes off like a frightened bunny. Her movements are so quick that for a moment Shouto doesn’t realize what’s going on. 

When he does, Fuyumi is already nearly at her bedroom door. Shouto lurches towards her but he knows he’s far too slow and far too late.

“Fuyumi!”

It’s a desperate plea that falls on deaf ears.

"I’m sorry!” She yelps -and then her door slams closed. Shouto hears the loud thunk of the lock snapping in place.

He barely hears it over the sound of his own beating heart. He can’t believe it. This is the last way he saw his day going -the last way he saw any of this ending.

There was someone else. 

He had another brother.

Katsuki wasn’t the only one.

Chapter Text

Monday comes faster than Katsuki would like it to.

He wakes up early to the most beautiful thing he ever could, an empty room and an empty house. No one is on the property but him. There's some mild relief in that, because getting ready and doing his morning exercises with the looming threat of accidentally waking up the hag from her beauty sleep is something Katsuki doesn't get much enjoyment from. 

His back very much remembers the time she’d stormed into the kitchen half asleep when he was eleven and discretely trying to make breakfast. He hadn't been fast enough to dodge her hands from grabbing the pan he was about to use, nor the pan itself when his mother used it as an impromptu baseball bat.

Fuckin’ fun times. 

Today however is Monday and the bitch is fucking gone , so Katsuki doesn't have to deal with her bullshit. He'd gone to sleep in an empty house and woke up in an empty house, thank god.

 If this had been on the weekends, he might have stayed in bed for the sheer fucking luxury of it.

Unfortunately, that isn't an option.

He's attending Yuuei, for starters, so maintaining his score is crucial. Secondly, it's a school day. Not just any school day too, but the start of the exam week for their first semester. Horsing around is not an option if he wants to amount to anything. Especially if he's aiming for Number One Pro-Hero.

Grumbling, he goes about his morning routine. Showering, getting dressed, grabbing his backpack, checking its contents to make sure everything is there… Katsuki lets his body go through the routine, satisfied by the fact he doesn’t need to be as quiet as a mouse now that the hag isn’t home.

There’s a snag when he tries to make himself breakfast. Grabbing his half empty box of cereals and then the milk from the fridge, Katsuki pauses as he takes in the lesser weight of the cardboard container in his hand. Shit, he’s going to have to buy more tonight.

Do I have enough for that?

Katsuki’s unsure. He’ll have to check his weekly budget -something else to deal with once the school day ends. Goddamn it. He’s usually much more meticulous about this, but it looks like for now he’s going to make due with the half a cup in the container.

At least, that’s what runs through his mind as he opens it. The smell hits him immediately and Katsuki grimaces, glad he decided to check before dumping it over his cereals. He's eaten almost expired food plenty of times before to know it’s better if he doesn’t risk it. 

Guess cereals are a no go today.

Another thing to add to the pile, how delightful . Scowling, Katsuki goes over to the sink and empties the bottle. The stronger rancid smell that reaches his nose as he does only confirms his suspicions.

What a great start for the day.

.

.

.

The stench of pre-exam nerves hits him in the face the moment Katsuki enters the classroom.

Laser face is biting down his nails furiously in his corner. Glasses is speed reading through his notes. Uraraka is swinging back and forth in her chair like she’s about to walk the plank. Kaminari is earning his Dunce Face nickname with the constipated expression he has while staring off into the distance like a soldier that returned from war. Or maybe bracing for war, since they are starting the exam season with the mathematics finals.

And Kirishima?

He’s sitting in his seat, quietly reading some notes. When the door opens and Katsuki steps through, the redhead is not the only one to look up. The redhead is, however , the only one that takes one look at Katsuki and his face makes a strange frowning expression before it’s quickly smoothed over as he shoves his head down, looking at his notes intensely. 

It’s far too quick and brisk for it to be natural. It’s sending all of the warning bells Katsuki wasn't even aware were hanging around his skull. 

What’s up with him?

Unfortunately, or, well, fortunately, he doesn't have to contemplate this for long. Barely did Katsuki have the time to plop down at his desk to think about a possible plan of attack -because he'd had enough of Kirishima being weird during the weekend, he didn't need that shit during class time- before Aizawa stalks into the room.

The man looks like death sunny side up as he gets to the podium at the forefront of the room and quite unceremoniously drops the huge pile of papers on it. The thump! is loud and Katsuki swears he feels the floor shake. His classmates are certainly acting like it did.

“For those of you who studied last minute, I hope you're ready to fail.”

A few seats up front, a tiny strangled whimper leaves Kaminari.

Alright. 

Maybe that made Katsuki feel a bit better.

.

.

.

“I’m dead.”

“No you’re not.”

“You can’t dictate if I'm dead or not.”

“I think even a person with the most basic of medical training can diagnose you with the not dead.”

“I-”

Alright, that was enough.

“Stop complaining.” Katsuki interjects bluntly from the other side of the table, glaring at the duo balefully. “You brought it all on yourself.”

Ashido and Kaminari look over to him. “Bakugo, I'm trying to get some emotional support here.” Kaminari complains.

“Be my guest.” Katsuki drawls. 

Kaminari pulls his tongue at him.

Katsuki doesn't take the bait, rolling his eyes before looking down at his meal as Ashido grabs the other blonde’s attention away with another question about their written Heroics test. He picks at his food, not knowing where to channel his irritation. 

Stabbing the vegetables would have to do for now, even if it did little.

He knows he's being a bitch right now, but Katsuki’s brain is fucking baked and he'd rather recharge in peace before his history finals. Given that’s intricately tied to the amount of useless fucking noise going around at the table, Katsuki felt somewhat invested in stopping this discussion. 

Especially given it had lasted five minutes too long in his humble opinion.

It’s not even the conversation itself -how many times did he have to sit through them complaining about their school work? Katsuki didn’t remember. But he also doesn’t remember why he feels so off.

...well.

Maybe that was a lie.

Katsuki’s eyes slowly drift to look at a certain redhead, watching the way he awkwardly picks at his own food while talking to Ashido. . His eyes flick away, towards a table down the hall and more specifically, a mop of mismatched red and white hair.

 Todoroki .

Next to said failure at incarnating a strawberry cheesecake into a human body, there’s a certain green haired bastard that made Katsuki’s mood sour even more and he tears his attention away from them. Fucking Deku .

That is a whole other thing, and Katsuki’s mind is very keen to stick with the plan of not registering said bastard’s presence until graduation. Or maybe the day he died. Either way, fuck Deku. It’s not just the little shit himself -though Deku without any strings attached managed to escape annoying on his own with all of his All Might fanboyism and inability to not mumble- but also the baggage he brings.

And that, Katsuki didn’t want to explore either.

So here he was.

Stuck.

Goodie.

“You’re quiet.” Sero’s voice at his side draws him out of his mulling. He turns his gaze to look up at the taller boy, finding Sero frowning at him slightly. “You okay there?” He asks, voice just quiet enough that Ashido and Kaminari don’t pick up on it over their arguing. Kirishima’s just eating and nodding along with the two of them. 

He’s rarely ever this quiet.

Katsuki feels his eyelids fall halfway open. “I’m calm.” He points out matter of factly.

Sero shrugs. “That look in your eyes says otherwise, buddy.” He takes a bit of his food and eats it quickly. “No offence, but you look like you ate a bag of lemons. Exams’ getting the best of you?”

The lemon comment is far from appreciated but Katsuki lets it slide. “No. As if.” He refutes with an indignant sound, glancing at the three other members of the group before looking away. Katsuki opens his mouth to speak, but a splash of color at the corner of his vision distracts him.

Shouto’s eating with his group, stoically shoveling food into his mouth while the gravity chick and Deku talk over him. The girl looks nervous and with the way Deku was talking so quickly what little noise Katsuki picked up from him two tables down sounded less like a mumbled rant and the buzzing of a bee’s wings, he bets all of his savings that they are either arguing about the test they just had, or Deku is trying to prepare her for the history portion.

At the end of the day Midnight’s hardly an easy teacher, despite how she tries to cajole them.

“Thinking about something?” Katsuki blinks. Oh fuck, he’d forgotten about Sero.

A quick glance up informs him that the lanky bastard is staring down at him with a lopsided smile. Katsuki does not like that smile. He doesn’t like smiles at all, especially when they’re aimed at him.

“What are you fucking looking at?”

“Nothing!” Sero shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly like the laid back shit he is. Katsuki doesn’t like his tone. It’s lighthearted and casual and does not match the strangely contemplative gleam in his eyes. “You just look like you’ve got a fair bit on your mind.”

“You could say that.”

Sero smiles. “You don’t want to share, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Got it.” Sero drops it promptly, and maybe that’s the kind of reaction that makes Katsuki feel somewhat at ease around him.

“-new we should have bullied Bakugo into studying with us.” Kaminari’s quiet mutter snaps him back towards the conversation happening on the other side of the table.

Eh? It’s not hard to piece together what the other was thinking about. There’s only one reason he would want to keep Katsuki around, and that’s for studying. He bares his teeth at the other blond across the table and retorts:

“Try me, bastard.”

“I gest!” Kaminari raises his hands in defence.  “But really dude, I celebrate your whole thing with Todoroki, but a bit of help would have been nice.”

Celebrate?

At his left, Kirishima stumbles and drops his fork on the table like the clumsy idiot he is. Katsuki disregards it in favor of bristling at Kaminari.

“My what with-?” Katsuki grits his teeth and responds indignantly. “You could have studied by yourself!”

“Yeah. I know!” Kaminari complains, because of course he does. That’s the best thing he’s at when it comes to school. Besides literature. “But that’s the point, I suck at it! We all do!”

The mental image of all four of these bastards huddling together in a living room trying to make sense of their stupid chicken writing notes that Katsuki knows for a fact are next to ineligible is amusing. And sad. But mostly amusing, given they did this to themselves.

Especially Ashido and Kaminari, who complained about having to start studying two weeks ago. Just the memory of that fills him with a terrible sense of disgust. 

Amateurs.

“Stick to a damn schedule next time.” Katsuki jabs a digit at his direction. “Do it by sections instead of leaving it last minute, and you won’t have to panic. It’s simple. Start early so you get used to the schedule, and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” Kaminari blinks. “Wait, oh my god, you're actually giving us advice?”

It’s a testament to Katsuki’s mental exhaustion that he just goes with it.  “Yes, you've reached that level of rock bottom.”

“Dude.” Kirishima whistles and for the first time of the day, there’s amusement in his eyes. It’s a relief to see it, given how off the bastard has been acting for most of the day. “Have a bit of mercy for Kaminari! A bit of positivity won’t kill anyone.”

“Says the guy who’s acting constipated.”  Ops. Katsuki can’t stop his mouth from running wild. 

That earns him a reaction from everyone at the table. 

Sero winces despite a visible attempt at stopping himself. Ashido is trying to make her best poker face, but she utterly sucks at it. Kaminari’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then he quickly grabs his cup of water and starts drinking. A blind man could see it as a pathetic attempt at hiding his reaction.

It’s Kirishima who has the biggest reaction.

“What?” Kirishima croaks like a dying cat, eyes widening so far that Katsuki has to wonder how his damn eyeballs don’t pop out of their sockets. “Me? No!” He waves his arms in front of Katsuki, denying. “I-I’m just scared -it’s finals dude! Finals ! Why wouldn’t I be stressed?”

“I’m not.” Katsuki points out bluntly. Partly truth, partly lie. 

He feels lukewarm about the upcoming finals that started today; the stress though? 

That was dedicated to a whole different situation . Fuck, if he was asked and for some brain dead reason replied truthfully… Katsuki would have to do it in alphabetical order to keep some form of organization between the numbers of shitshows life decided to throw at him because it was that kind of right bitch .

...who knew keeping friends would be so time consuming?

.

.

.

He finds an opportunity to grab Todoroki exactly six minutes after the final bell.

The day had dragged on, but it was finally over. Most of the students were out the moment the bell rings, all too eager to flee Midnight’s classroom of doom. Ha. Katsuki swears that the woman thrives off acting like a sweet benevolent teacher only to rip them a new one in the tests. Sadistic but fair game, he guesses.

Regardless. Katsuki finds the half and half bastard shoving his belongings into his school bag from his locker. Deku and his pack are several feet away, talking among themselves as they do the same. Great.  That’s a place to avoid.

He’s only here for one thing though, and one thing only. Grab Todoroki and get the fuck out, find somewhere secluded to throttle the bastard if he didn’t answer his questions. Because Katsuki has lots of questions, mainly centering around how goddamn odd his half brother has been behaving throughout the day, especially when he looked at Katsuki.

Something happened, and he’s going to get to the bottom of it. 

His own bag slugged over his shoulder and ready to leave, Katsuki pointedly lingers just enough to wait for Todoroki to zip up his bag to approach him.

“Oi, idiot.”

Not the best way to acknowledge his half brother, but Katsuki isn’t exactly known for his tact. Todoroki turns his head towards him, mismatched eyes widening for a split second before he forces his expression into something more neutral, the resting bitch face everyone knows him for. Too late thought, Katsuki saw through it. 

Yeah, he is right. There really is something up-

“Not today, Bakugo.”

Todoroki spins around and hurries away, bag in hand, completely sidestepping him before he can even get a word out to stop him. Katsuki falters, staring at his retreating back in stupefied silence. 

What.

….did he just-

Really?!

Just like that?

Katsuki watches, frozen, as Todoroki stalks across the hall, smoothly sliding into his group of friends without even a glance back at Katsuki, like he’s nothing more than a piece of furniture. It’s only by sheer willpower that he keeps the nitroglycerin in his palms from igniting.

Deku's looking at him. He can feel the nerd’s eyes on him -hell, sees him just at the corner of his eyes, seemingly taking in Todoroki’s retreat without a word. And now he’s looking right at Katsuki. He pointedly ignores the open, blatant staring, ignores him like he should have for years instead of taking it out on the brat, humiliation eating away at his resolve to not acknowledge the other teen’s existence. 

Deku doesn’t matter to him. No. He doesn’t, no more than any other student in his class. The sight of him is just a reminder of what Katsuki is.

“Man, you alright?” Kirishima’s unusually quiet voice rises up right next to him; Katsuki might have startled if his attention isn’t so fixed on his retreating half-brother’s back.

“Fine.” Katsuki’s mouth works in auto pilot. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “Just fucking fine.” The words leave his lips as a hiss. His hands twitch with the urge to grab something.

“Trouble in paradise?”

That ultimately tears his gaze away from Todoroki’s retreating traitor back to look at the red headed boy. “..what?” He barks.

It makes Kirishima grimace slightly, like he’s just spooked a particularly nasty dog. Okay, maybe the comparison is a bit apt… 

“You. Todoroki.” There’s an odd, unknown look in Kirishima’s eyes for the briefest of moments. Katsuki nearly didn’t catch it. It’s replaced by a smile that looks a bit strained. “You look like you wanna talk to him and he just….”  He trails off, hunching his shoulders, an aborted shrug that speaks of his nervousness. 

Katsuki feels the burn on his face and part of him dies inside. The shame bears down and crushes him, making him grind his teeth so hard it hurts. 

Of course Kirishima saw the whole thing. 

How fucking humiliating. Normally he doesn’t care what people think of him -hell, Katsuki had done so much worse in his younger years after Endeavor dropped him like yesterday’s garbage-

But this is Kirishima . Oddball idiot who stood back to back with him at the USJ and faced him with no fear at the Sports Festival. He’s a few cuts higher than the common rabble. All of them were, Kaminari, Ashido, Sero -and especially Kirishima.

Said person is looking right at him, waiting with unusual calm and patience for the horrifyingly jovial student.

“It’s nothing.” Katsuki bites out.

“Oh, okay then.” Kirishima bobs his head, compliant. 

Katsuki grinds his teeth together and turns away from him, towards the exit of the hallway. Todoroki’s gone, alongside the rest of Deku’s pack. Yippe. His lack of presence doesn’t stop the dark thoughts of vengeance from brewing in Katsuki’s head.

“I’m shoving my fist up his ass at the next opportunity.” He mutters under his breath.

Kirishima makes a choking noise behind him. 

Huh. He heard me.

Katsuki ignores the redhead, already contemplating the ways he could make Todoroki suffer -and what could have caused him to just brush him off that easily. That hadn’t happened before, not since the Sports Festival. There’s something bothering Shouto and Katsuki should figure that shit out.

No, he thinks as he makes his way out of the school. I am going to figure that shit out.

.

.

.

As angry as he still feels hours later, Katsuki can't shake off a feeling of unease. 

He sits in his bedroom, eyeing the stupid yellow and blue beanie hat he’d thrown  on his desk the moment he came home from his weekend outing with Todoroki and promptly forgot about. It feels like it’s glaring at him. 

Katsuki hates the uncomfortable knots forming in his stomach. Hates it as much as he hates the unmistakable feeling of uncertainty taking hold of him.

(Did I do something wrong?)

.

.

.

He doesn't get a chance to corner Todoroki again. 

In a way, Katsuki is grateful for it.

Instead, he's forced to concentrate on the remaining written exams, which conclude a full other day later. Time flies by during this period, a whirlwind of studying and late night memorizing peppered with moments of unease Katsuki doesn't want to think about, nor entertain their source when he very much knows they're red and white and currently ignoring him as swiftly as he ignores Deku in a daily basis now.

Diverting his focus from that mess to his studies is a blessing. The written exams are tough but fair, hours of studying each day finally paying off excellently. Katsuki has no doubt the physical portion will be just as difficult, if not more. He's heard rumours of robots being used for it, just like those deployed for the Entrance Test, but there's a fair chance it's bullshit.

They'd already fought the machines twice, once at the test and the second at the festival. Aizawa’s not lazy enough to give them the same opponents again to fight. Maybe a different model? Such an idea seems promising, but from his experience dealing with the machines, they don’t really compare to fighting against a real, human opponent -which is more likely to occur as Pro-Heroes than robots.

Aizawa is a practical bastard. Whatever he has planned for them though, Katsuki can handle it. What could go wrong?

…as it turns out, many things.

Many fucking things.

The physical test hasn’t even started before it punches Katsuki straight in the guts, and that’s all with a few short words from Aizawa:

“-and Bakugo with Midoriya, against All Might.”

Katsuki’s train of thought promptly derails and slides off a steep cliff. 

One moment he’s watching the assembled group of Pro-Heroes teachers, all geared up and ready for a fight and contemplating his odds against each and every one of them, then next his head snaps towards Aizawa with enough force that his neck hurts. 

Nevermind All Might looking at him -at Deku- with a too bright expression (proud) nor the looks of unease from his classmates, who are already getting an idea what kind of shit show is about to start. His attention narrows down to his teacher and not the green haired bastard standing on the sidelines. Especially not him. 

He's a cheap lawn ornament as far as Katsuki is concerned.

“Give me another teammate.” The flat demand rushes out of his lips.

“Not happening.” Aizawa levels him with a piercing gaze that is far from impressed. 

“I request another teammate.” Keeping his tone even while there’s bile at the back of his throat is a challenge in and out of itself. But he manages.

Like hell he’s going to say please. Katsuki’s not going to bring himself that low.

“Denied.” Aizawa responds, effectively shattering any shred of Katsuki’s hope that this would go anything even close to smooth. His teacher looks down at him, nonplussed. “Heroes work with people they don’t like all the time.”

Not if they move halfway across the country.

Katsuki bites down the urge to hurl that at his teacher. Or straight up insults, as tempting as it feels. He’s got enough restraint -he hopes- and plus, it’s not like it would do anything good. Aizawa barely ever blinked at language, he would only react to how loud Katsuki got when he yelled at someone.

Fucker. 

He’s been expecting Katsuki’s reaction -he’d planned on it.

“This is bullshit.” Katsuki hisses out under his breath.

“I’m sure you can manage it.” Aizawa’s curt response makes him bristle even more. He didn’t think he’d spoken loud enough for the Pro-Hero to hear, but it looks like he did. “You’ve been an exemplary student so far.”

Katsuki levels a fiery glare at the man. 

Now that’s an insult, there’s no way it’s anything else. He knows it. Aizawa’s just kicking him while he’s already on the floor. Exemplary student. As if. He’s more than sure that if Aizawa had his way, he'd have been tossed out the door on his ass after his fight with Deku during their first Heroics class nearly got the nerd killed.

Someone clears their throat; it’s All Might, who steps forward and looks at the both of them with a very wide smile that is far too cheerful for the amount of restless spite Katsuki is feeling.

“Fret not, young Bakugo!” The Number One Hero declares, voice booming. “This exam will be a perfect opportunity to excel!”

Skeptical is just a start to describe what Katsuki is feeling. He's not the only one though.

“How can we win against you?” Ponytail pipes, voicing what in no doubt everyone in the class is thinking. “You are all Pro-Heroes with years of experience, and we’re only first grade students -technically speaking, we should be no problem for you to defeat.”

Many in Katsuki’s class nod in agreement to her speech, their expressions a spectrum of excitement and unease. Aizawa opens his mouth to speak, but All Might beats him to it both in speed and volume:

“Ha! Quite so! In normal circumstances this would be an easy fight for us old brigade, but we’ll be wearing these-” All Might lifts a clenched fist, showing off the thick, wide bracelets around his wrist. He’s got another one on his right wrist too, Katsuki notes. “They’re added weights, custom made by our dear Support Department to give all of you a level playing field!”

Katsuki eyes the dull black bracelets dubiously. All Might might say otherwise, but he’s not quite sure those little things would hinder the Number One Hero much. He glances at the source of his current irritation, planted right on his left somehow without Katsuki never noticing his approach. Goddamn tick.

Deku looks hopeful, out of all things. Hesitant but hopeful. It makes Katsuki want to hit him. In the face. With his fist, preferably. Or a loaded gauntlet. God, he wants it to be the gauntlet.

Wait, no, he should not. He needs to save the shot for later, since… since he’s going up against All Might . 

The very person he was born to surpass.

Fuck

A part of Katsuki shivers uncomfortably in a mixture of dread and elation.

I’ll win. I have to.

It’s a stupid, stupid thought, but every part of Katsuki is suddenly filled with the sudden need to make himself known. To win. To prove that what the bastard had decided so long ago was wrong -that he was better and stronger and fucking worth something-

Don’t get ahead of yourself, he chastises as he watches All Might smile, the man’s figure towering over him and Deku without any effort on the man’s part. Katsuki’s pretty sure his teacher’s hand could wrap around his arm with ease, and shatter the bones just as easily. It’s not a reassuring thought, especially given the fact he’s going to be fighting the man soon.

“Fuck this, bring it.” Katsuki hisses, clenching his hands into fists. “This will be easy.”

Deku makes a tiny noise of disbelief at his bravery -probably suicidal bravery, Katsuki’s on the fence about it- but he ignores it as All Might looks straight into his eyes. The smile he gives him is not the usual smile. It’s darker. Sharper. Still holding that cheerful edge but gaining something more that had a tiny alarm in Katsuki’s brain blaring.

“This will be fun.”

The low, amused tenor has Katsuki’s eyes widening before he can stop himself. He forces his expression back to irritated almost immediately. It doesn’t chase away the sudden cold washing over him, gripping his heart and leaving unpleasant prickles running up and down the length of his forearms.

Unsettled but unwilling to let it show, Katsuki spins around on his heel and walks away towards his assigned battleground. 

.

.

.

Kirishima fails his exam.

Katsuki hears the announcement over the speakers. Standing in the shadows of his assigned training ground -a urban city, of all things, perfect for him- Katsuki lets Present Mic’s voice wash over him from the nearby speakers. 

There’s no surprise there. He’d figured as much the moment Cementoss was picked as their opponent that Kirishima wasn't going to make it. Although it didn’t stop the tinge of disappointment, Katsuki would be a liar if he didn’t say he saw it coming.

Cementoss’ fighting style is a perfect counter to those who used their brute strength to try and bulldoze over their opponent. His Quirk allowed him to turn entire streets into, effectively, quicksand to bury his opponents, or just keep them at bay long enough for them to run out of steam.

Kirishima doesn’t do quick and agile, he likes to just charge forward and use his Hardening to become a literal battering ram. Against Cementoss -that wasn’t going to cut it, and it looks like it didn’t. 

His selection was a carefully planned choice, no doubt about it. Though Katsuki doesn’t think it had been just to make Kirishima and the sugar kid fail.  

Aizawa isn’t a incompetent teacher.He was trying to tell Kirishima something with that pick. Whether Kirishima gets it though, that’s up to him. He’s smart, though, not just some random extra. 

He can connect the dots on his own.

I hope, Katsuki thinks as he fiddles with his left gauntlet, checking it over for what is probably the tenth time. Sitting in the shadow of the gate gave him some shade, but today’s hot enough that Katsuki’s sweating either way. That’s good, it gives him a slight advantage. 

Against All Might, Katsuki will take anything he can get.

The speakers above his head let out announcements every ten minutes or so. Katsuki listens halfheartedly as his classmates’ names fly by. Poker Faced Frog and Crow Boy passed. That’s a pretty balanced team, so there’s no surprise. They had a decent shot to start with. Todoroki and Ponytail pass, likely by the skin of their teeth given the fact they went up against Eraserhead. 

Katsuki gives the announcement the absolute minimum of attention.

Kaminari and Ashido failing on the other hand, that Katsuki sees it coming a mile away. Nedzu might do a desk job as a Principal but with that intelligence enhancing Quirk he’s probably a terrifying opponent to face. 

One by one each team announcement rolls pass. Deku never shows up and as he counts them down, Katsuki is quickly reminded that their te -he will be last in line. He’d left the center as soon as he got his assigned fighting ground out of Aizawa, so he didn’t have the opportunity to hear who went first. A mistake Katsuki isn’t going to make again, because sitting out here in the heat is not fun.

I’m fucking baking. He thinks as he stands up and paces in the shadow of the gate, falling into the easy habit of stretching in preparation for what is ahead. They probably got air ventilation and everything in there, the lucky fucks .

Then again, it’s better than the alternative. It’s an easy enough conclusion. He doesn’t want to stay at the center with the rest of the class to be subjected to their drama. Plus...he wants the quiet.

Surprising? Even to Katsuki it was. Then again, he’s never been in this situation before. Not everyone could say they had gone up against the Number One Hero.

Just the fucking reminder had the hair at the back of his neck rising.

Won't be long now.

Fuck.

All Might meant fucking business. If Katsuki didn't bring every goddamn gun in his arsenal he's going to lose, and he's going to lose fantastically bad .

If his mother knew, she would be laughing at him at how much of an idiot he is.

And not to mention Deku.

Katsuki isn’t blind -anyone could see that the man had a soft spot for Deku. And Deku has the biggest fucking fanboy complex when it comes to All Might, bigger than anyone Katsuki ever heard or seen in his life. 

With his Quirk… 

He doesn’t want to think about it. Deku showing up with a strength-enhancing Quirk after years of being weakling that got kicked over by everyone including Katsuki and the dumbest kids in their school is still a very, very sore spot for him.

That reminds him, what was that crap he said that first week, when he took Katsuki’s victory during their first training day? That he got his Quirk from someone else?

Did he think I was going to fall for such bullshit?

And now I have to team up with him.

Groaning, he tilts his head back and grinds his teeth together, fighting the urge to growl.

Fuck Deku. He’s going to stay a wallflower in Katsuki’s eyes as far as he cares. He can do this on his own, as long as he plays it smart. He has to do it on his own -he was born to be number One. 

His very birth was dictated by his father’s desire to see himself overtaking All Might. Being the best and being a hero had been his calling when he'd been a little boy, oblivious of how life was about to punch him in the fucking face. Being the Number One Hero is a concept Endeavor had instilled in him, one that had grown jagged and rotted after he left, twisting into something vile -as if his father had left something dark and ugly within Katsuki and it was growing like a fungus in his guts. Or maybe it had always been there. Who knows.

I’m gonna beat him. Katsuki thinks as he looks up at the looming gate towering above his head, blocking out the sun. I’m gonna beat All Might and I’m going to beat that rotten bastard later.

….because if those building blocks came down, what was left?

What if he failed?

.

.

.

Long, long after Katsuki finally manages to smother those terrible thoughts away, he hears someone approach.

He’d kept track of the battles so far through the blare of the speakers from the other battle grounds nearby. He knows who's coming. It's not surprising to glance behind him and sees a familiar mop of green walking his way, heading for the gate Katsuki is facing.

Deku’s expression is resigned and set, lips pressed tight and brows furrowed. When their gazes meet Katsuki spots a flickery of that familiar apprehension-hesitation- fear that always lurked in the younger boy’s eyes when they were around each other.

Katsuki turns his head away, refusing to maintain that contact. The gauntlets on his forearms feel heavier than ever.

Over their heads, a horn sounded off, marking the start of their test. The gates in front of him start sliding open.

Let’s get this fucking show on the road.

Chapter Text

The gates open, allowing them inside.

Katsuki doesn’t wait. He strives in, ignore Deku’s footsteps trailing behind like they’d done so often as children. He doesn’t look back once. He has no time to do so.

He’s going up against fucking All Might. The Number One Hero and the very reason Katsuki was born, the reason he’s breathing right now and the reason he wears this suit. Deku has no part in that equation, no part in this fight. This is Katsuki’s fight.

This is his fucking time to shine.

Hope you’re fucking watching, Todoroki.

The street of the fake city stretches out near endlessly in front of him, almost identical to any other street in Musustafu, if not for the lack of signs, cars and traffic. Pretty clear. There’s a bridge up ahead, maybe he should go get a vantage view while he can. Katsuki’s more than sure that the exit gate he’s supposed to go through to win is directly opposite to the one he entered through, but with Aizawa who fucking knows.

…or, maybe going up is a bad idea. The more Katsuki strides forward, the more his eyes pick out the side alleys on either side of him, complete with trash cans of various sizes.

Maybe the bridge’s a bad idea, he thinks, brows furrowing. I’m going to have to play smart if I want to beat him -sneaking up on All Might is my best bet.

Steps echo behind him. “Kacchan, are you listening to me?”

The alleys certainly gave him an idea, one that Katsuki didn’t like as much as a direct confrontation, but would yield a higher chance of success. A small, stupid part of him gigles at the back of his head as he looks around, scanning the environment. If I beat All Might-

"Kacchan, we need to work together!"

Katsuki beats that voice back into the corner of his mind. He’s not stupid. Beating All Might? As a first year? Laughable. There’s no way that would be physically possible. He needs to be sneaky. He needs to play this smart.

Still...that doesn’t mean Katsuki couldn’t…

“-Kacchan, wait!”

A set of fingers graze his left shoulder, trying to forcibly turn him around.

Katsuki sees red.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing until he feels the heavy weight of his right gauntlet smash into Deku’s head, sending the younger boy sprawling. The green haired boy cries out as he falls back, barely bracing his padded elbow against the hard pavement to keep his head from hitting the street for an added concussion.

For a moment, they both freeze, staring at each other. Katsuki’s certain there’s no hiding the look of shock on his own face. At least, not from Deku, because as quickly as he scrambles to cover it with a sneer, the other boy saw.

Fuck.

He just hit Deku.

He just -with the gauntlet of all fucking things-

Katsuki turns away, facing his back to Deku. No need to look at the little shit. No need to see the way he’s slowly pulling himself to his feet, the pained rasp of a breath that leaves him as he assesses the damage. Katsuki didn’t break his nose -he didn’t hear the cartilage crunch or feel it give- but a swing of his hard, metal gauntlet to the face? 

It’s for sure that Deku’s going to have a big, gigantic bruise for a face by the end of the day. For most of the week, if Recovery Girl didn’t take a look at it.

Fuck.

Good going, Katsuki. Maim your teammate. He can almost hear his hag’s laugh -he’s more than sure Aizawa is fucking fuming if he’s watching. His teacher had been none too happy after their first class with All Might at all, to the point he’d pulled Katsuki aside to give him a few not so helpful as much as warning words.

He’s going to get the full fucking lecture after this, isn’t he? Rehashed, redone, all the more worse and unnecessary because it's not like it’s Katsuki’s fault Deku is just such a little shit-

“Kacchan-”

Oh my- 

“Shut your damn trap already, asshole.” Katsuki snarls, irritated by his constant calling. “I’m thinking.”

Deku pauses. “...you’re not thinking of fighting him head on, are you?”

Leave it to Deku to ignore the gauntlet to the face bit. Masochist. Observant masochist, if the sudden look of alarm the nerd has after peering into Katsuki’s face for far longer than it was comfortable is anything to go by:

“Kacchan, you’re joking.” Katsuki doesn’t quite refute him right away, torn, and Deku stands up, stumbling, cheek red but his expression more disbelief and a bit of anger than anything else. “Tell me you’re joking. You don’t seriously think you can fight All Might head on, right? He’ll beat you in a second -you’re no match for him. We need to work together if we want to pass the exam!” The green haired boy tells him, voice rising with each word.

It’s been only a few seconds and yet, Katsuki’s already getting real fucking tired of the condescending tone.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do-!”

Katsuki senses the punch before he hears it.

First it’s the tremor.

Then it’s the wind.

A wave of dust and wind spills over the both of them, tearing through the streets and ripping them off their feet. Glass breaks, parts of the pavement are torn right off the streets.  Deku yelps and goes flying somewhere off to his right like paper; Katsuki barely has the time to duck forward to avoid getting swept off too much, countering the torrential winds with his own weight and pitching himself low. 

He still ends up sent back a few feet, though he ends up on his hands and feet. Standing up immediately, he looks up to see a familiar figure standing in the middle of the streets, towering over Katsuki’s far smaller frame like an insurmountable monolith.

When the Number One Hero looks at him, the grin he makes has Katsuki’s hair standing on its ends.

“I hope you’re ready, heroes .”

All Might stands in front of them, hands on his hips. His grin is definitively not friendly, but still warm. Challenging.

(The look in his eyes, however? Disappointed.)

.

.

.

“Kacchan? Kacchan!!”

Katsuki’s snapped back to awareness with an annoying familiar voice. Naturally, he responds in turn.

“Die.” Katsuki gurgles out as he reaches towards the source of the disturbance. His hand hits something metallic and he shoves it away, his ear picking up the delightful sound of Deku yelping as he falls flat on his ass. “You’re annoying, shut your trap.” 

His voice is slurring.

Why is it slurring?

He feels off.

Like he got hit with a baseball bat to the face.

Wait.

He straightens up, looking at Deku in disbelief.

“Did you fucking hit me?”

“You wouldn’t cooperate.” Deku responds without a ounce of regret and despite the rising urge for murder somewhere in Katsuki’s chest he gives it to the nerd, because yeah, fair, he did fucking bat him with the metal gauntlet earlier.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“P-Please don’t be a hypocrite, Kacchan.”

“You still fucking punched me.” “In front of All Might. Do you need fucking glasses or is your spatial awareness that shit?”

“No, I wanted to hit you.” Deku answers with a faintly frustrated look that spelled out, at least to Katsuki, that the nerd is still very much feeling the urge still. “You weren’t cooperating.”

“-and you were in the fucking way.” Katsuki snarls. “I had him!”

“He made you throw up.” Deku responds with a you’re kidding look that has Katsuki’s already frazzled nerves bristling. “And then he hit you. With me.”  The nerd points at him, then himself as he speaks.

Don’t fucking remind me.

“Fuck off. I can deal with him just fine.” Katsuki bites out.

Deku levels him with a flat stare.

“No.”

Katsuki moves to walk past him, but the idiot stands his ground in a surprising show of nerves. He glares at the moron, hating the fact that now of all times Deku decides to grow a shiny new spine.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Deku.”

To his utter surprise, Deku stands firm. “No.” The boy says, only faintly flinching at the baleful glare Katsuki gives him in response because like fuck he was going to listen to the nerd, he’d rather die. “I’m not letting you leave until we talk -we need to figure something out. Together.”

Yeah, no.

That’s not happening.

The only reason he’s not continuing his routine of keep-Deku-away-with-a-ten-foot-pole is because of Aizawa being an asshole; Katsuki doesn’t want to be in the nerd’s presence any more than he has to. He’d made a promise to himself and Katsuki is going to keep it.

He’ll fight All Might on his goddamn own.

“That’s not happening.” Katsuki says automatically. “Like hell I’m working with you -I’m doing this on my own.”

“You won’t win!”

“That’s not your fucking problem, now is it?”

“This is a team test-”

“Wrong. The instructions are just to either get out through the gate to win, or slap the cuffs on All Might.” Katsuki points out. Deku looks none too impressed.

“We lost the cuffs!”

Katsuki falters, mouth falling open. “You had that shit!”

“It got lost in the fight!” Deku yells back with surprising force, face red.

“Motherfucker!” Katsuki barks out., lifting a hand up at the sky because god, he needs whatever deity above to fucking strike him down already, get him to his next life this one fucking sucks .  “Guess I’ll just make it up as I go!”

“What are you even saying ?!”

Fuck off, Deku.

Katsuki turns away from the idiot, hands clenched so hard he’s more than certain if he isn’t wearing his gloves, his nails would be digging into the flesh of his palms.

He’s not thinking anymore. Upstairs Katsuki had given the wheel over to his anger and Katsuki’s well aware of the level of utter bullshit coming out of his mouth right now, but the farther he gets away from Deku maybe the more coherent he’ll get. It always worked that way before, why would it change now?

As for All Might, he’ll figure something out. Maybe he can stun him with a gauntlet blast -thought maybe that might not work, Katsuki’s explosions barely fazed All Might to start with. Given the USJ, he’s betting no amount of added weighted bracelets is going to keep the man down.

I’m going to have to be sneaky about it. Hard hit to the head? Concussion blast -disorient him with sound? Maybe light?

Would anything I can do even faze him?

… Katsuki doesn’t like that thought at all. He walks forward to the end of the alley, thoughts wandering as he debates his next move.

Aizawa really put us up against a hard wall. Does he even want us to pass? Is he trying to do the same thing to me as he did to Kirishima? Set him up for failure?

He wouldn’t put it past the man-

“Don't you dare leave, Kacchan!" Ignored. Katsuki's getting skillful at that. "Goddammit - JUST PLEASE WORK WITH ME FOR ONCE!!!”

The furious, frustrated shouting, however, he's not expecting. Katsuki’s mouth snaps shut on instinct. His body freezes, muscles coiled tight as cold flashes through his limbs. It goes as quick as it came, leaving him to stare down at Deku’s too red, angry face and his frustrated, resigned expression. 

Brows drawn low and tight, lips pinched, eyes slightly wet because of course, Deku always was a fucking crier.

Even then, there’s strength in Deku’s eyes as he looks at him, nearly matching him in height. Not just strength but resolve, a drive that instantly silences the foul responses Katsuki’s brain has at the ready.

Deku closes his eyes and take a breath. It does little to relax the taunt pose of his shoulders or what Katsuki’s pretty sure is a bit of green lightning from sparking around his forearms. 

“I know you hate me.”  

I don’t, you just fucking suck like everything else in my goddamn life-

“-but for once just please work with me.” Deku bites out, frustration and hope mingling all at once in his voice and Katsuki loathes it. “I want to pass, Kacchan. I want to make All Might pr -I want to show him I can do this.” 

Yeah, like Katsuki didn’t catch the real meaning of that . There’s not one person in his class that hasn’t notice how fucking in cahoots Deku and All Might are, even if the later tries to seem unbiased in class. Man’s got a fucking soft spot for the nerd, for some reason. 

Could be because of how Deku’s shitty masochistic Quirk works and maybe, as horrible as the thought seems, it reminds All Might of himself. The Number One Hero’s Quirk is the mystery of the current decade here in Japan; one thing a lot of speculators agreed on is that it's some form of Emitter strength-enhancer. 

The same kind of power Deku mysteriously pulled out of his damn ass at the start of the semester. Fuck, he really doesn't want to think about it. It makes his stomach twist with something cold and uncomfortable.

“...the fuck do you want me to do about it?” He finally says, voice low.

“You know what.” Deku bites out, voice grim. “I can’t win alone.”

Katsuki wants to bite back, to deny what the idiot is saying. But no words leave his lips as he stares in silence at Deku’s insistent expression. There’s nothing he can say other than the obvious.

…and that is accepting his offer.

If he wants to beat All Might, Katsuki needs to use Deku. And not only use Deku by tossing him like a meat shield at the Number One Hero and hope a constant stream of nerd jarbom distracts the man long enough for Katsuki to make it to the gate. No, he needs to work with Deku.

As much as Katsuki loathes the idea, it’s the only thing that’s going to work. Brute strength isn't going to cut it.

He’s going to need to go all hands on deck. Use all the tricks he knows. His Quirk is good but against All Might’s he’s going to get squished like an insect. That means he can’t rely solely on it -he needs to distract, confuse and divert the Pro-Hero, trick him into thinking he’s got them right where he wants them. 

“Fine.” Katsuki tells Deku as he reaches towards his left arm. The idiot’s green eyes widen in realization upon seeing Katsuki unlatch the loaded gauntlet from his wrist. “But if we are going to face him, we’re going to play our cards right .”

Katsuki is his mother’s creation too, after all. 

Trickery is in his blood.

.

.

.

‘No way we’re going to be able to hit him hard enough to stun his ass.’

‘But your gauntlet-’

‘Won’t do shit, just surprise him for a few seconds -nowhere near fucking enough to get to the gate. You can have it as a second option, if things go to shit, but there’s no way we’re opening with that.’

‘Then what do we do?’

Their plan goes off without a hitch.

Distracted by Deku, All Might turns around way too late.

Katsuki already has both hands aimed towards his face. Stun Grenade goes off perfectly, right a feet or two in front of their teacher’s eyes. 

‘Once he’s disoriented, it's going to take him a bit to recover. No amount of whatever the fuck he’s on is going to clear out those spots in his eyes. Gonna last a lot fuckin’ longer than just a big explosion.’

There.

Blind All Might.

At least temporarily.

Enough that Katsuki leaps over him and books it towards the exit like his ass is on fire because like hell he’s wasting the opportunity.

Deku joins him with a zip of green lightning. His hair is ruffled to all fucking hell, even more of a bird’s nest. His eyes are wide, bulging almost; but his grin is vast and maybe a bit wild. Happy. Who would have fucking thought.

At least someone’s happy, Katsuki thinks sourly.

“We’re almost there, Kacchan!”

“Just keep fucking moving.” Katsuki hisses back, flying at his side with controlled bursts of explosions. “Last thing we need is-

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Katsuki nearly plants face first into the ground at the sudden voice next to him. He whips his head to the left and oh fuck him. All Might’s back, happily jogging right between the two of them without a care in the world. Like it's some form of happy group jog.

He’s even grinning at Katsuki, blue eyes gleaming with amusement at the strangled warbled noise he makes.

Are you joking-?!

“Fuck!” The curse leaves his lips as a hiss as he struggles to a landing and whips his remaining gauntlet towards All Might. A tiny voice of him pipes up that Deku is right behind and in the line of fire, but Katsuki-

-eating dirt, the remains of his gauntlet falling like a shower of metal around him. Katsuki’s not sure how the man managed it, but his arm’s fine and yet, his grenadier is a loss.

Somewhere above him, Deku lets out a yelp. 

Katsuki scrambles to stand up, only to be forced down when a very hard shape slams into his back, squashing him back into the dirt and keeping him pinned there. The shape on his back is unmistakable.

All Might is stepping on him, holding him down like a bug.

He looks up, realizing that not only has his teacher has him squish to the ground like a insect, he’s holding a frantically wiggling Deku up by the forearm, dangling the poor bastard off the ground like a rabbit about to be skinned. Such a wonderful imagery, but Katsuki’s out of fucks to give and All Might just broke his gauntlet -two of them, if the very much missing one on Deku’s arm has anything to say!

“That was commendable, boys.” All Might acknowledges. Katsuki grits his teeth, furious. “Very good use of teamwork! My, I think I saw stars!”

“All Might-”

“Fuck you!” Katsuki completes with a snarl, likely saying what he’s certain Deku doesn’t have the balls or brains to say. He can see the gate just up ahead, just a few more feet, they had been so goddamn close-

“This tentative cooperation however won’t get you a win, I’m afraid!” All Might continues, absolute fucking ignoring Katsuki like he’s a rag to clean his shoe with. “Flawless strategy, but there’s no way you can beat me.”

That seems a bit more aimed at Katsuki than anyone else.

Deku says something in return, but he can’t hear it past the pounding of his heart in his ears. Red hot fury flashes through his body at the taunt. Pinned down, Deku caught, part of him feels like there’s no way he’s going to win and All Might might just be right.

But there’s the other half of him that absolutely recoils at the thought.

How do I get out of this?

There’s one idea. It’s a bad one. A really bad one. Katsuki takes all of about a second to consider the pros and cons.

…alright.

Game on. 

He’s a petty bitch. 

A very petty bitch.

The pettiest bitch of them all.

All Might just drew it out of him, as it turns out. Both him and Deku shared that trait, who would have fucking guessed. For that reason, Katsuki flips his left hand upwards, palm up, and wills as much nitroglycerin out of the glands of that limb as possible.

The sudden illumination of his palm makes both Deku and All Might pause. Katsuki has the eternal satisfaction of watching his teacher’s blue eyes quickly snap down towards him, slowly widening as the realization dawn on the man.

When their gazes connect, Katsuki bares his teeth in return and rasps out:

“Like hell I’m losing.”

He ignites his Quirk.

A brilliant flash follows -then a sudden explosion rises into being from his hand, launching the weight on his back all the way off and knocking his head into the destroyed pavement in turn. The explosion tears the street apart -and Katsuki’s arm. 

Or at least, that’s what it felt like. He pulls himself up, painfully, and quickly scan for Deku’s stupid mop of hair, which he finds quickly because there’s not a inch of grass in this fake city. He stumbles over to the shorter boy, picking him up by his collar.

Deku’s just as disoriented as he feels. Katsuki still yells into his face as he widens his stance, mind racing because All Might could come at any moment and he’s not about to lose.

“I don’t fucking like this.” He hisses into Deku’s face, part of him enjoying the flinch he gets in response. “You better fucking leg it, nerd! Get ready!”

“W-what? Kacchan, wait wait-”

As it turns out, there’s nothing more satisfying or therapeutic that launching Deku into the fucking sky. He adds a explosion to the throw for added punch, for every inch he saves Deku from having to drag his sorry carcass through is another percentage chance of Katsuki fucking winning, even as disgraceful of a win as this is.

This isn’t the grand battle he wanted. Nor was it the landslide fight he feared. It’s something ugly and unsatisfying in the middle and Katsuki loathes it, hates it, hates the frustration he feels and the pain in his arms and the wetness in his eyes that make him feel like there’s something off and unbalanced within him.

Not the way he wanted this to go, from start to finish.

How wonderful.

“Deku, keep fucking running!” He roars as he turns towards All Might’s standing figure. Bastard’s tall -he’s even taller like this in a battle, just as tall as Katsuki imagined him to be when he was a little kid wondering just who All Might was, and how he fit in his father’s plans.

All Might looks at him, then Deku, then looks back at Katsuki again, eyes glinting with something warm and faintly proud. 

“What’s this? Saying behind to-”

Katsuki blinds him with a Stun Grenade.

All Might stumbles, but seems to recover faster. He draws himself up, his smile growing wider, more amused.

“Bakugo, surely you have another trick up y-”

Katsuki does it again, not giving him the chance. 

Then again, just to make sure in case the man dodged the attack by closing his eyes. Yes, he’s an asshole. No, Katsuki is past the point of caring.

Plus some massive explosions to disorient him with sound. He alternates between the two moves, ignoring the pain in his arms with each attack.

One -two, three, five consecutive Stun Grenades later, All Might is suddenly in front of him, emerging from the smoke caused by his explosions. He looks very much annoyed, a sentiment Katsuki shares.

So he flashes the bastard with a Stun Grenade, again. 

He’s going to buy time for Deku to get to the fucking finish line even if it kills him.

.

.

.

He fails, in the end.

He’s on his back, spitting blood. Deku’s somewhere, hopefully going through the fucking gates because otherwise broken bones or not Katsuki’s going to get back the fuck up and break his bones, see how the nerds like it!

He can’t use his Quirk anymore. Little puffs of smoke and heat come out of his palms, but no matter how much he clutches at All Might’s gigantic forearm, he can't pry it off, or get him to flinch with the tiny, weak explosions he barely manages to will into existence. His shoulders hurt, but not as much as his arms do -deep, pulsing pain slicing up and down the muscles.

It’s no use.

He’s fucked.

I’m...losing...

“You did great, kid.” All Might tells him as he forces him down into the dirt with just one hand, keeping him trapped with a knee over both of his legs. 

Katsuki’s pinned, completely. He’s never felt so helpless and it makes him burn from the inside out.

No I didn’t, keep your petty talk for the extras!

“You have much anger in you, Bakugo.” His teacher continues, voice gentle and it sound so fucking patronizing, even if part of Katsuki that isn’t foaming a the mouth think he doesn’t mean it that way. “Your drive is admirable, but you need to learn to accept defeat. Rest .”

Katsuki bites him in response, because he’s a petty bitch.

His teeth don’t even break the rough skin of All Might’s palm. It’s like biting leather, equally as tough and far more unyielding and probably a lot more unsanitary, but Katsuki’s pissed so he latches on and bites hard. He can't fucking lose. Part of him knows he will, knows there's no hope in the position he's in -he's nothing compared to All Might, nothing- but he tries anyways, desperate and angry and there's something wet gathering at the corner of his eyes he loathes with a passion.

All Might frowns. 

“That’s enough, boy.” He says, voice soft, no longer as loud or roaring as during the fight -not, earlier in the fight, because it's not over until Katsuki says so.

Katsuki makes a muffled attempt at a fuck you , and it seems like the sentiment is translated successfully, if the huffed chuckle All Might lets out is anything to go by.

The grip around the lower half of his face start slackening gradually, but Katsuki no matter how much he mentally screams and flails to get away, get up and fight, his battered exhausted carcass can’t come up with the necessary energy to move, not even to try and kick the bastard or let out some pitiful puffs of smoke from his bruised, pulsing, aching hands.

At the sight of his faltering strength, All Might’s expression seems to soften, almost growing sad. Stupid, really stupid, Katsuki’s sure he’s fucking enjoying this shit, Katsuki after all is the one who beats up his precious golden boy on the regular-

…suddenly All Might looks to his right, out of Katsuki’s gradually fading sights. His mouth falls slightly open in surprise at something Katsuki can’t see.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY, ALL MIGHT!”

Deku nails his mentor right in the fucking face, and the shockwave of the impact knocks Katsuki out cold.

.

.

.

Katsuki wakes up sometime after being loaded up on a bus.

Someone threw a blanket over him. After a bit of blinking and reassuring himself that yes, his eyes were still functional after this latest concussion, Katsuki notes that it's not as much of a blanket as it is a familiar, deep blue cloak. A cape. All Might’s cape. Draped over his unconscious ass while he sits at the back of the small bus.

Wait, why didn’t All Might have it in the fight? Did he take it off beforehand?

Probably didn’t want to ruin it.

He trails a hand over it, relishing momentarily enjoying the warmth. It’s a lot less sleek that he thought it would be under his touch. More like some tightly woven silk than synthetic material, even though that’s what it is because there’s no way silk could be resistant enough to survive all the shit All Might puts it through.

Filing that away, he looks around only to find that Deku is sitting at a socially respectable two seats away. He’s got himself mostly stretched out on the booth and looks about to kneel over. There’s a budding bruise across his face that Katsuki is pretty sure is his doing.

Oh well.

Fucker got him back with that punch in the face.

(Who knew he had balls after all.)

As if he’s got some sixth sense, Deku lifts his head up to look at him, visibly brightening. “You’re awake!” He chirps happily.

Katsuki hisses at the pain suddenly blooming inside his head. Fuck, this is one of the worst heaadaches he’s ever felt. An understanding expression crossed Deku’s face.

“Want some water? We’re almost at the school.” The other boy whispers, thankfully.

For a better lack of vocabulary, Katsuki hisses again. Deku somehow translates this, gets up, goes over to what looks like a small cardboard box near the driver -a odd, skeletal man that really needs some goddamn food in him, yesterday-  and grabs a bottle of water from within its depths. He wobbles towards Katsuki, offering the bottle hesitantly.

Katsuki hesitates for a moment, then quickly snatches the bottle away. As an afterthought, he shrugs All Might’s cape off himself and tosses it towards Deku, who catches it with a stuttered yelp like it’s the mythical Golden Fleece. It’s ridiculous how he sits down near Katsuki -too fucking near, but he’s not a concussion so its not like he can yell about it- and shakily folds the cape carefully on his lap.

The reverent way he does it almost sends Katsuki crackling.

Fucking nerd.

He rips his water bottle open and drinks a first few tentative sips, grimacing at the way his stomach protests. Fuck, this is hardly the first time he’s been punched hard enough to throw up. He should be more used to this shit, it’s pathetic . Then again, no way the hag's blows could compare to All Might.

“You okay, Kacchan?”

Right. Katsuki glances at his current problem, who is watching him carefully from a not so respectable distance.

…besides the headache, he’s not sure what to say to the fool. Katsuki passed the Festival with the very much firm intent of acting as if Deku’s very existence was a glitch in the fucking Matrix that he would do well to ignore completely. Like he was never there in the first place, even though he’s been here for a long, long fucking while.

Deku’s been here before Endeavor realized Katsuki is defective trash, and he’s been here after. No matter how much Katsuki wants to ignore it, the universe seems keen to push them down the same road.

Years, hell, months ago, he’d laughed and laughed at the mere idea of Deku being a Pro-Hero. At first his declaration that he would be a great hero even after being diagnosed as Quirkless was hilarious. A joke. A stupid, stupid belief.

Poor Izuku, their homeroom teacher would say on the rare occasions he didn’t turn a blind eye to what Katsuki did, the reality just hadn’t set in yet, give it time. Have patience, Katuski. Try to understand. Don’t let it get to you.

But he didn’t understand.

Because it was clear that Deku fucking bought it, the idea that the world would somehow accommodate his silly fucking dream. Like the world wasn’t going to punch him in the face someday and show him what it really is -fucking petty and heartless.

…and yet, now here’s the nerd.

Brand new fucking Quirk, one that he somehow obtained .

Katsuki grimaces. He leans back against his seat, looking off into the distance. No one spoke. Katsuki fiddles with the bottle cap for a moment, then opens his mouth:

“I bit All Might.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Deku make a face that is anything but pleased. “Yuck.”

Katsuki says nothing. Yuck, indeed.

At least there’s one thing they agree on.

.

.

.

Katsuki’s past the point of grace when he steps off the bus, leaving Deku to deal with the drive and All Might’s cape which he does not keep, he doesn’t want the man’s pity. He stomps into the infirmary building, thankfully finding the school nurse quickly enough.

Recovery Girl has two beds ready for them when they arrive, the smart woman. Katsuki only stands long enough for her to use her Quirk on him, then he picks the furthest against the window, flops down on it, uniform and all, and is out like a fucking light.

When he wakes up, hours later, he finds that the room is bathed in an orange glow from the setting sun. A cursory glance around the room finds Deku sleeping in the other bed, the nerd taking Katsuki’s cue and sleeping with most of his uniform still on.

Speaking of…

Katsuki sits up on the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain travelling up his arms and spine with the motion. Someone took his gloves, braces and boots off, setting it on a night table next to the bed, alongside a school uniform Katsuki is more than certain is his.

When he grabs the shirt, he flicks the collar inside out to search for the identifying orange spot he put on the sticker. Yup, his.

Given Deku is sleeping -snoring, even, sounds more like a motor than a person, fuck he’s annoying even when he’s sleeping- Katsuki takes advantage and quickly changes into his school clothes. Amidst the fumble of getting in those clothes and ignoring the aching pain in his limbs, Katsuki discovers that the suitcase his suit is normally in has been brought over and shoved under the bed. 

Well. that makes it easier.

When he exits the room, suit in one hand and dressed up, he quickly spots a familiar short woman at her desk nearby, reading over some documents. At the sound of the private room opening and closing, Recovery Girl snaps her heads up, lips pursing thoughtfully as she spots him.

“You’re up.” She says, voice low but steady. “Hello there, Bakugo. Had a good rest?”

No.

“Hmm,” Katsuki makes a non committal noise in response, glancing around and finding that they are alone. “What time is it?”

The nurse purses her lips, glancing down at her desk -at her phone, lying right next to her work papers. “Just about six in the afternoon.” She tells him, and Katsuki cheers on the inside because this means he’s going to be able to take the train without suffering through the work-end rush that leaves everyone in the train packed like sardines. 

At least not the entire day isn’t shit.

Recovery Girl then lends down, grabs something from a drawer in her desk and sets it on the counter. He recognizes it immediately. 

“Your locket keys are here. Leave your case where it belongs in the classroom, and you can go.” She says, humming.

Katsuki nods, taking the keys and stuffing it into his left pocket. “Right.” He mutters under his breath, turning to leave.

“Congratulations on your win, by the way.”

Katsuki pauses, freezing.

What.

I won?

He turns back towards Recovery Girl. The nurse seems to understand the blank stare of confusion on his face and explains:

“Midoriya carried you over the finish line. It’s a win in Aizawa’s book.” She informs him, a faintly amused gleam in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the Summer Camp.”

….fuck.

“Fantastic.” Katsuki says blandly. Try as he might, he can’t find enjoyment in the knowledge he’s going. It’s not fun. Not fun at all. Not when its Deku who carried his fucking ass to victory.

That sounds like the start of a nightmare. Or the worst alternative timeline.

“You should take it easy for the next two days, I’ll give a note to your teacher about it.” Recovery Girl continues, raising an index and pointing a finger at Katsuki’s shoulders. “You pulled your muscles pretty badly.”

Not like Katsuki didn’t notice. His arms ached terribly. despite the obvious fact Recovery Girl must have used her Quirk on him. It’s far from an unfamiliar pain given how hard Katsuki pushes himself during training, but he’s not sure they ever hurt to this level. It’s even worse than during the Sports Festival.

The next two days are going to be wonderful .

“Overdid it with my Quirk.” Katsuki mutters, answering honestly because in truth, there’s no reason to avoid the subject with the nurse, who’s supposed to make sure he doesn’t end up a geriatric before he graduates. “Am I good to go?”

“Yes. I’ll tell Aizawa that you’re leaving.” 

“Hm. Okay.”

“Bakugo.”

Her voice is firm and has a minuscule section of Katsuki’s being freeze up on instinct. Once more he turns to her, finding the woman peering at him intently behind those big glasses.

“For what it’s worth, you did good, kid.”

“... right.” Katsuki’s more than dubious about that .

Recovery Girl huffs, shooing him away. Katsuki takes it as his cue to leave.

It takes him a good twenty minutes of slow walking to get to the main building and into his classroom. There’s no one there, but two of the cases slots on the walls for storing their hero uniforms are open and empty. One of them for him, another one is Deku’s no doubt.

Katsuki quickly identifies his and shoves the shelve back into the wall, feeling it shut with a click. With that done, he ambles out of the class and towards the lockers.

Unlike the classroom, it's not empty.

And it's kind of hard to mistake the crazy, spiky halo of crimson hair currently mushed into the lockers. 

Katsuki takes a moment to stare at the boy he, begrudgingly, admits is his friend. Kirishima has his head pressed up against his closed locker. He’s dressed in his school uniform, bag sitting at his feet and yet, the other boy seems more focused in muttering incomprehensible things under his head as he leans there, seemingly in a dark cloud of his own.

He hesitates, then asks:

“Kirishima-?”

Katsuki blinks as the other boy lets out a tiny yell, practically jumping halfway across the room. Nearly smacking into a series of lockers in the process, the redhead whirls around, arms flailing a bit upon seeing Katsuki standing there.

“Bakugo!” The redhead barks out, voice a mixture of relief and embarrassment.  “...don’t sneak up on me like that, dude!” Kirishima continues, shaking his head. “My heart!”

Katsuki feels his nose wrinkle. “I wasn’t sneaking, you have poor hearing.” He tells the other flatly. Kirishima snorts, a quieter sound than usual when he finds something Katsuki says amusing. “What the hell were you doing?”

At that, Kirishima’s expression turns downwards. The redhead half turns away from Katsuki, avoiding his gaze as he goes to pick up his school bag with slow movements.

“...I...huh…” He hesitates, something Katsuki’s not used to from the headstrong idiot. “...was having a moment.”

“A moment.” Katsuki repeats, dubious.

“Yes!” Kirishima agrees. It's utter bullshit, but Katsuki lets it slide reluctantly as the other boy looks him over, frowning as he pauses on the bandages on his arms. “How about you? Dude. you looking beaten up.”

Katsuki shoots him a baleful glare.

“I’m going to beat you up.”

Kirishima holds his free hand up as a white flag. “Huh, pass? Dude, just rest up, you look like a bruised vegetable.” The redhead says.

Katsuki’s eyelids fall halfway over his eyes at the description. Really, leave it up to Kirishima to say something so stupid. If anything, Deku’s the one who looked like a bruised vegetable by the end of the test!

“Charming.” He bites out.

Oddly, Kirishima makes a noise and shakes his head, backtracking quickly. “I-I mean, it's not that bad!” He stammers, moving closer to Katsuki and pointy his probably horribly messed up hair. “You look huh -scruffy! Yes, scruffy !”

His rising volume makes Katsuki’s head hurt. He barely hides a wince, glaring at Kirishima instead. “Keep your voice down.” He orders, and Kirishima’s mouth snaps shut. “I have a fucking headache.”

The other boy’s red eyes widen at his response.

“Sorry!” He whispers, looking at him with worry. It’s not something Katsuki’s used to and he hates it. It makes him bristle on the inside; he’s no fucking fragile doll. “How are you doing?”

That only makes it worse. Katsuki squints.

“...take a guess.”

“Uhm.”

“I barely fucking passed,” Katsuki bites out biterly, looking away. “Deku carried my ass across the finish line, that’s not a win.”

“...Bakugo. Seriously?” The bewilderment in Kirishima’s voice has him turning his head back to the boy, mildly confused. If anything, Kirishima looks slightly indignant. It makes Katsuki want to frown.

“What?” He asks, just a bit too defensive for his own tastes.

“You went up against All Might. If that’s not the tallest wall Aizawa can throw at you two, I don’t know what is.”

Katsuki frowns. “I still fucking lost. Your point?”

“My point,” Kirishima breathes out harshly like he can’t believe Katsuki’s stupidity and fuck him, if there’s anyone with walnuts for brains between the two it’s Kirishima. “...is that the teachers gave you the biggest obstacle in the class, and you still managed to win.”

Katsuki looks away, frowning. “...don’t feel like a win.” he finds himself admitting, a first.

“Huh?” Kirishima makes a questioning noise.

Katsuki takes a deep breath. “I said,” He pauses, something in his chest tightening in a way that is far from unfamiliar. He glances at Kirishima, glaring. “-that didn’t fucking feel like a win. As far as I’m concerned, I failed that shit.”

“Well,” Kirishima hesitates. Already Katsuki’s not liking what he’s saying, and he’s only one word in and he has no idea where it’s going. “I guess you gotta take what you have.”

...alright, he had some idea. Goddamn Kirishima with his positivity. Katsuki should have seen it coming. The guy always tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel for every situation, even Katsuki’s disgusting mess of a life.

The redhead shifts on his feet, securing his backpack on his back. He doesn’t look happy anymore, nor concerned; resigned, more than anything. It makes part of Katsuki stand on alert.

“At least you’re going to the camp, I’m going to be stuck here.”

Oh.

Right.

Aizawa told them before the exam that they needed to pass the finals if they wanted to go to the summer camp. Oddly, the idea of Kirishima not being there ticks Katsuki off. He had a feeling it was going to fucking suck without the redhead. Namely, he’d have no barrier between himself and Kaminari and Ashido’s borderline unlimited energy. Using Sero as a meat shield didn’t feel like it would be the same.

This camp shit is going to be hell, I can feel it, Katsuki thinks. Come to think of it….

“Isn’t the camp another training opportunity?” He mutters, more to himself than Kirishima. The redhead tilts his head at his words. “Why the fuck would Aizawa leave you and the rest here?”

Kirishima shrugs. “Punishment?” He says, halfheartedly, like he doesn’t really believe it either, because like hell Aizawa would waste such an opportunity. “I mean, we did fail pretty hard. Ashido and Kaminari didn’t even find Nedzu, you should have seen it. The Principal chewed them up and spit them out.”

Katsuki stares.

“...ew.” He denotes blandly after a while. Kirishima nods.

“...yeah, ew.” The other boy agrees. “Not a good image.”

“Still, it doesn’t make sense.” Katsuki says, frowning as he thinks it over. “Aizawa wouldn’t leave you here.”

As he thinks it through, his feet carry him over to his locker. He swipes his keys from his pocket and opens it, grabbing his bag. He opens it, checking over the contents to make sure he has the right books and items in it. Just because the first semester is ending, didn’t mean he could slacken. 

Besides, when the hag comes back wherever she decided to fuck off to Katsuki won’t have free reign of the house. He’d cleaned it up and down like he had to according to their agreement, or she will give him next week barely enough money to afford a bag of rice, but once she’s back? Sitting in his room pretending not to exist or being outside were his only options.

At least he’s going to be free of her for a whole other week during the Summer Camp.

“Maybe?” Kirishima sounds hardly optimistic behind him. “We failed pretty badly.”

“There’s no way he’d hinder your training by making you skip that week.” Katsuki points out as he turns back around, watching the way those bright scarlet eyes widen at his declaration. “Did you read the semester itinerary? Summer camp is for survival training. Wood stuff. It’s the only one we got of the sort until late next semester. Keeping you at Yuuei is like busting your fucking kneecaps.”

Kirishima is quiet. 

“I see your point.” The redhead says after a while slowly. “Maybe he’s leaving us to the other teachers to deal with?” He wonders, hesitating but hopeful. 

“Maybe.” Katsuki bites out, closing his locker door and locking it. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Man, this day was a drag.” Kirshima laments softly. “I thought I had it.”

Thought I had it, too.

“Shit day.” Katsuki agrees. “I need to train more.”

Kirishima nods. “Ditto to that.” 

He suddenly perks up, his pinched lips stretching into a toothy smile. Katsuki swears if the other boy had dog ears, they would be up in attention. He kind of looks like a happy dog, now. Or a shark, given his teeth… urgh, he’s rambling, Katsuki decides. It’s the concussion All Might gave him slowly making itself known again.

How the redhead has this much energy this late in the day after the shitshow they both went through, that’s beyond his knowledge. 

“Wanna do it together? We can start after the Summer Camp -or during it, I’m sure Aizawa’s gonna let us spar on our free time!” Kirishima exclaims, excited.

That...doesn’t entirely sound bad. Kirishima needs the practice anyways, since his strategy of charging forward had been just waiting to get bit in the ass and the test today proved it. Katsuki knows exactly what he’s going to work on to improve the idiot’s fighting strategy. At the same time, Katsuki needs something to wail on with his explosions to strengthen them. 

Kirishima’s always been the perfect target for that before, he wouldn’t fail Katsuki in that regard any time soon.

“Sure.” Katsuki ultimately agrees, noting from the corner of his eyes how the other brightens up, as if Katsuki made his day.  “I’m going, I’ll be late for my train.” Katsuki continues, grabbing his phone from his bag and checking the time. Yup, he should be getting the hell out of here in the next five minutes, otherwise he’s going to have to wait a while at the station.

Kirishima makes a soft noise. “Oh, okay! I think I’m going to hit the gym for a hour, then go.” He mutters, then says cheerfully with another one of his familiar, toothy grins. “Bye, Bakugo!”

Idiot. Katsuki turns away, swinging the straps of his bag over his shoulders. 

“Don’t overdo training. Bye.”

“Says you!” He hears Kirishima huff.

Katsuki flips him the finger halfheartedly and walks out.

.

.

.

His good humor lasts until he finds a certain half and half standing in a painfully familiar stairway, blocking his path. They stare at each other for the longest time, neither wanting to talk first. 

Ultimately, Katsuki grows bored and grumbles:

“I guess you’re ready to fucking talk?”

Slowly, Todoroki nods.

Chapter Text

Todoroki takes him to a coffee shop.

Of all places, a coffee shop .

There must be someone up above currently laughing at him when his half-brother leads him to a secluded corner of the establishment and sits him down opposite of him in a tucked away corner clearly meant for privacy.

Even worse, Todoroki’s attempts at keeping them incognito are laughable at best. As in, there is none and it's a wonder they haven’t been identified by random extras yet. There’s already been a few glances when they made their way here. Katsuki’s not taking the chances of anything happening; if someone snaps a picture and it ends up on any tabloid or media, there's a good chance the hag will see it and then he’s fucked. So very fucked. 

Not to even get started on Endeavor…

Katsuki pointedly shoves that thought into an iron chest and snaps the lid shut before tossing it off to a dark corner of his mind. Better not dwell on it. Better not fuckign dwell on it. It still leaves the problem of Todoroki’s utterly eye catching eyesore of a hair, which has Katsuki looking at its owner across the table and hiss:

“We need to get something on your fucking hair, dumbass.”

Todoroki blinks, brows creasing just slightly enough that Katsuki notices it. Then they rise up as the other boy opens his mouth, making  soft noise. “Oh. I have something for that.”

And then Katsuki watches him twist to the side to grab his school bag, ruminate through it and then…

… pulls out a very familiar, dark red beanie he unceremoniously shoves over his head.

“Oi, that’s mine.” The mildly indignant admission comes out without his own accord, making Todoorki pause and Katsuki’s face feel red.

Katsuki’s really possessive of his shit, alright? He doesn’t have much and he’d rather have his hat back, instead of-

Wait.

He twists around in his seat and grabs his school back, ripping it open and fumbling around with the bottom of the bag. He can feel Todoroki’s eyes on him, watching curiously as he finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls the All Might-themed beanie hat from his bag -and tosses it across the table.

Nailed, right in the face.

Todoroki catches it hesitantly, staring at it quietly for a moment before he shrugs, tears off Katsuki’s beanie from his head, tosses it Katsuki’s way, who shoves it on his head almost at the same time as Todoroki puts his horribly designed one on top of his dual-colored hair.

He looks utterly ridiculous; the red beanie worked a lot better with his hair.

...too bad Katsuki’s not giving it back.

“Now that’s done,” Katsuki starts, watching Todoroki adjust a few stray locks of hair out of his own face with a squint. “....are you ready to talk?”

His hair sufficiently hidden, Todoroki rests his hands on the table and stares maybe a bit too deep into Katsuki’s eyes. “I am.” He says, voice soft; almost weary. Not something he’s used to from the idiot. “It’s...complicated, Bakugo.”

Yeah, Katsuki had a feeling.

“Is that why you were ignoring me?” Katsuki says that at the exact same time he realizes how childish it sounds. Like a little fucking kid demanding attention. How fucking stupid of him.

He doubles down though because he’s no backtracking bitch, giving the other boy a mild glare. Todorok’s brows furrow and he reluctantly nods.

“...yes. It is.” He admits. “I am sorry for that.”

‘Sorry.’

….alright, an apologetic Todoroki is not how Katsuki thought he would end this nightmare of a day. He doesn’t like the squirming, ugly feeling the sight generates in his guts. Like he should leave -but at the same time, not.

Why the fuck is he even apologizing for?

“Get to the point.” Katsuki diverts instead, only pausing when the waitress comes over to set down their food. A coffee for himself, since that’s the only thing he can afford right now with his bi-weekly food money the hag gives him. As for Todoroki, part of Katsuki barks out a laugh inside his head when he gets tea and a small slice of strawberry cheesecake. There’s a pattern there and its fucking hilarious.

“I was starting to think the old man had a talk with you.”

Todoroki blinks, hand pausing over his fork. He looks over at Katsuki with a perplexed, if not slightly offended glint in his mismatched eyes. “You...think I’m ignoring you because Endeavor ordered me to?”

Katsuki does not squirm in his seat.

“He cares about his reputation.” Katsuki says, avoiding Todoroki’s gaze without backing down by looking just slightly right of his half and half mess of hair. It’s sticking out so hazardously from under the beanie that part of Katsuki wants to weep. “Wouldn’t want you being around me, that’s for sure.”

I probably piss him off by still daring to exist, Katsuki thinks to himself, because like hell he’s saying anything about it to Todoroki.

“I don’t care about his reputation.” His half brother says stiffly, a tone far more stern that Katsuki ever heard from him. “Or what he wants.”

He’d definitely hit some sort of never, there. 

Seems like Katsuki’s not the only one with the rebellion hard on among Endeavor’s brood.

“Me and you both.” Katsuki mutters. He’s well aware he could magnificently blow up said precious reputation to utter shit with just a DNA test, but he knows that would come back to bite him like a boomerang, and Endeavor’s affair child is not the kind of shit he wants following after him when he’s a Pro-Hero. 

Tempting, but oh so self-destructive to his future career.

“Then what the fuck is the fuss all about?”

Todoroki falters, his expression growing pinched in a way that Katsuki’s never seen from the other boy. It sets alarms going off his head. His half brother has the facial expression range of a plank of wood, to look worried(concerned? troubled?) makes him uneasy.

“Have you heard of someone called Touya?”

Katsuki frowns. That’s not where he expected when he got dragged here.

“Touya?”

“Yes.”

“Nope.” Katsuki takes a sip of his coffee, savoring the taste because as soon as the Summer Camp starts, goodbye sweet treat. His Quirk acted fucky if he drank caffeine constantly, so better enjoy it while he can. “Never heard of such a name. Who is he? Some other poor fuck up?”

Todoroki opens his mouth.

...and closes it.

His body goes cold. Katsuki stills and slowly, very slowly, sets his coffee down on the table. He tries very, very hard to keep his expression calm as to not attract attention as he speaks softly. 

 “...you’re serious.”

Todoroki, teeth gritted, nods.

“Yes.”

“There’s another one.”

“Yes.

“Another one.”

“The firstborn, in fact.” Todoroki enlightens him, voice quiet and forlorn. “Touya’s the eldest. He had a fire Quirk like Endeavor, but it grew out of control, apparently. Too much for him to be able to use it.”

Katsuki stares.

Another one.

Another cog in this fucking mess of a family tree. Not only that, but another person that didn’t live up to Endeavor’s expectations.

Holy shit there’s another brother. Another fuck up like Katsuki.

“Where is he?” Katsuki asks roughly. “You didn’t know about him before, did you -then where the fuck is he?” His voice is becoming, quicker, more frantic. Katsuki makes mental note to reign it in before he attracts attention but holy fuck, this must be what Todoroki felt like after that conversation after the Sports Festival.

Is this karma? 

This felt like karma.

This is what he gets for running his mouth. If he’d just shut up back then, none of this would have happened. Life would have gone on as usual, Katsuki would have graduated, turned 18th and fucked off from the hag’s house to start his career without anyone holding him back, and then a few years later he’ll be crowned Number One and would get the satisfaction of staring down Endeavor during the ranking ceremony.

But no -Katsuki just had to open his trap.

Fuck!

“He fled.” Todoroki answers, sipping a bit on his tea. He looks troubled, no doubt about it -even angry, if the dark look in his eyes is anything to go by. Todoroki’s expressing more emotion in the past few minutes than Katsuki has ever seen from him. “Fuyumi told me he ran away when he was thirteen.” 

Katsuki swallows.

Thirteen? How the fuck did he manage that? Is he even still alive?

Wait.

“Fuyumi?”

“My -our sister.” Todoroki corrects, and Katsuki’s not fucking liking it at all. Ours . It’s wrong. “She’s the second oldest.”

Oh.

Right.

That.

He should have seen it coming. Sometimes Katsuki kind of forgets Todoroki Shouto isn’t the only one in that house. There’s...three right? Including Todoroki? Or four, if the half and half bastard is right.

“Right. Sister.” He coughs, quickly masking it by drinking more coffee. “Forgot.” Not like I fucking follow the news on the old man, what kind of fucking use would there be in that?

“There’s also Natsuo.” Todoroki continues, voice softer. “He’s the third child.”

Ah.

“Right.” Katsuki parrots, nodding, finding himself unable to do anything but repeat the same dumb word while his mind baked. Brother. Sister. Touya. The words swirl around his half-baked brain that is definitely not ready to absorb this kind of information.

He feels kind of faint, but he bobs his head like a idiot and rambles:

“Right. Any fucking clue where the fuck this Touya is?”

“No, Natsuo and Fuyumi lost contact with him years ago.” Todoroki answers, voice lowering. Katsuki frowns. “I never knew about him; Fuyumi let it slip.”

Slip?

Wait.

“How?” Katsuki asks, because how would that topic even come up -oh. 

Oh fuck no.

Oh god no.

He plants both hands on the table and stares down at Todoroki, who for once, looks guilty. It only confirms what Katsuki had been dreading.

“Wait, were you two talking about me?”

.

.

.

Cornering Fuyumi took two days.

Shouto’s not proud of it, but he waits in Natsuo’s empty room -adjacent to Fuyumi’s- later in the afternoon for her to arrive home. Natsuo never comes home unless he needs to, so Shouto doesn’t expect him home until near midnight.

His brother’s understandable allergy of the family home works in his favor, for Shouto has plenty of time to wait after school for Fuyumi. He listens to her oh so quiet footsteps as she goes to her room, opens it slowly…

...and all at once, Shouto opens Natsuo’s door, stomps towards her as Fuyumi whirls around, eyes widening, and without a word to his sister, slides into her bedroom to sit down at her desk, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at her. It’s childish and petulant, unbecoming of him he’s quite sure, but Shouto has never been one to care about what other thought. That was what his father was for -the man lived for it, and Shouto would rather not share his faults.

Fuyumi’s left staring, wide eyed and slightly open mouthed at him. She slowly closes her mouths, eyes flicking from Natsuo’s door to him as she puts his little plan together.

Finally she sighs, stepping forward and closing the door behind her, locking them in her bedroom.

“You’re not letting it go, are you.”

“No.”

“I understand.” Fuyumi’s tired resignation irks Shouto. She’s not supposed to sound so tired, so defeated -not when it's Shouto who is burning with questions.

Then again, his sister has always been the kind of person who keeps her thoughts to herself, who hides behind smiles and kind words and a helpful hand and never says anything not kind, unlike Natsuo and Shouto. He’s sure she’s had plenty to think about these past few days -he sure did, too.

And now it is time to answer those questions, because Shouto is not backing down.

“You’re not running, Fuyumi.” He tells her, voice firm and unwavering. “We need to talk.”

Fuyumi stares at the ground quietly, shoulder slowly slumping.

“I know.” She sighs.

“Touya. Who is he?” Shouto jumps straight into it, watching his sister walk across the bedroom and set her bag near the closet. “I’ve never heard of him before. Why?”

He watches as Fuyumi pauses in front of the closet. He can see the reflexion of her face in the floor length mirror next to her closet door. She looks...conflicted. Troubled. The resigned expression is giving away to a conflicted frown.

“Shouto,” She starts, voice soft but slowly steadying, growing more resolute as she slowly turns to him. “...who were you talking about? Before?”

Shouto barely keeps his expression in check. Right.

He’s not the only one with questions about their prior conversation. And with each new word out of his sister’s mouth, the more things became clearer. Fuyumi truly did not know about Bakugo. No one knew about Bakugo, only his father.

A horrible thought flashes through his mind -if Bakugo hadn’t spoken up after the Festival, would have Shouto ever known the truth?

Contemplating that question unsettles him.

“So you didn’t know either.” Shouto responds, pushing thoughts of what if away in favor of focusing on his sister.  “Answer my question.”

Fuyumi’s little frown deepens. “Shouto-”

“I’m asking the questions first. Please.” Shouto cuts her off.  She falls silent. “I want to know. I deserve to know.” He insists, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward, hands on his knees, attention fully fixed on his sibling.

The conflict on Fuyumi’s expression only seems to grow with his insistence; she looks away, looks back at him, then glances away again, biting her lower lip. Hands fiddling with the edge of her sweater. 

He doesn’t miss the way the tip of her fingers tremble.

“You said you were with your brother.” Fuyumi murmurs and Shouto clenches his teeth at her avoidance. When she turns to him however, his meager anger melts away like new snow in the sunlight at the, frankly, devastated look in her eyes. “There’s...there’s another kid?” 

Shouto can’t find it in himself to avoid the question and return the conversation to what he wants it to be. He answers, voice soft:

“Yes.”

Fuyumi closes her eyes. Clenches them tight; Shouto feels the temperature of the room fall slightly.

“Father -he had another kid? Not with...”

“Not with our mother, no.” Shouto interrupts.

Fuyumi opens her eyes. They’re  dull and resigned. “He cheated.” She mutters. Shouto nods. “Why?”

There’s no dodging the answer here.

“He wanted someone with Hellflame.”

He watches as her eyes widen immediately, mouth opening in a silent noise of surprise. Then -there’s realization, understanding, and then resignation again on her face.

“Oh.” Fuyumi murmurs, looking away. “Oh. I -I see. That’s…” She swallows. “...obvious.”

Shouto raises a brow.

“Obvious?”

“He would have never stopped.” She murmurs, turning her eyes back to him. “Shouto, if you weren’t born with the Quirk he wanted, he would have kept going. M-maybe not with mom, but with a new wife.” 

“Or in secret.” Shouto finishes.

Slowly, she nods.

“...why Hellflame?” She asks after a long stretch of silence.

Shouto lifts his left hand. He watches as her eyes lock onto the limb. “Because he wanted a successor for his name.” He says simply.

“Endeavor.” Fuyumi clarifies, face dropping. “Right.” She closes her eyes, and sighs. Reaches up with one hand, running trembling fingers through her hair. “Right.”

Shouto has never been good with emotions but if he has to guess, his sister sounds resigned, if not, disappointed. But then that expression slowly shifts, disappointment changing into curiosity as she turns her attention away from the family’s demons and back to Shouto.

“...what’s his name?”

Immediately, Shouto retorts:

“Who is Touya?”

“Shouto…” Fuyumi bites her lower lip. He’s no good with emotions, but he can sense her frustration. Her hope. The mixture of surprise and wonder twisting knots in her stomach.

It’s something he’d felt back then, after the Festival. Bakugo might as well have punched him in the face then, for how the unexpected reveal felt.

“No.” Shouto tells her, ignoring the sudden burst of shame in his chest when her expression falls. “I already told you enough. Answer my questions, otherwise I’m staying silent.”

“This is difficult for me, Shouto-”

“I know.” 

Fuyumi shuts up at his quiet declaration. Maybe she’s, quite suddenly, realizing that Shouto had gone through such a similar revelation not too long ago.

“How about we make a deal?”

.

.

.

“You told her about me?!”

Katsuki barely recognizes his own voice.

He barely managed to reign in his volume, but he spots from the corner of his eyes one of the waitresses watching him wearily, so he slides down back in his seat and hisses, more quietly:

“You fucking told her about me, you dick. What the fuck ?”

Todoroki barely blinks. “It was a trade.” He says, any emotion he’d previously had in his voice hidden behind a matter of fact tone that sends Katsuki gritting his teeth hard enough that it hurts. “I wanted to know about Touya, and she wanted to know about you.”

About you.

About Katsuki? What the hell? And Todoroki what, just sold off the info like Katsuki was a cheap commodity? Leaning back, Katsuki crosses his arms and glares at his half-brother from across the table, growling:

“What did you even say?”

“That you were someone I met at Yuuei, and a boy.” Todoroi says, taking a sip of his drink afterwards.

Katsuki blinks. That’s… that’s not what he was expecting at all. 

“That….that’s it?” He says slowly.

Todoroki nods. “You made it clear before that you wanted to keep things quiet.” His half-brother replies, tilting his head just slightly so in a way that Katsuki guesses means he’s confused. “Is that not what you want?”

Katsuki exhales sharply:

“Yes!”

“Okay.” Todoroki says and part of Katsuki relax, good god at least the bastard has some form of social intelligence in that skull of his- “She wants to meet you.”

…and just like that, Katsuki can’t breathe again.

“Like fuck she is.” He takes a gulp of his coffee. It burns on his tongue; he doesn’t react, choking down the hot liquid and then hissing out balefully. “No.”

“Bakugo-”

Nope, not that subdued tone. Katsuki’s not having it.

“Holy fuck, no. I’m not doing this shit.”

“Why?”

Katsuki’s hand clenches around his coffee cup. “Because this shit is enough of a mess for me.” He finally admits, barely fighting back the urge to sneer.

“What do you mean?”

Many fucking things.

This is turning into a worse situation that Katsuki thought a simple split of the tongue after the Festival would result in. If Endeavor finds out -if fucking Mitsuki finds out-

Katsuki doesn’t want to think about what they’d do. As far as he knows, they don’t talk. That is, as far as he knows. They could still be talking. Or at the very least updating each other. Mitsuki has yet to talk to Katsuki beyond the basic so there’s no way Endeavor has yet to say anything if he knows

He opens his eyes. Fuck. Okay. He needs to figure this shit out quick.

Katsuki looks up. Todoroki is still looking at him, waiting not too patiently if the crinkle of his brows has anything to say. Taking a breath, Katsuki asks swiftly;

“Endeavor knows that you know, right?”

Todoroki bobs his head.

“Yes.”

Shit. “Fuck me.” He lets out without really wanting to. Another large gulp of coffee follows, this time more smoothly than the last; Katsuki silently wishes he could just fucking choke and die on it, at least that would end his problems quick.

“Bakugo?” Todoroki’s questioning tone draws his gaze upwards, back to the younger boy. He can’t describe the look on Todoroki’s face anymore. Katsuki’s never seen that one on the normally stone-faced teenager. “Is...is this bad for you?

“Depends.” A gulp of coffee follows. Dammit, he’s almost out of coffee. Soon he’s gonna have nothing to fiddle with while talking to Todoroki -not that he fucking needs to, its just... argh !

“On what?” Todoroki’s voice is more serious than before.

On if the hag finds out, that’s what.

“Depends on what he fucking does with it.” Katsuki sidesteps one pothole, falls into another. Fuck.

This is what he gets for running his mouth weeks ago. Looking up, he finds that Todoroki’s face has gone even more unexpectedly blank, and those two mismatched eyes were hooded, deep in thought. The way Todoroki’s looking at him, like he’s trying to peer into his fucking soul? Uncover every single fucked up thing in his life?

Not something Katsuki likes at all.

“You think he’ll do something to you.” Todoroki starts slowly.

There’s no use in dodging it, not when the alternative is more fucked, so Katsuki shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. “I know he’ll do something.” He says.

Katsuki’s suddenly surprised by the sudden low sound Todoroki makes across the table. 

“I won’t let him.”

Katsuki blinks. It’s definitely a growl. More emotion he’s ever heard from the half and half idiot and it makes his brow rise.

“Frankly, Todoroki, I don’t think the old man would give a fuck about what you think.” Katsuki replies, not liking the other’s tone at all. “And it’s my shit to deal with, you stay out of it -you and what’s her name.” Katsuki adds, stumbling over the last few words.

“Fuyumi.”

“Right.” Katsuki’s tongue feels very dry. Sister. Fuyumi . It feels weird just to think about. “Tell Fuyumi to fuck right off, because this is none of her problem.”

Shouto….doesn’t look all too happy about his declaration. It makes Katsuki especially happy that there’s a table between them, though he’s not sure why.

“She’s not going to stop asking about you.” He states matter of factly. Katsuki’s really starting to fucking hate that tone. “She wants to know you.”

‘Know you.’

Know him?

Katsuki?

Yeah right.

Well, he could see the writing on the wall for that one. If this...Fuyumi saw the Festival, if she’s heard anything about him, she’d probably see him as he truly is -Endeavor’s fucked up little copycat child. And if she’s anything like Todoroki, this Todoroki will be wary. If she’s not as dumb, she’ll thank her lucky stars that they have different last names and a simple turn of her eyes will make the whole fucking situation ignorable.

Katsuki breathes out, reassured by the thought.

“Tough luck for her.”

“You’re difficult.” Todoroki doesn’t sound happy. Ha.

Good.

“Well,” Katsuki sighs, allowing himself a rare moment of weakness.  “...at least that’s something we can both agree on.”

.

.

.

On the bright side, he’s not the only one having a crappy time, as the very next day Deku gets an unwanted close encounter with a villain. No one fucking dies, but by the way Deku’s friends close ranks around him the next day and follow him around like hawks, it was a not so fun experience.

Yippee.

Seriously, how much bad luck does his class have?

.

.

.

Katsuki has plenty, apparently, because the next day at the start of Heroics training, Aizawa pulls him off to the side before he can go change.

“Bakugo, stay back.” His teacher tells him as the students shuffle out of class. His call has a few of Katsuki’s classmates pausing and glancing back, questioning.

Katsuki very much wishes he could flip them the finger, but unless he wants to be cleaning the classroom again for detention, he stops himself from doing it in front of Eraserhead.

“Eh?” He makes an indignant noise, mentally thinking back to try and find what brought this on. Was Aizawa going to give him another rant of verbal diarrhea for yesterday’s exam?

I did punch Deku in the face….

“You’re not allowed to train today. Recovery Girl’s orders.” Eraserhead says with disinterest.

Oh.

“What?!” He barks out, ignoring how he can spie Deku’s ugly green mop lurking in the sidelines.  “I can fight!”

Aizawa looks none too impressed by his outburst. He points at Katsuki’s left arm and oh, he suddenly understands, even though he doesn’t like it. “You overexerted your arms. She doesn’t want you to strain them any further.”

Katsuki opens his mouth to say otherwise, but that’s when the green mop of doom decides to slide into the conversation with a hesitant but well-meaning (bah!) tone:

“Listen to him Kacchan, he’s right….”

And because sometimes life doesn’t take a complete shit on Katsuki, Aizawa suddenly turns to Deku and bluntly says:

“You too, Midoriya.”

Deku’s expression freezes. Surprise, regret and then annoyance flash through his face as he makes a noise not unlike a bunny getting stepped on:

“Wait, no-!” Deku barks indignantly, barely scrambling a stuttered, more polite  response when Aizawa’s eyes narrow at him. “-I mean, why ?”

“Your spine.”

“Oh.” Deku’s expression falls. “That.”

Katsuki has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from making a shit eating grin.

Ha, suffer too you little shit.

Aizawa points to the door. “You can watch, but if I see you anywhere near the field, detention.”

You would like that, wouldn’t you?

And so they end up watching everyone else spar from the sidelines. 

Like extras.

How humiliating.

Sitting a good meter apart, because Katsuki’s not dealing with Deku’s shit. The other boy fiddles with his hands, as he always does when he’s out of stuff to do. Katsuki looks up to the sky, quietly regrets his life and prays for this whole thing to go-

“How’s your arms?”

Fuck.

“Fine.” Katsuki mutters, glancing at Deku briefly. He shifts his attention to Deku’s back, frowning. “The fuck happened to your spine?”

Deku opens his mouth, pauses, hesitating, then mumbles: “All Might.”

“...right.” Katsuki’s got an idea.

His stomach has a very good idea. He’s most sure that if he lifts his own shirt up, there’s still a fist-shaped bruised on his abdomen. How fun. At least it’s from All Might and not some weakling villain, or worse, an extra in his class.

Now that would be suffe-

“I can’t believe we passed. That was so close.”

“Don’t get me started.” Shut up, I don’t want to have a talk with you. Katsuki crosses his arms, ignoring the slight twinge in them. He hopes Deku will shut up soon, because he does not want to deal with his mushy talking. “It was shit.”

“It was good.”

“Good as in mediocre shi-”

“Shut up, Kacchan.” 

What?

Katsuki blinks, turning wide eyes to the usually oh so timid and totally spineless little shit at his side. Deku’s ignoring him, watching their classmates train with a satisfied smile. Too satisfied from just watching Kaminari get turned into a pretzel by Ashido, as funny as it is to watch him try to squirm away from her grappling.

“We worked together and we won. That’s all that matters to me.” Deku says, voice soft and happy. “It’s progress, Kachan.”

Happy about something regarding Katsuki? Nothing good ever came from being associated with Katsuki. And yet here he was, doing right so.

Maybe he’s got a concussion, Katsuki thinks sourly as he looks over to his classmates. Todoroki is really easy to spot, dodging Kirishima’s very enthusiastic attempts at grabbing him. Katsuki finds himself content in watching his brother in silence.

It’s not calming at all, but for once? It’s calming to just be quiet, even with company.

...Deku’s right, in a way. 

They did win.

...not a win Katsuki accepts, but it’s the one he got.

.

.

.

“Hey Bakugo, got a moment?”

Kirishima’s familiar warm voice draws his attention away from his phone. Katsuki looks up from checking the train schedule, finding the other boy swaying from side to side on his feet like a fucking overenergetic puppy. 

“Hm?” He hums, closing and sliding his phone into his pocket. “What is it?”

There’s not a lot of people left in the hallway. Most of his classmates had filed out already, too excited to spend what meager day of actual vacation they had left before the Summer Camp. Though, Katsuki’s pretty sure he’s seen Deku sneak off with All Might by the stairway and while it’s not his fucking business, the Pro-Hero could at least make it less obvious that he’s training the little shit. 

By now he’s sure half the class is guessing it.

“You’re free tomorrow, right? Kaminari managed to secure some time in the afternoon at one of the school’s swimming pools.”

Katsuki, plus water?

Hard pass. Getting dipped in water is one of his weaknesses, its fucking hard as shit to get his hands to ignite when his limbs are cold and wet. Maybe this could work out? Nope. He doesn’t like the thought of that. 

“Doesn’t sound fun.” He mutters.

To his surprise -or not really- Kirishima’s smile doesn’t even falter as he retorts: “Come on, think of it as training!” The redhead chirrups. “It’s just a little fun before the Camp!”

Katsuki nearly snorts at his boundless excitement.

Of course Kirishima’s excited. Aizawa just gave those who failed the finals a last minute twist just like Katsuki had been expecting. The redhead, along with Sero, Kaminari and Ashido, are coming with Katsuki to the Summer Camp.  Katsuki feels surprisingly grateful about it. Sero technically passed the gates, yeah, but the tallest member of their group even admitted that he deserved the failure since fucking Mineta was the one who won them the fight with Midnight.

One thing for sure, Katsuki will never forget how deeply wrong learning about this little fact felt.

...he’s going to end up having to personally train all of these poor fucks, isn’t he?

“I really don’t see it.”

“The whole class's going to be there, do you really want to be the odd one out?”

“I think you know how little fucks I give about that.”

“Yessss, but-” Kirishima drags the words out. If it is anyone else, Katsuki would have punched him in the face by now. “-I have it on good authority that Midoriya wants to do some water training while we’re at it!”

“Great.” Katsuki says with a light voice, part of him far too delighted in the confused owl look Kirishima gives him at his sudden cheer. “I can drown him.”

“Bakugo, no. ” Kirishima’s sigh makes some part of Katsuki bristle but...not in an angry way? It’s odd.

He takes a moment to think it through, then shrugs.

“I’ll drown Todoroki, then.”

To his surprise, Kirishima doesn’t rush to their classmate’s defense right away. It's a first.

“...I mean, you do you bro, but no need to be that extreme about a swimming competition.” Kirishima ends up muttering, shaking his head.

“Boring.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Just don’t make me regret this, Shitty Hair.”

At his sudden acceptance, Kirishima grins with every single one of his stupid shark teeth and gives him a thumbs up.

“You won’t!”

.

.

.

He regrets it.

When he arrives at Yuuei and goes to get his swimming gear on, the boy’s changing room is crammed with every single one of his male classmates, idiot green little shit included -and how does Katsuki know? Because the green goblin comes bounding over to him, smiling.

“Hi, Kacchan!” Deku chirrups, already changed into the Yuuei standard swim shorts and practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m happy you came!”

Happy to suffer. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes and moves past him towards one of the emptier corner of the room. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Deku, inexplicably, gleams.

Might be because its only the second time Katsuki acknowledges him in weeks outside of the finals, Who fucking knows. He chooses to focus on getting himself changed and ready to go as most of his classmates already file out. 

Kaminari and Mineta are giggling in a corner and Katsuki’s not touching that with a ten foot pole, so he’s left mostly alone to do his thing. That is, until he spots a tuft of red from the corner of his eyes.

“Oi, Kirishima. Why aren’t you out already?”

His barked question seems to startle the redhead, who was off in his own world staring at the wall next to Katsuki. Kirishima jolts up from the bench, face reddening almost as dark as his hair as he explains:

“I-I was just waiting for you!” He says with a stammer, gesturing over his own self which Katsuki ignores, because like hell he’s gonna be looking at Kirishima’s half naked self, the idiot is already bare chested most times in training. What’s the use in that? “You ready, Bakugo?”

“Almost.” Katsuki mutters as he throws his shirt off and folds it semi-nealty in a pile. “Who’s fucking idea was this again?”

At least Yuuei scholarship came with a whole set of clothes for said school, including swim gear. Katsuki’s grateful for that, because the only swimming apparel he has is an old, black set that he’d gotten when he was twelve and had become too small for him. He could still technically wear it, thanks to having a thin waist, but Katsuki really doesn’t like ending up with imprints around his waist because of the tightness.

Yuuei’s clothes are really fucking comfortable though, enough that Katsuki came here with the swim shorts already on. So it’s just a matter of kicking off his shoes and wiggling out of his pants. He thinks he hears Kirishima make another of those weird, cat’s-tail-got-stepped-on sounds he’s been doing a lot now that Katsuki thinks about it, but when he looks up Kirishima’s swinging his legs and staring at his own toes.

Odd bastard.

They file out of the changing room together. It’s connected to the swimming pool Deku reserved -a pool that the girls were already making use of.  Katsuki watches detachedly as Uraraka floats just above the water, crackling, Ashido yammering away as she dangles from her leg like she’s a floatie. Fucking weirdos. Under the surface of the water, he can spot a dark shape that is most likely Frog Girl swimming in lazy circles.

The girls don’t take his attention for long, as he’s distracted by Kirishima’s sudden mutter:

“Aw fuck.”

Huh? Katsuki makes a soft noise, turning his head towards the taller boy at his side. Kirishima ignores him completely, a surprise, and stalks forward towards -oh. 

Katsuki follows after his friend, feeling a sudden surge of irritation; Mineta and Kaminari are sitting at the edge of the pool. Their legs are in the water, but their quiet ogling of the girls? 

Not so subtle.

“You organized this because of the girls, didn’t you?” Kirishima guesses with a disappointed tone upon approaching them. Katsuki looks over the girls of his class, watching them play in the water -then looks back at his two cowering classmates.

Kaminair looks like he’s gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mineta doesn’t look that apologetic. He’s still staring off at the girls, though he keeps glancing at Katsuki warily.

Of course.

Katsuki’s not sure why he hadn’t thought about it. It’s not like Kaminari would go out of his way for more physical training, the guy’s a shrimp for a reason. He’s not sure why exactly Kaminari would do something so stupid just to watch

“I mean, m-maybe?” Kirishima’s face looks even more disappointed and even Katsuki feels a sliver of shame at the sight of it, even if the redhead’s feelings weren’t aimed at him. “Come on dude, there’s no harm in that! You understand, right?”

Kirishima stares at Kaminari, then Mineta, who bobs his head furiously. There’s a brief moment where no one speaks and Katsuki waits with bated breath. Kirishima’s eyelids fall halfway over his eyes and he intones flatly:

“Nope.”

And with one shove, he tosses both of their cowering classmates into the cold pool.

The afternoon goes smoothly after that.

.

.

.

“Last race, are you ready?!”

“Shut up already and call it!” Katsuki barks over at Glasses, who doesn’t even look offended at his yelling anymore. “We already know who’s gonna win!”

That earns him a round of booing from his classmates that Katsuki ignores, focused rather on preparing to use his Quirk. From the corner of his eyes he sees that Kirishima’s smiling though, like he knows what’s up. Hm. At least someone has some foresight.

At his side, perched on one of the diving boards, Deku lets out a huffed laugh; “Really, Kacchan?”

“Fuck you, I’m winning!”

“That’s a yes.” Todoroki pipes up on his right like he’s explaining an assignment. Katsuki bristles at the ensuing crackle from his classmates. 

“Fuck all of you!”

“On your mark!” Glasses suddenly barks out and all three of them fall quiet. “Get set!”

Katsuki shuts up, eyes narrowing on the spot across the pool. He takes deep breath, focusing on gathering sweat in the palm of his hands for the first explosion. He can’t make it too big, not if he wants to get out of here without another scolding for property damage, but if he gets one large enough off to just push him in the immediate lead, he will win. He can accelerate much faster than either Shouto and Deku, anyways.

Yeah, he’s got this in the bag.

He glances at two at his side. Deku, frowning as he stares across the water, green lighting crackling against his skin. Shouto’s just as focused too, ice crawling up his arm as he readies himself. 

Katsuki smirks. It’s time he shows what he’s made of.

Prepare to lose, assholes.

“Go!”

At the call Katsuki leaps ad-

-Explosion dies out in his hands.

Katsuki only has a fraction of a second to register his Quirk suddenly fucking off to god knows where before gravity sinks its claws into him, and he’s faceplanting water a second later.

When he flails back to the surface, he’s quick to spot the cause of his Quirk’s sudden faultiness. Aizawa is standing next to the rest of his classmates, and by the look of scandal and begrudged acceptance on their faces, it’s clear what he’s saying. 

Time’s up.

And by the sudden blazing of his Quirk, sending his hair floating up and his classmates snapping their mouth shut, their teacher’s taking no shit from them.

“Goddamn it.” He mutters under his breath.

Todoroki swims to float next to him. “Another time, perhaps?”

“Seems so...” Deku says, disappointed. His hair falls flat on his head and floats in the water; it looks like seaweed. Todoroki’s worse, his normally perfectly split hair more pink than white and red. It makes his head look like a discarded wing floating abandoned in the pool. “This is disappointing.”

“Way to ruin the day.” Katsuki curses.

Shouto bobs his head in agreement, only to cough when he gets water in his nostrils. After that he’s quick to move towards the ladder off to the side. Katsuki follows, hearing Deku trail after.  He only just resists the urge to shove Todoroki when he takes fucking forever to get up the ladder.

“For fuck’s sake, hurry up.”

“Kacchan, have patience!” Deku’s grabbing the edge of the pool like a frog, waiting for his turn. He moves towards the stairs after Todoroki pulls himself out, but Katsuki glares at him and slides in, grabbing onto the railing as he hisses:

“I will drown you.”

“I think Aizawa did this on purpose.” Deku pipes up slowly, ignoring his threat. “I mean, the chances of him arrive just as we start the race are so small-”

“You think?!”

.

.

.

The day of the Summer Camp arrives days later.

Hag never showed up during the next few days before the class outing. Katsuki doesn’t receive messages from her -like she’d ever do it beyond the normal, cold demands of him doing shit around the house -but he knows better than just fuck off.

That would be giving her ammo and Katsuki would like to finish what he hopes would be a great week on a good note. So he spends the few free days before the Camp cleaning the house from top to bottom excluding her room and office, and he makes sure to put in the freezer what he doesn’t want to be rotting when he returns. Not like he has much food anyways, but it makes things easier.

So on the day of the Summer Camp, Katsuki leaves early in the morning with the house nice and tidy, his things packed up in an almost unused suitcase he bought at a thrift store two years back . He takes the train to school, shoving on his head the dark red beanie to keep people from looking at him. There’s still some staring, given his Yuuei jacket.

Nothing he can fucking do about it, unfortunately.

He arrives a good hour before they’re set to go. Within the campus by the training ground as Aizawa told them, there’s two, big nondescript buses with familiar people hovering around it. Iida’s voice is the first thing he hears, the taller boy trying in vain to create organization to how the 1-A bus is packed.

No one listens to him, obviously. Half of the students look asleep on his feet. Even Todoroki, who idles near Deku and Uraraka, is blinking slowly, though he perks up slightly when their eyes meet.

He makes a move towards Katsuki; maybe to talk, maybe to just say hi, who the fuck knows, but the timing is horrible as a still-sleepy Deku stretches his arms -and accidentally smacks Todoroki on the side of the head.

Katsuki snickers as his brother goes with the motion of the soft blow, expression blank but mildly confused. It’s even funnier when Deku turns to him at the sensation of the contact and begins furiously apologizing for the hit.

Idiot nerd.

“Bakugo!” Ashido’s voice is unmistakable; Katsuki turns to his left, spotting the girl approaching with Kirishima, Sero and Kaminari in tow. “Heya buddy, ready to go?”

“Got no other choice, now do I?”

“That’s the spirit!”

Kirishima strives forward before Katsuki can say anything, grabbing his suitcase:

“Here, let me pack it for you!” He chirps, so fucking blindingly energetic at such a ungodly time in the morning.

Katsuki splutters.

“Wait, shit, I can do that myself Shitty Hair-”

Kirishima laughs merrily and dances out of his way, running towards the underbelly of the bus with Katsuki’s suitcase lifted high above his head. “Be right back!”

“Little shit!”

Eventually Kirishima comes back, sans Katsuki’s bag. They don’t have much time to talk, as Aizawa gets the attention of the entire class and somehow manages to herd the mass of rowdy, still-sleepy students into the 1-A bus.

Katsuki, of course, shoves his way to the far back and plants himself next to a window. Kirishima slides in next to him, chuckling at Katsuki’s muttering cursing -a rightful reaction, as Kaminari is currently jumping from seat to seat and debating which is best at a too loud voice, all while Glasses seems to be spiraling into a mental breakdown as he tries vainly to organize the rows of students into alphabetical order.

Tough fucking luck there, idiot. Katsuki thinks as he watches Deku not so gently lead the taller boy away to one of the seats. Glasses’ resigned expression is worth enduring the chaos. 

God, this is turning out into a shitshow already.

Hopefully this will be the worst of it.

As if sensing his unease, Kirishima turns his head towards him and grins slightly; “Don’t worry bro, I’ll make sure Kaminari and Ashido don’t bother you!”

“Fat chance, they’re demons.” Katsuki mutters. 

Kirishima barks out a laugh. It’s not as annoying as it should be. Resolute, Katsuki leans his head against the cold window and tries his best to ignore the chaos as the bus starts moving.

.

.

.

….at least, until Ashido and Kaminari convince Aizawa through some dark magic to put music on, then he silently dies on the inside as the entire bus practically vibrates to the beat of the pop music.

This is a great fuckin’ start.

Chapter Text

The ride’s every bit the hellscape Katsuki expects it to be.

The bus rocks and bounces on the gravel road once they’re out of the city, weaving into smaller, more quaint rural roads as it departs Musutafu’s main highways. Katsuki can’t lean into the window without feeling and hearing every thud and mechanical noise coming from the underside of the vehicle.

And of course, there’s the music.

The terrible, god awful, horrifying music. He’s pretty sure it’s pop, or something, Katsuki’s never been one for music. 

Both a combination of not being able to afford to spend his get-out-at-18 savings he’d made for himself on electronics beyond his phone and laptop, and his desire to train above all else. Plus, sneaking in time to laze about to listen to music isn’t exactly doable when the meager time he has outside of school and training is spent making sure the house is spotless, less the hag gets on his damn case.

...at least he’s never had to worry about the hag taking the money stashed under his bed. 

Bitch probably knew, he was sure of it, but it's apparent that she wants him out of the house as much as Katsuki wants to, and the only reason she didn’t dump him in an orphanage is to save face.

Thankfully, he doesn’t give the hag an early Christmas gift by carving out his own ears and bleeding to death. At one point, Aizawa finally barks at them to shut the fuck up in a far more retrained and professional manner than Katsuki would ever be able to, further cementing his belief that he would be a absolutely horrible teacher. 

His order doesn’t include them being silent however, so instead of pop music making his ears bleed, the bus is filled with the excited chattering of his classmates.

Yippe.

Ashido is making it really hard to stay sane. She and Denki are sitting in the seat in front of him and Kirishima; they’re both practically bouncing in their seats and Raccoon Eyes managed to pretzel herself in a way to be leaning over the edge of her backseat to talk to them all the while keeping herself low enough as to not draw Aizawa’s attention.

“I think we’ll be there soon!” “I really can’t wait, I wonder what heroes we’ll be working with!”

That’s something the teachers kept secret up until now, likely wanting to leave it up to speculation and surprise. Katsuki’s very curious to witness the reveal; he has a few names in his head, but he’s sure Yuuei has so many contacts with Pro-Hero graduates and through the Hero Commission that the list in his head pales in comparison.

Could be anyone.

“I didn’t see All Might get on the Class B bus.” Kaminari hums. “Think he’ll join us later?”

“Maybe he’s already there?” Kirishima purses his lips thoughtfully. He’s biting his lower lip a bit; Katsuki eyes it, hoping he doesn’t gnaw his lip open because this dumbass surely would by accident. “Waiting for us?” The redhead continues, turning his eyes up to Kaminari.

“Hmm, maybe?”

“We only had Aizawa and Vlad King confirmed to come.” Katsuki finds himself interrupting, crossing his arms as all three of them turn their eyes on him.  “All Might might not show up. He could be stuck with off-school work.” He’ll be in the buses otherwise.

“Right! He’s still the Number One.” Kirishima brightens as both idiots on the other seat bob their heads in unison. “He’s probably taking the time to do hero work!!”

“Or taking a vacation from us.” Denki pipes in, the dick that for once, might not be that far off.

There’s more than one set of eyes on him, and Katsuki notices. He slowly sits up a bit, bristling. “Why the fuck are you looking at me?”

“You bit-”

Oh fuck no. Katsuki hisses out; “You know what, shut up.” 

Kaminari lets out a terrible, chittering laugh. “Alright alright, go back to your princess nap.”

“Oi, you little-”

“He’s just joking!” Kirishima interjects witha  smile and a hand waving in between Kaminari and Katsuki. The idiot, always there to save the other idiots from his wrath. “No worries, you can go back to sleep. I’ll keep the others off you.”

“Should have packed holy water if you wanted to do that.” Katsuki mutters under his breath.

Kirishima barks out a laugh at that. 

.

.

.

They stop for a break.

Katsuki’s quite happy staying in his seat but Aizawa kicks all of them out with the delight of a parent throwing their jobless thirty year old spawn out of the house. 

It makes him think these are the kinds of moments the Pro-Hero enjoys the most out of his job.

Miffed, Katsuki steps off the bus after Kirishima and the rest of his annoying entourage -and freezes as his still sleepy eyes adjust to the sight.

Mountains.

Lots and lots of mountains.

The bus has stopped at a fenced cliff area overlooking an absolutely massive forest, encroached on all sides by mountains. It’s more green than Katsuki has ever seen in his life; he quickly forgets any complaints about his missed sleep  in favor of walking towards the edge, hands landing over the railing.

It’s a sudden drop down, at least twenty meters below. A lot higher than Katsuki’s ever been in his fucking life, even when flying with his Quirk. Holy shit. He stares at the overflowing greenery below -at the tall, sharp peaks in the distance, so far away yet so titanic.

Shit.

This is an amazing view. 

“Pretty, right?” Kirishima says at his side, back leaning on the railing. Katsuki didn’t even notice him following, so caught up in the sights.

“Looks fucking endless.” Katsuki admits, voice soft.

And it’s true.

The little hills and forests from Musutafu did not compare to this. Completely untouched forest and mountains hugging this place on all sides. The only civilization Katsuki sees is a dot in the distance that he’s pretty sure is some sort of summer house, all the way across a thick forest.

Pure nature, practically untouched by man.

He takes a slow, deep breath; the air here is fresher than Katsuki’s ever experienced before in his life. He can practically taste the oxygen in the air. Jesus. This is a lot. He’ll suffer through the shitty pop music and screaming teenagers a hundred times over if it means he gets to experience this again.

The sound of a motor draws him out of his reverie; Katsuki glances behind him, spotting a dull grey car pulling up from the opposite direction they had come with the bus. It’s a compact, slightly rusty thing, well used and well loved from the looks of it.

It doesn’t continue down the road, rather pulling up slightly in front of the bus and effectively making Katsuki suspicious. He looks over to Aizawa -the man’s looking at the car, expecting. Like he knew it would come.

...Katsuki’s starting to get an odd feeling. He glances back at the forest, attention lingering on the far away dot of a summer house. The cliff is pretty much a straight line towards said house, and the dirt road the car came from is curved and angling down...which means...

Huh.

The car door opens -two women and a small kid come out, the taller duo dressed with really bright clothes. One blonde, one brunette. The two women leap forward, twirling together as a team as they cheer:

“Lock on with these sparkling gazes!”

Wait.

“Stingingly cute and catlike?”

What.

“Wild, Wild…. Pussycats!”

...Katsuki wants to get back in the bus.

He kind of agrees with the small kid’s entirely uninterested expression. Kid looks almost comical, standing next to the Pro-Heroes in poses with his hands tucked in pockets.

Unlike either of them, the students are abuzz with excitement; a few of them clap, a few others look confused. Deku has fucking stars in his eyes, his fingers twitching at his side with the urge to write shit down; Katsuki can feel the nerdiness practically oozing off him and he internally grimaces. No doubt he already recognized the Pro-Heroes-

“-they’re a four person hero team who set up a joint agency!” 

Yup, there it is. Deku bobs his head up and down, smile wide and too fucking energetic as his mouth runs a mile per hour and no one is fucking stopping him:

“They specialize in mountain rescues and this year marks their twelfth year as a-”

Faster than Katsuki expects, the blonde woman darts and is suddenly in front of Deku, a heavy white paw glove with sharp claws landing on his shoulder in an amicable pat.

“I dare you to finish that sentence, kid!” The blonde says, smile wide and cheerful and a little bit too sharp. 

Deku freezes, mouth open. Slowly, he nods, his expression frozen but his eyes very much conveying the silent fear. The blond lifts her hand from his shoulder, pats him on the head, then walks back to her Hero Partner’s side, tail swaying like, well, a happy cat.

Aizawa looks entirely nonplussed about the whole thing. Looks like nothing fazes the man.

“Everyone, say hello to the Pussycats.” Most of them do, Katsuki hangs in the back, waiting for the drop because he knows there’s something fishy. Aizawa said this was a break stop. Clearly he’s fucking lying. “They’re the Pro-Heroes you will be training with during the Summer Camp.”

“So why did the bus stop here?” Someone dares to ask. He’s pretty sure it’s Todoroki. He’d recognize that stupid ass voice anywhere.

Not like he fucking enjoys having that particular skill, the Icy-Hot imbecile just has this uniquely perpetually constipated, bored tone nearly every time he opens his mouth, so its not like its hard to recognize!

“The summer house you will be staying at is over there!” The brunette woman points at the small dot in the distance Katsuki spotted half a minute beforehand.

Oh god.

“Then why are we all the way here?” Uraraka voices out what they’re all thinking -what Katsuki already has the answer to because this is just like Aizawa, the little-

The blonde woman grins. It seems like the entire class is slowly realizing what’s going on; more than one takes a step back. At his side Kirishima shudders.

“Let’s get back to the bus?” He voices out, hesitant.

Kirishima, you poor fool.

Tape Arms bobs his head, nodding along. The smile on his face is that of terror. “Yes, back to the b-bus. As quick as we can.”

The brunette woman tilts her head at Aizawa. “Think they can make it there at twelve thirty? We’ll have lunch ready!”

That’s confirmation if anything.

Aizawa looks pensive for a moment. “It’s possible.”

Someone whimpers.

“Teach, please-”

Aizawa, the asshole, just looks at them and says:

“Your Summer Camp starts here.”

Blonde squats down like a cat about to pounce on prey and slams her hand into the dirt. Blue light flickers around her hands -Katsuki’s eyes grow wide as the earth buckles and rises up under their feet, knocking them off the cliff.

It’s not a graceful way down.

Pixiebob’s Quirk molds the earth into a slide, wrapping under them in a gentle arch. No matter how skilled she is though it doesn’t stop Katsuki from choking on dirt and rolling a few times-

-until he lands on something cold and hard and moving. He blinks as he feels a hand on his back, grabbing on tightly.

“What the-”

“Hang on.” A familiar voice calls out over the roaring sound of shifting, unstable soil. Todoroki’s wobbly on his feet, surfing down the moving earth on a small slab of ice. Somehow, he managed to fish out Katsuki on the way down.

Instinctively Katsuki grabs onto Todoroki in turn, clutching at his jacket hard to keep himself from falling over his brother’s little ice block. Todoroki at one point loses balance and falls on his ass on the ice plateau, dragging Katsuki into his misery.

“God fucking damn it!” Katsuki screeches on his way down. By the wide-eyed, horrified look on Todoroki’s face, he very much shares that feeling.

When the dust settles and they’re all at the bottom of the cliff. Dirty, sweaty, heart pounding, but alive.

And in the case of one absolute waste of space, very much eager to get away. Mineta stumbles to his feet with a squeak, jumping from foot to foot as he runs to the forest:

“I really need to go, don’t look!!”

From the corner of his eyes, Katsuki sees Ashido make a face. “Like anyone is.” barely reaches his ears from her. He agrees.

He pulls himself up, letting go of Todoroki as he feels more than one set of eyes looking at them. His brother pulls himself up, nose wrinkled as he looks down at his clothes -now covered in dirt and slightly humid from the ice.

“Crazy assholes.” Katsuki mutters under his breath, rolling his shoulder. 

As if summoned by his call, he hears the sound of the brunette’s voice coming from up above. Craning his neck up -and being far from the only one- he spies her leaning over the railing, tail flicking happily.

“You can use your Quirks as much as you want!” “You have until six to get there, you should be able to get to the facility in that time! That is-” She pauses dramatically and fuck, Katsuki does not have a good feeling about this. “-if, and only if, you can make it through The Beasts’ Forest!”

At his side, Katsuki hears Todoroki murmur; “What kind of name is that?”

It’s at that moment that Mineta comes running back out of the woods, pants soaked and what can only be described as an earth monster rushing after him.

.

.

.

Five minutes later, Katsuki finds himself running through a forest full of what he can only describe as earth golems. Deku yells out that it must be Blonde -Pixiebob’s Quirk at one point, but Katsuki’s not really paying attention over the fact that they’re not alive, there’s no one here but him and his classmates and thus?

He can go nuts.

As long as he doesn’t set the forest on fire. He’s sure the Wild Wild Pussycats wouldn’t be too keen on that happening. Or that Aizawa wouldn’t let the property damage slide. Not like Katsuki wants to burn it down, there’s just something very freeing about going nuts on some moving targets that don’t need to stay breathing afterwards.

Only if Todoroki would fucking stop, that is!

After the third kill stolen from him by his younger sibling, Katsuki is seeing a emerging pattern he does not like -and he makes it known right after said theft, as Todoroki slides across the forest floor on his ice, right under Katsuki who uses Explosion to propel himself across the air.

“Stop taking my kills, Icy-Hot!”

“Then pick those I’m not attacking.”

“Fuck you I got to it first!”

“I already froze it’s legs!”

“Misdirections and lies, you little shit!”

“Little? I’m taller than-”

If the extra large explosion Katsuki lets out next to outpace Todoroki knocks the bastard off balance and makes him fall over...well, it’s a complete coincidence. By the look on his classmates’ face though, they don’t believe it. 

Kirishima looks doesn't look all that disappointed about it, and he always is when Katsuki does it to his classmates!

.

.

.

“God dammit Kaminari! Kirishima come over, someone needs to carry him he’s gone stupid!”

.

.

.

Deku gets kicked in the balls.

Katsuki feels a little bit bad.

Just a little.

.

.

.

Once they’re inside the summer house, tired and dirty, the smell of food and happy chatter overwhelms them.

Seems like Class 1-B got the easy route, because when Katsuki in the others enter the cafeteria at the Pussycat’s directions, they’re already there feasting. Lucky fucks got the easier teacher. Not like Katsuki would trade Aizawa for Vlad, he prefers the challenge.

Just like he prefers being able to fucking eat at midday, and not get stuck in a fucking forest.

Really can’t have everything in this life.

Upon seeing them enter the cafeteria, a few of the 1-B students pause to wave. Others continue shoving food down their gullets; one stands up, waving his arms excitedly. His silver hair is very faintly familiar as he rushes towards Katsuki. Wait no, towards his side where Kirishima is standing. And to his surprise, the redhead bounces towards the other boy with unexpected energy and joy after all the shit they’ve been through today. He’s even Hardening a bit!

“Kirishima!”

“Tetsu!”

The sound the two idiots made as they collide is nothing short of a metallic, ear-splitting shriek of stone against steel, because of course Kirishima would have his own sort of personal, Quirk-enhanced hug for his copycat extra. 

Kirishima’s always had an extra, laughably blinding cheer for everything and anything but seeing him direct this much at someone surprised Katsuki.

Where is he getting that energy?

Wait, isn’t this kid the one Kirishima won against at the Festival? Katsuki thinks as he watches the other boy’s silver hair be ruffled by Kirishima. He’s pretty sure it is -yeah, he’s got metal skin. It splotches his lightly tanned skin with spots of silver and makes him look like a dalmatian when he finally pulls himself away from Kirishima after what was, frankly, way too long of a hug.

“You guys finally made it, about time!” The silver haired boy crackles against Kirishima, patting the redhead’s back loudly he might as well be hitting him. The dumbass only laughs louder.

“Yeah, it was a bit harder than expected!” Kirishima answers, delighted. He steps back, his trademark Shitta Hair grin full of teeth stretching across his dirt-smeared face. “Did you guys go through the forest? You’re here much earlier than us!”

Metal Idiot -Katsuki really doesn’t have the mental capacity to come up with a better name given the past few hours- shakes his head, snorting. He’s not the only one -a few of his classmates seem to have heard Kirishima, and are making similar expressions.

“Vlad dropped us off in the forest, too, though apparently Eraserhead left you guys on the far end of it, though!” Metal Idiot replies. “That was crazy man! Must have taken you hours.”

Dunce Face makes a whimpering sound at the reminder. “I need a change of clothes.”

“I think we all do.” Mineta, quite unwantedly, butts in. He’s shuffling side to side somewhere to Katsuki’s far right and Katsuki does not want him anywhere near. “P-Please?”

A blur of pink darting out in front of him draws his attention away from the menace, frantically waxing limbs full of excitement turning eyes. Even with her exhaustion, Ashido powers on through the frankly, quite delicious smelling food spread across the cafeteria tables, being picked at by the members of Class 1-B.

“Clothes can wait!” Ashido waves her arms, pointing towards the tables farther into the cafeteria that are empty and definitely meant for them, if the food being set down by Tiger and Pixiebob is anything to go by. “I don’t know about you guys, but I need food!”

The blond nightmare that is Pixiebob waves them over, grinning as she showcases the plates full of food.  “Here you go, lovelies!” She purrs, tail flicking side to side. “Eat up, you got plenty of work to do tomorrow!” 

“I suggest you eat and rest.” “Tomorrow, you will need your strength.”

Half of his classmates look terrified. Katsuki likes his tone though. He looks like someone who gets shit done.

“This is gonna kill us, for sure.” Kaminari mumbles, pale...then he brightens as his eyes dart to the empty tables full of plates. “But first, food!”

Well, no arguing with that.

.

.

.

Alright, when he’s a Pro-Hero, he’s getting a hot tub.

Or buying a house with a hot spring. Somehow.

He’ll make it fucking happen. That is decided, signed, and filed away at the back of Katsuki’s mind for when he turns 18, stacked alongside the hundred different things he’s going to do the moment Katsuki has the funds and can legally get the fuck away from the hag (a feeling that he’s sure is shared).

I’m buying a whole fucking hot spring, damn it.

Now he knows why his classmates were so excited when the Pussycats showed them the hot springs. He hadn’t understood their delight before, finding Ashido’s happy screech irritating and the rest of their reactions just as much.

Cut to now; he’s up to his chin in water, eyes closed, utterly ignoring his classmates because this is fucking bliss and holy shit, now he knows why everyone loves this shit. Katsuki fucking loves it. He can melt here for all he cares.

Hot springs fucking rock.

“You okay, bro?” Someone to his left asks, obviously directed at him. Katsuki ignores him; for once he’s happy and relaxed, he’d rather not deal with anyone right now.

Another person, this time to his right, snorts. They’re also familiar, but at least its not Kaminari-

“He melted. Totally melted, just look at his face!” Katsuki cracks his eyes open at that, glaring at Sero’s shit eating grin on his right and Kirishima’s lopsided, oddly fond smile directed at him from his left. 

They’re both irritating and Katsuki wants to yell at them; only, the urge is half hearted and putty in his chest, mollified by the hot spring. Instead of raising his voice, he grumbles instead: 

“Shut up.” Katsuki tells them, voice low because he’s a bit too cooked right now to yell, but if they push him he will fucking do it. “Both of you.”

Sero’s smile makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. 

“We’re not making fun of you, buddy-”

Good, otherwise I’d have to explain to Aizawa how you drowned in the hot springs.

“-but I gotta admit, I’ve never seen you this relaxed.” 

Several seats away, next to the goth kid, Kaminari raises his hands up in the air. “The wonders of hot springs!”

Katsuki grunts in response. “Whatever.”

Kirishima snorts at his response. The look he gives Katsuki is amused and fond,. “Eh, don’t worry buddy,” The other boy says, grinning with all of his sharp toothy glory. It makes him look stupid. “-just relax! We won’t bother you.”

“Hm.”

For a moment, it’s peaceful. That is, for a moment, because not too long later someone speaks up on the other side of the hot spring, closer to the door:

“What do you think the girls are doing?”

Oh, there goes the relaxed mood. Katsuki slowly slides his eyes open, squinting at the offending bastard. Grape Boy is out of the hot spring, staring up at the wooden wall separating them from the girls. 

Of course, of fucking course.

Disgusting bastard.

“Bathing?” Deku responds with confusion and the slightest tint of blunt disappointment, ever the hopeful imbecile who is probably trying to give the purple shit room to backtrack.

The poor fool.

“Yessss,” Mineta drags that sounds out and oh boy, oh whatever hellish thing is up there in the sky, Katsuki knows exactly where this is going. By the quickly spreading look of exasperation around the hot spring, he’s not the only one. “-but you ‘now, it would be interesting to find out!” Mineta hums with interest, watching the tall wooden wall intently. 

Hope he gets expelled for this.

“I think I’ll pass.” Kirishima’s tone is casual, but there’s an undertone to it that sings with warning.

There’s similar nods and sounds of agreement around the hot spring.

Katsuki’s pretty bad at reading people, but he can feel the tension slowly rising around the hot spring. Even Kaminari’s looking uncomfortable, which is a surprise yet at the same time, kind of expected. He’s nowhere near as trashy as Grape Boy.

Grape Boy snorts. “Of course you don’t, you don’t have a sense of adventure!” He raises a fist in the air, digit pointing towards the edge of the wall. “You’re not the kind to chase the thrill! Or seek the unknown!”

A lot of words for I want to be a creep. Katsuki thinks, noting that some of his classmates were starting to inch towards Grape Boy, probably to stop him. They’re hesitating a lot though, probably because they think said trash isn’t going to do it. Katsuki has doubts. Why the fuck does he even want to risk his hero scholarship on seeing some goddamn boobs? I’m pretty sure you can find thousands on the internet!

Katsuki to this day still doesn’t get why this fascination exists. From the moment puberty hit his classmates at Aldera, that’s all the guys would talk about. Just -just sacks of fat hanging on someone’s body! What is it with them that creates disgusting slobs like Mineta?

Then again, Katsuki would bet his hands that Mineta would be a sad sack of shit even if he wasn’t a perverted sad sack of shit. He just oozes sliminess. How Kaminari or Deku can handle being around the little shit is beyond him. 

“That’s revolting to think about!” Glasses, of course, speaks up loud enough to make his ears hurt. “They’re our classmates, have you no respect for them?!”

No, in all likelihood. 

“Yo, not cool man.” Kaminari calls out, waving Grape Boy off. “Cut that out!”

The purple sack of shit, of course, only steps closer to the wall. It’s like he’s ignoring them. Katsuki’s half expecting Aizawa to manifest from the shadows and grab him by the ear. Surely the man would have seen this bullshit coming?

“Mineta-” Deku starts, hesitating but clearly disappointed in the most disgraceful member of their class. “Don’t-”

Mineta rips out two balls from his hair and jumps on the wall.

What happens next is a blur.

“Hey!” Kirishima barks out as he stands up, his tone so sharp and loud that Katsuki even startles. He’s not the only one moving -there’s a few boys edging towards the wall, most of all Iida who stammers up a storm as he rushes after a quickly ascending Mineta.

The next moments happen in a blur; Grape Boy tries to climb over the wall separating the girl and boy sections of the hot springs, gets shoved off by the kid that kicked Deku in the nuts, causing said child to nearly fall to his death if not Deku sprung out of the water to catch the little shit.

Oh, and Iida gets a face-full of something completely unwanted from Grape Boy, and they all get an disgusting eyeful of said unwanted thing.

The mood is a bit more sour after that. 

Katsuki’s not sure he’ll even detach this horrid memory from his newfound love of hot springs.

Chapter Text

The sun rises slowly over the valley, gradually illuminating the massive forest cradled between the mountains. Birds chirp into the quiet morning, already awake and eager to start the day. The sounds of branches dancing in the wind echo through the landscape in a soft, calming melody.

It's a beautiful morning.

BOOM!

Panicked birds scatter into the morning air as a plume of smoke and flame rises high above the canopy, darkening the sky. The air is thick with the smell of smoke.

Katsuki takes a moment to scream out to the skies above before plunging his hands back into the near-boiling water, biting down on his lower lip to avoid yowling at the sensation. He waits a moment, counts to three, then flicks his arms out from the cauldron and aims to the sky once again, for what felt like the hundredth time.

BOOM!

“FUUUUUCK-!” Katsuki bellows alongside his quirk, lips curled back as his arms tremble and ache in ways they have rarely done before. His arms drop to his sides; a heaving breath leaves his parched throat. For a brief moment, he considers just sinking to the ground and melting into a puddle of exhaustion.

Then Katsuki remembers that it’s barely eight in the morning, and fuck, he’s barely a measly three hours into this shit.

Heaving, he looks down at the pot of near boiling water in front of him. Katsuki digs his hands in it again, ignoring the sting of the scalding water on his skin as he holds for a second, then tears his hands out of the water and to the sky once more.

BOOM!

“AAARRGHH!”

A solid two yards away, his classmates scurry around his training area with nary a glance sent his way. Granted, they’re all too used to the sounds of his Quirk by now -and quite frankly, quite too busy with their own brand of training.

The Pussycats, Aizawa and Vlad really planned things out; they had Glasses running through the mountainside until his skin glistened with sweat, Kirishima’s getting his ass beat by Tails and from the looks of it he’s only meant to take it, the bird kid is screaming somewhere in the caves down the clearing and Katuski can see in the distance the flickers of yellow lightning up one of the cliffs where the teachers shoved Kaminari at.

What the idiot is doing is unknown to Katsuki but like everyone else here, it seems to involve a lot of screaming.

Katsuki flicks his eyes to his far right, towards the path leading to the cabin. Deku is doing... something , over there, and that something was none of his concern. The arm and leg flailing is questionable, but Tiger seems like the kind of person who knows what they’re fucking doing so who knows? Maybe Deku’s just fucking up the training. That would explain Tiger coming out of the bushes every now and then to yell at the damn nerd.

Or maybe Tiger’s doing it for the shits and giggles. Katsuki wouldn’t blame him. Deku scrambling up from the jumps are and taking Tiger for a ride with his classic mumble storm is both enraging to be within ear distance of and absolutely, stupidly fucking hilarious.

It's a small distraction to Katsuki’s own suffering, which speaking of...he turns back to the Pot Of Misery, clenching his hands to brace against the upcoming pain. He’s about to plunge his hands for what felt like the hundredth time when he hears someone shout his name:

“Take your two minute break, Bakugo!” One of the cat heroes yells after him. Katsuki turns to look, finding that it’s the crazy blond one with the earth Quirk. “-but I better see some real fire coming out of you once you’re rested! I know you can do better than that, bomb boy!”

Katsuki feels his left eye twitch. “What?!” He yells at her over the sound of Glasses running in between them, screaming. “What do you think I’ve been doing ?!”

“Your best -for now!” Blondie yells back, almost with a purr. It’s goddamn sickening. “But I want more! Plus Ultra, right?” She waggles her finger at him, tail flicking as she turns her gaze to the tall, dark, and utterly unimpressed man at her side. “Isn't that how the saying goes, Eraserhead~?”

Katsuki looks over at his teacher. Aizawa, somehow, looks done and at the same time completely unfazed at the same time. Like he emotionally gave up on life. Ha.

At least we’re not the only ones suffering.

Sweeping the sweat off his eyebrows with one hand, Katsuki turns to stare at his pot of scalding water. His arms ache at the mere sight of it, but before he can consider how silly of a thing it is -as he’s had boiling water flicked at him by the hag before- cold seeps from Katsuki’s right, cooling the sweat on his side. He glances towards the source of the change in temperature.

Shouto looks every fucking bit as miserable as Katuski is feeling.

Dual coloured hair slick with sweat, sticking to his head, brows furrowed so deeply they might as well be stuck there permanently, face red with exertion -he looks every bit like not the perfect spawn of Endeavor, and more of a fellow miserable pile of limbs, though, unlike Katsuki, he's stuck in a bucket.

...alright, it's not a bucket, but still, it makes him wonder where the Pussycats got a big enough tub to put his brother in.

Shouto’s training was simple, and to the point. Freeze and warm the water he was sitting in, repeatedly. Again and again, until he drops or it's break time… and from the way his shoulders are heaving, he might drop. Who knows. He's a stubborn, stupid bastard. Maybe even worse than Katsuki. Or maybe not. As far as Katsuki owns only one of the idiot’s parents is a bastard, while Katsuki got the double whammy.

“Oi.” Shouto’s hazy eyes lift from the water at the sharp bark. Katsuki almost snickers at his sweaty, disgusting face. “You look like you're about to fucking faint, idiot. What gives? Haven’t you trained this hard before?” Katsuki chides, flicking his fingers to get the excess sweat off.

“This… is different.” The half and half bastard heaves. He pauses for a brief moment, mouth closed. Katsuki bets with himself that he's trying not to throw up. “It’s...unorthodox.”

Katsuki huffs. “Heh. Get used to it!”

Todoroki exhales harshly. Even from several meters away, Katsuki can feel the heat coming out of his mouth as his half sibling prepares to use his fire.

“Stop talking and sweat more.” Shouto tells him. “...no need to worry about me.”

Katsuki feels his entire body twitch, fire pooling deep in his belly.

“I’M ON MY FUCKING BREAK, YOU STRAWBERRY LOOKING BITCH !”

.

.

.

Aizawa wasn’t joking when he said the Summer Camp would push them past their limits. 

Granted, Katsuki could bet an arm and a leg that Eraserhead would never joke about anything anyways. He kind of saw this coming, in fact. It’s just the Eraserhead way to break his students down into itty bitty piles of sweat, tears and aching muscles.

Still, Katsuki wasn’t expecting it to hurt this fucking much.

They train from before sunrise to well into the night, with only a scant few twenty minute breaks. By the time Eraserhead calls them off and tells them to go take their showers, Katsuki feels like jelly with legs and his arms are making their complaints well known. There's a deep satisfaction in that ache however -it's a sign Katsuki pushed his limits and overcame them. He's pushed past the line today just a little bit more.

If he keeps pushing it just a little bit further every day this week...then he’ll be making considerable progress. One step at the time. Slow and steady to win the race or whatever motivational poster Deku probably hangs in his bedroom wall alongside his museum’s worth of All Might merch. 

As the sun falls behind the valley, the Pussycats call off training and herd them back towards the cabin. Katsuki’s classmates are all as good of a shape as he feels. Glasses is limping. Uraraka holds her stomach and looks as green as spinach. Kaminari twitches every few seconds. Everyone is panting loud enough to be heard, creating a disgusting cacophony of rasped garbles and pained breaths. Someone's crying. 

Don't know who, Katsuki doesn't care.

He's too busy trying to discreetly quiet down the tremor in his arms when he feels someone fall in step next to him. Looking up to his left, he finds exactly who he was expecting; Kirishima’s black and blue but somehow has that stupid shark smile that's a mile wide on. 

The taller boy peers at him, jovial as ever. “How did your training go, Bakugo?” How this idiot manages to have the energy to be this peppy is beyond his fucking comprehension. 

Guess Katsuki was just born bitter.

“Peachy.” He mutters, just loud enough for his companion to hear. I can't feel my goddamn arms. “Why are you more blue than red?” Katsuki asks with a low huff, eyeing the mottling bruised up and down Kirishima’s arms. He's seen his fair share of bruises, and these look nasty . The redhead will definitely feel them come morning.

Kirishima blinks and looks at him questioningly.

“Heh?” Katsuki almost snorted at that. Should have he expected anything else?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Kirishima’s a known airhead when it comes to certain things. Grades for starters , Katsuki thinks with mellow anger as he reaches out and lightning quick, but gently pokes one of the forming bruises. The sudden frantic dance Kirishima’s facial muscles have an oddly squirming feeling in Katsuki’s chest makes itself known.

Ignoring it as best as he can, Katsuki chides the idiot. “You're more bruised than an old peach.” He says. For added measure, he reaches out -with a muttered hiss at the pain that tremors up his arm as he does- and pokes Kirishima’s right forearm.

A yowl follows as Kirishima squirms away like an eel. “A-ah! Bakugo don’t do that !” Shitty Hair yelps, hunching in on himself.  “Ojiro ran me ragged all day! I think by the end of it we were barely able to stand up…” He suddenly stops in the middle of his rant, letting out a soft noise as he looks off into the distance with a thousand yard stare. “...oh.”

Katsuki doesn’t like that tiny noise. “What.” he barks.

The redheads turn to him. “This is the first day.” Kirishima tells him, eyes widening. “Only the first .” He stresses, and Katsuki understands where he’s going as the redhead whimpers. “Dude, we’re so doomed .”

“And?” Katsuki snorts. “Sure, it's gonna hurt like a fucking bitch, but we're going to be stronger by the end of the week.” 

Kirishima’s expression makes an odd wiggle again, but he then beams. “Right. Right!” The smile slowly forming on his lips falls apart. “Still, my spine feels like jello.” He whines.

“I'm not carrying you.” Katsuki automatically informs him.

The smirk the redhead makes next is a warning he completely misses in his expectation of the other boy behaving like a normal person. Kirishima, the absolute fucking dick, leans over and bumps shoulders against him, almost as if he’s going to collapse on top of Katsuki -which would only get him exploded, because even if he can lift the bastard there’s no way he’s dragging him around when his arms feel like putty.

“But Baaaaaaaku -” Kirishima’s long, playful drag of his name makes him bristle.

Katsuki hisses. “You little sh-”

“Attention, kittens!”

Katsuki turns his attention away from the redhead at his side and looks forward towards the source of the voice, it's one of the Pussycats, the crazy one with the blond hair, blue dress and earth manipulation Quirk.

She’s standing on a table in front of the main building, hands on her hips, tail swishing back and forth. Her sly smile is big and toothy and not at all reassuring. At her feet, the rest of the Pussycats stand together: the one in the pinkish red dress is sitting next to the green haired one, and the man, Tiger, is almost as tall as Crazy by just standing next to the table, arms crossed and expression menacing.

“Don’t you all look beautiful!” Crazy gushes, and Katsuki hears whoever was sobbing make a sniffling noise. “You did really great for your first day, kittens! Absolutely lovely work, you're purrfect students!” Katuski wants to die. 

Two cat references at once is already zero too many. 

“So! As you might notice, my dear little heroes, there's a change of pace tonight, hehe!” Crazy says, waving her arms at the clearing full of tables. It's easy to see what she's referring to.

Food is laid out for them, just not cooked. There's small boxes on the nearby tables, right next to piles of vegetables. Carrots. Garlic. Unpeeled potatoes. Food galore, truly. There’s also an unlit row of outdoor brick grills off to the right, at least six of them built in a concrete rectangle under a small wooden roof.

It's simple. Katsuki's not dumb, but he doesn't need to be a genius to know two plus two equals four, the sky is blue and the teachers have gotten tired of playing cook so it was up to them to feed themselves before Aizawa fed them something funky and called it surprise poison-detection training.

“What's this?” Kaminari’s voice yelps out with just the slightest twinge of betrayal.

“Lunch.” Aizawa’s voice interjects suddenly from the right, his monotone voice hardly changing as he continues, “From now on, you will be preparing your own food.” He informs them as he walks past the group from whatever depths of the forest he emerged from, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t respond to the collection of disappointed groans he gets at his declaration. “There's wood here, pots are there.” Aizawa points towards a pile of small logs neatly stacked near a small row of inbuilt brick grills, then jabs a finger at a table that has held an enormous assortment of pots, pans and utensils.

Someone whimpers. Katsuki thinks it might be Ashido.

“Sir…”

 “Get to it. We're not feeding you anymore.”Ah, blessed, eternally blunt Aizawa. Katsuki can always look forward to their teacher being a complete asshole.

“Oh come on, we just spent the entire day training!” Someone shouts from the back left of the group. Katsuki glances and to his inner delight, its the stupid silver haired kid. “I'm seeing double!” The discount Kirishima whines.

“Then don't handle the knives.”

Oh please do, that would be extremely funny.

There's a collective groan from the crowd at Aizawa’s flat rejection. Katsuki spies some of the Class B students eyeing their own teacher pitifully, as if they were to find some small ounce of mercy within their mentor. And yet, Vlad King stood off to the side, arms crossed, clearly allowing Aizawa to do the talking on this one. If the straight shape of his lips and narrow eyes are to say anything, he's expecting them to agree.

...which seems to be slowly becoming the case. Some student start shuffling dejectedly towards the table, the silence stretching onwards -only to be broken 

“Ah, I see! You're testing our culinary skills to see if we will be able to sustain ourselves and civilians!” “Genius!”

No, it's not, Katsuki thinks, and from the dejected glances his classmates are making, he’s not the only one thinking that. 

Granted, Katsuki likes cooking. He knows that he’s good at cooking, it comes with trying to make something edible out of a pocket change’s worth of food. But Katsuki cooks for himself, thank you very much. The only other person he's ever made food for was the hag and that ended spectacularly .

“-I understand this assignment now!” No you don't. “In a rescue situation, we need to be able to not only rescue civilians but provide for them!” 

It’s also a basic life skill… 

“Rations exist…?”

“Not always!” “To assume we will be provided all the tools necessary for a textbook rescue is a negligent expectation, Uraraka!”

Uraraka’s looking at Deku with pitiful puppy eyes, like she's hoping he would do his classic verbal vomit and poke a hole in Glasses’ statement. Unfortunately for the poor bitch, he only has sparkling eyes and an excited nod to everything the class president is saying.

“Shit, we're going to starve.” Someone mutters behind Katsuki, just loud enough to hear.

Fucking babies. 

It can’t be that fucking bad.

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes, a exploded pot and three attempted forest fires later, Katsuki has come to the realization that it is, in fact, that fucking bad.

Someone spilled their casserole and wasted a good pound and a half of food. Aizawa had to go get Shouting for a cooking fire. Hell, Katsuki noticed Glasses nearly dumping entire, uncut potatoes into a boiling pot of water. Uncut. The whole fucking potato. Straight into the pot of sad stew he, Deku, Uraraka and Shouto are making. 

Katsuki's decided.

All of these people?

They are sinful .

The only one who gets a pass is the guy with the sugar Quirk. Katsuki can't fucking remember his name for the life of him, but he seems to know his shit, and most importantly of all he hasn't caused a fire yet -a feat which most of his classmates are slowly starting to do.

Katsuki isn't going to be one of them if it's the last thing he does. Unfortunately, he has a couple of dead weights on himself.

“Kiri, you know I can't cooooook !”

“You're not touching a single pot,” Katsuki hears Kirishima chide Ashido. The latter makes an odd little noise of disgruntled acceptance. Looking up from his prep, he crossed gaze with the redhead. Kirishima laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck like a dumbass. “Ashido can  make cereal radioactive if you give her the time.” he says with a chuckle.

Katsuki raises one brow, half impressed. Ashido shifts on her feet and dips her head. Shame! Katsuki wants to yell at her. How hard is it to cook?

“Kiri, no need to be so descriptive of my crimes against humanity.” Ashido giggles, giving Kirishima a halfhearted look of apology before turning back to Katsuki.  “Hey,” She starts slowly, looking at the assortment of vegetables he’s stacking up on the cutting board. “Bakugo, how good of a cook are you?” 

“Passable.” He looks at the knife he’s been given, pursing his lips. Not the sharpest, but they will do. Grabbing the first bunch of carrots, he lines them neatly together before starting to cut. “I can make something edible, if that’s what you’re fucking asking.”

Clack. Clack. Clack. His knife cuts through the carrots easily -Katsuki cuts them into small, even round pieces, finishing the first set of carrots within seconds before lifting the wooden board and dropping the vegetables in the water. He grabs another set, lines up, starts cutting. Clack. Clack. Clack. Done. Drop in the pot. Grab another bunch. Line up. Cut.

Rinse. Repeat.

It takes him a moment to notice the silence at his table.

He looks up, blinking at the four sets of eyes watching him. Kaminari and Sero look vaguely horrified. Ashido looks on with hope…and also is sliding her gaze to the right, to Kirishima, who has the oddest red face and wonder-filled eyes.

“What?” Katsuki barks, uneasy.

“Dude.” Kirishim breathes out, smiling at him. “That’s so manly.”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose, hating the fucking twisty feelng in his gut. It’s like Shigaraki decided to stick a knife in it. He hates it. It’s squirmy and tingly and unwanted. “Basic cooking?” He barks after a moment.

Kirishima’s smile widens and he nods. "Yes!"

“This is fucking basic.” 

“But you cut so fast!” Fuck!? When did Uraraka sneak up behind him?!

He whirls around, a little part of him dying on the inside when he spots the pot full of unevenly cut vegetables she was holding. “It’s not that fucking hard!” Katsuki yells at her. “Basic fucking cooking, everyone should know how to do it!”

"Sure thing, wife material!" Uraraka, the bitch, merely laughs and trots away with her stew of mistakes. Ears burning, Katsuki turns back to his pack of idiots and looks at Kirishima. The redhead is still being a red-faced weirdo, opening his mouth and closing it like he wants to say something, is deciding to say it, only to regret it 

“Dude, that’s no just basic co-”

“Shut up and pass me the rest of the goddamn carrots.”

Katsuki quickly gets to work; it's easy to fall in rhythm. Grab, cut, set aside. Kirishima is on peeling duty, Ashido is there to just make sure they have all the ingredients and she's not allowed to do anything else, Sero went to grab firewood for their grill and Kaminari…

..well, Katsuki doesn't trust him in battle to not fry him so like hell he'd give the other blonde anything else to do besides sit there and hold a fork. Even then, he sideyes the fork occasionally. With this idiot, you really never know.

He’s setting the last of the vegetables into the pot when he looks around and realizes half of the fires are already taken, and none of his idiots are next to any of them. He turns to Sero, the closet of his friends.

“You didn't start the fire for us?”

Seri blinks. “With what lighter?”

Katsuki hisses a quick motherfuck under his breath and whirls around, stomping towards the grill. Students part like the red sea at his murderous intent. He claims one of the unused grills, grabbing a few logs and placing them under the rack. They’re a bit humid, so he’s going to need to dry them -nothing a few quick explosions couldn’t do.

Kneeling down, he shoves his hand close to the wood and lets out three concentrated explosions -a touch check of the wood tells him its a bit less wet, so he needs to-

“Bakugo!” He hears someone call out somewhere to his far left. It’s Uraraka. God damn it. “-before you set everything on fire -let Todoroki handle it!” 

“Fuck off, I got it!”

Deku, of course, fucking pipes in: “Kacchan don’t worry, Todoroki will get that grill up and running for you!” He says cheerfully.

Do they not have ears?! Katsuki turns his head towards the pack of troublemakers -only to blink at the mismatched eyes just a scant foot or two away from him.

How he doesn’t punch Shouto out of sheer fucking instinct is beyond him. Katsuki peers up at his younger sibling with narrowed eyes, his attention flicking between that stupid poker face and the hand raised towards the unlit grill.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He warns venomously.

Shouto stares him down with that perfect stupid poker face… and slowly squats down at his side. Katsuki barely resists the urge to shove him over and bristles instead. “I told y-”

“Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I can get it started faster.”

“I can kick your ass and call you a punk ass bitch.”

Shouto pauses, squinting. He looks confused. 

He deserves to feel confused. Katsuki holds his gaze and returns it with a baleful glare. He’s so caught up in showing his displeasure, he doesn’t react on time when Shouto sticks a hand into the grill and sets the wood Katsuki painstakingly set up ablaze.

“Motherf-” Katsuki hisses as he watches Shouto’s hand retreat, still alight. “You ass! I told you I had it.” He reproaches with a hiss, glaring at his half sibling.

Shouto just shrugs and responds calmly; “I got it faster.”

For a moment, Katsuki stares at his stupid ass blank face and his hand holding licks of fire. How dare. The little-

Red eyes flick down to that open palm. It takes all of a split second for Katsuki’s dubious scrap of morality to be tossed in a corner.

Katsuki lifts his gaze to make eye contact, reaches out, and closes his hand over his brother’s flaming fist.

The garbled noise Shouto makes is worth getting his hand covered in sot. Todoroki immediately jolts, opening his mouth like he’s about to shout but stopping himself short as if he doesn’t want their classmate’s attention pulled to them.

The taller boy goes to pull away but Katsuki clenches his hand around his palm, keeping him in place -watching those mismatched eyes shift from unexpected panic to concern to confusion, and only when Shouto stops trying to pull away, Katsuki lets go and lifts his hand up to show his perfectly intact, unmarred palm. He smirks.

In response, his brother makes a tiny noise.

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Katsuki parrots back smugly, smirking with bared teeth, “Bet you can't do that .” He says, fighting the urge to tilt his chin up at the half and half bastard.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have my scar.” Shouto says softly, still staring at his uninjured hand with calm surprise. Oops. Katsuki winces internally. “It's not from the old man.” 

Wait, what?

“Eh?” 

“That.” Shouto points at his intact hand, a gleam of concentration in his eyes. “Grandmother was fireproof.” He informs Katsuki, who finds himself at a loss once more, because siblings are enough, the thought of a grandmother jars something inside his chest. “The old man’s just lucky he had some of it as a secondary Quirk characteristic when he obtained Hellflame.”

Katsuki blinks.

Huh.

Deku calls after Shouto, who immediately gets up to answer. Katsuki watches his retreating back, then looks at the grill’s flames. 

There’s something mesmerizing about seeing the long licks of fire dance upon burning wood. It pins him in place, lulls Katsuki into a sense of calm that has him simply sitting and observing how the wood darkens and cracks under the flames.

He tries not to think what their father would have looked like, all scarred up and burned by his own Quirk.

(He tries to ignore the delighted feeling that mental image brings.)