Chapter Text
Death suffocates Katsuki's throat in more ways than he'd like to admit.
It settles on his skin, and seeps into his bones. It freezes over, and his joints stiffen. He can't move. Something is beneath him. A hole gapes in his back, and all he feels is cold.
He realizes just what is happening, and an image flashes in his mind. He all but falls apart at the sight of a certain green-haired quirkless boy sprawled out on the pavement.
Deku, he thought.
Everything. Everything hurt. He tried to breathe, but his lungs aren't even there. He gives up. It hurts too much to even try. He feels his consciousness slipping.
Izuku Midoriya's bleeding corpse lays no more than five meters away from him, and all of a sudden, every aspiration Katsuki held for himself dissappates like smoke in the air.
Fuck. What a cruel thing to show me while I die.
The memory rubs salt into his wounds, yet he accepts it. He deserved it. Now here he is, following his victim into the afterlife.
I should have taken your hand.
It's ironic, he thinks. How his hands were just taken from him moments from being pushed to his death.
The world fades around him, and the sounds of echoing explosions and gunfire, the blaze of heat and flames, the images of everyone he fought with and cared for, all gone like dandelion seeds in a breeze. All that's left is the image of him.
Green hair splayed out like a halo, sun-kissed freckles like the night sky, Deku... Deku, Deku-
Katsuki chokes on his regret (and probably the blood bubbling in his throat), and the thought washed over him like a crashing wave.
He realizes that his heart is no longer in his chest.
Katsuki thinks bitterly; We're finally even, Izuku.
-
White. It overwhelms him, blinding and pure. A catharsis, maybe. He welcomes it, and scoffs. Ah, so this is death.
It's a little warmer than he expects.
The sensation is like electricity coursing through his veins. It's kind. It's euphoric. His body slips away, and Katsuki feels like crying. It was too nice. Too good to be true.
He doesn't deserve heaven, he thinks to himself.
He loses his senses, and all the weight and the pain and the creak in his broken bones drift away. Everything he feels no longer feels, and every thought he held dissapated. He was being.
He simply was. Existence, yet anything but.
It went on like this forever. Or maybe it was only a moment. Possibly, but possibly never at all.
Then, he does exist.
Softly, like being tucked into bed, he begins to feel again.
First, a warmth spreads from his chest. A weight slowly follows, and matter built upon itself. A tingle somewhere in his head, and he began.
Katsuki awakens.
The first thing that greets his eyes is a plain, white ceiling, draped in moonlight coursing through a window. It was night. At first, Katsuki is disoriented. A moment of confusion, and realization drops onto his face like a bag of bricks.
He was looking at the roof of his bedroom. Not the one at UA, but the roof of his bedroom. Shock and confusion courses through his mind, because his home had been destroyed amidst the war. He gapes, and is immediately more aware than he had ever been aware in his life.
I'm alive?!
Katsuki blinks, and blinks, then blinks again. He does a double-take, briefly wonders if this is what heaven is supposed to be, then sucks in as much air as he humanly can.
His lungs expand against his ribcage, and so much relief hits him that he almost sobs.
I'm alive!?
Letting go of the breath, his heart racing in his chest - holy crap he can feel his heart beating - he lets himself appreciate the fact that none of the excruciating pain ached any longer in his bones. His fractured arms were no longer fractured, his ribcage no longer broken, and the beam of metal no longer pierced through his back, straight into his lungs and heart.
Katsuki tried to move his arm, and is shocked by how easy it was. For some odd reason, he felt so much lighter. Then, he flexes his hand. The relief of them actually being attached to his body was so, so satisfying. However, the lack of bandages further confused him. Heck, the fact he isn't dead because he fell onto a literal beam of metal confused the fuck out of Katsuki. He had felt his lungs collapse, the beam push from his back through his chest, his organs being shoved out of his ribcage-
He feels like he's gonna throw up.
He quickly slaps a hand to his mouth, swallowing the bile that crawls up his throat. Just the thought of it hurt his chest like hell- hold the fuck up.
His hand felt so small. Terribly concerned, he lifts his hand off of his lips to look at it.
What the fuck?
The hand that he layed his eyes on was not the hand that he had.
Katsuki's hands were calloused and crooked, years of training and explosions hardening them for battle. He had a scar right there on the outer edge of his hand, and somewhere on the second joint of his middle finger. After the attack on USJ and the encounter with Shigaraki Tomura, Katsuki had a large scar on the back of his forearm, a reminder of the skin that had been disintegrated off.
The hand that he held in front of himself was not his. It clearly wasn't. Because Katsuki wasn't looking at his own hand, he was looking at the hand of a child.
Small, stubby, and weak.
Shooting out of bed, Katsuki feels his heart nearly pound out of his chest, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead.
What greeted him was not the bedroom that he had left behind before moving to UA.
It was the bedroom he had left behind years ago, one that faded with time. It had been ages.
Katsuki took a single glance at his childhood bedroom, and felt a lump form in his throat.
Maybe this is an illusion quirk.
Slowly pushing the All Might blanket off of his bed (holy shit he hadn't seen this blanket years), the blond is almost repulsed to see two short legs, with none of the muscle he spent years building up.
Jumping off of the short bed, the lack of height he usually had making him feel uncomfortable. He steps forward on one leg, and then the other, and for fuck's sake it is so fucking weird.
Maybe I never died in the first place.
He ends up in front of the mirror on his door, because what else is he supposed to do? Looking at his hand alone was enough to make his heart pound with uncertainty, his legs made his head spin.
Who Katsuki saw in the mirror, was himself. Well, not exactly.
Katsuki was looking at his four-year-old self, and suddenly, everything began making sense. At the same time, not at all. Once again, an all-encompassing thought of all his emotions echoed in his mind.
What the fuck.
He had died, and now he's alive. But he's also four years old. He briefly considers the possibility of an extremely overpowered illusion quirk, or maybe even one that made him relive memories. Then, he remembers the hooded figure who shoved him off of a ledge after his hands were disintegrated off.
He remembers what they said.
"Back you go."
A bitter chuckle escapes his mouth, and a rancid taste bubbles in his throat. The voice is significantly one of a child, high-pitched, and yet to be run ragged by years of shouting and the miracle of puberty.
I'm not fucking dead.
Somewhere shallow within Katsuki, a voice tells him that of course he's not dead. Katsuki fuckin' Bakugo will never die. This is revenge on that villain, this is payback for all the people who doubted him, and his big middle finger to the world that opposed him. Yet at the same time, he remembers.
Why he became who was.
Who his motivation was.
Who he died for.
Izuku. It had always been Izuku. Whether that be anger, or fear, or motivation, or regret, all Katsuki could think about was the boy he had killed. He wanted to become the greatest, but he simply didn't deserve that. He never did. Not when those words 'jump off a roof' spilled from his lips.
When he thought that he had finally knocked on Death's door, he hoped that maybe he'd see Izuku on the other side. He hoped he could apologize. He hoped that he could say sorry, tell the truth that Izuku had always been a hero. That he was afraid that someone who he'd been told his entire life to be beneath him- be better than he ever could be. Izuku was everything Katsuki failed to be, and now that he had the chance to die, he wanted to meet him on the other side.
Then, he'd bid farewell, before walking into the pits of hell. Because what kind of person who purposely and willingly instigates suicide, goes to heaven?
He sighs. He's not dead. More importantly, he's figured out what exactly is going on.
When that villain had said "Back you go," Katsuki naturally hadn't thought much about it. He was too focused on the fact that Shigaraki had managed to disintegrate his hands off, and how he was on the top floor of a parking lot, about to be pushed the fuck off. Of course he thought it meant something like; "I'm pushing you back into the rubble and I hope you die in the process!"
Now that he thought about it, the villain never looked too happy to be pushing him to his death. Not that they should be happy, but they never had that crazed look any of the LOV members had, or their paid lackeys.
The villain looked at him with eyes that almost looked sad as they dragged him to the edge. The fact Katsuki could remember it so clearly sent shivers down his spine. "Back you go."
It finally made sense.
He had been sent back in time.
He pauses. The image of his four-year-old self looks back at him through the mirror. Wait a minute. He whips his head around.
The picture of Katsuki and his family at his fourth birthday party sat atop his dresser, in the same spot it had been in for years. Instead of the glass on the front having scratch marks and dust collecting on it, the framed picture was as good as new. Not a single burn mark either, or a crack in the glass.
Another picture beside it displayed him playing with an All Might figurine when he was three, and Izuku sitting right next to him. Young, and happy, and alive.
"Mom!?" He shouts, hoping for a response, to no avail. He tries again. "Mom!"
Nothing. Tears are welling up in his eyes. The last time he had actually referred to his mother as 'Mom' had been when he was in elementary, and... Well, when he was searching for her amongst the rubble of his home.
He never found her. Only her burnt, disfigured corpse.
His father's body wrapped around her's, most likely in an attempt to protect her from the blast.
It didn't work.
"MOM! DAD!"
A moment of silence, and the sound of a door opening and frantic footsteps begin to fill Katsuki's ears. There are worried calls of his name, and he's already tearing up.
His door opens, and his mother and father, both so much taller than he remembered. So much younger. Not worn by the years of stress from running a company, and raising him. Suddenly his inner fifteen-year-old didn't exist. It didn't matter.
He wanted his mom and dad.
"Katsuki, what is it? It's two in the morning-"
He doesn't hold back, and lets himself wail.
"M-Mom! Dad! Oh my god-"
He clings desperately to his father's leg, only before the older man briefly removes his son's iron grip to lower himself and hug him. His mother's gaze is so much softer than what he remembered, yet it was the only thing he could see when he thought of her.
"Hey hey hey, shh... It's okay, bud. Daddy's here," The man says, his gentle voice soothing with concern and love. "We're here now."
Katsuki finds himself at a loss for words. Tears flow uncontrollably and relentlessly but he doesn't care because his mom and dad died and now he's four years old again and what else can he do but fucking cry?
He sobs, and he sobs, and he thinks for a second I'm probably crying as much as Izuku cried and the thought only made him cry harder.
The burning flame that is pure pride within Katsuki dimmed, and was outshone by the grief he had been plagued with. He didn't need it, at least, not now.
For the first time in ten years, he was just a kid again.
His mother kneels down, and pulls herself into the hug. She gently rubs Katsuki's back, and all he could do was sob. His mom was alive, and well, and she could hug him and care for him like the child he really was, and now that he looked back on it, probably always wanted to be.
"Did you have a bad dream?" She asks, voice calmer than Katsuki had ever remembered.
He sniffles. "Y-yeah."
She smiles. "It's okay. Mommy's got you."
She leans into the embrace. Her husband smiles fondly. "We're here now, okay?"
They're here.
"Okay."
And for a few minutes, they just sit like that. The three of them, cuddled together in a hug, embracing a crying Katsuki in the doorway of his room.
When the tears become quiet, and the only sound left was his sniffles, his father gently strokes his hair as his mother holds his hand. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
Katsuki, still disoriented by crying his head into fatigue, answered honestly. His words only sounded like four-year-old babble because of how tired he was.
"You both died, and- and Deku died, and I died, and now I'm here, and- and-"
"Woah, woah, slow down. We're here, okay? We're alive, and you're alive, and we're healthy, and okay, alright? We'll be fine, you brat. I promise."
His mother squeezes his hand, and his father doesn't stop stroking his hair. He appreciates it.
"Who's Deku?" His father asks abruptly. Katsuki freezes. He had most likely not yet given the name to him yet.
Now that he thinks about it, he only started calling Izuku Deku once he had manifested his quirk, and a few months after Izuku had been diagnosed quirkless.
Had Katsuki's quirk even manifest yet?
"I said 'Zuku," He smoothly corrects. He hadn't called Izuku by that nickname since he was four years old, and it sat bittersweet on his tongue.
Deku. A nickname he gave to him to emphasize the uselessness that Izuku was anything but. A boy made of smiles and kindness and hope and care, and he had the guts to call him defenseless Izuku.
On the night of his fifteenth birthday, Katsuki came to the chilling realization that Izuku was the more brave between the two. Katsuki bullied, and bullied, and Izuku protected, and protected, and took every burn and bruise so others wouldn't.
"Hey, if it makes you feel better, you can have a playdate with Izuku tomorrow. How does that sound?" His father suggests, and Katsuki feels like a switch flicked within him.
"Really?! You're not kidding, right?! I can see 'Zuku!"
Masaru nods, and Katsuki hugs him tighter. The toddler lets out a sigh, and the man could only wonder about how pained his son's eyes were.
For a moment, he looked years older, and years more broken.
"Can I sleep in your room tonight?" The boy asks, and Mitsuki is perplexed by the manners her son displayed. He never asked, he demanded. His voice was quiet and careful, not the usual loud, childish tone he spoke in.
Eventually, Katsuki fell asleep in Masaru's and Mitsuki's arms. They both brushed the thought off.
It was probably just a really bad dream.
-
then
When Eijirou had arrived at the gates of UA for the first time, he was in complete awe by the sheer size of the building. A brief thought of This is the school I'll be attending if I pass the exam pops into his mind, but he quickly brushes it off. He finds no reason to get ahead of himself, and he should focus on the task at hand. Pass the exam, and then he can think about it.
Walking amongst the crowd of people, Eijirou is so occupied by the thought of the exam that he doesn't realize that he was walking straight into somebody's back.
He hits them with an oof, and instinctively hardens his bottom to catch his fall.
"Watch it," The person says, and Eijirou looks up to see a boy with explosive blond hair looking down on him with a scowl. His eyes are ruby red and narrowed with irritance, and Eijirou is understandably very intimidated.
The boy with blond hair scoffs, and reaches out his hand. "Careful," He warns bluntly.
Eijirou swallows the lump in his throat and takes the boy's hand, and is surprised by how easily he gets lifted up. Ever since he's been building muscle, he was always told it was harder to pick him up. At least, that's what his mom says.
He's also taken aback by how kind the blond boy was. Eijirou laughs at himself, and of course he'd be nice- Why would he be a hero if he wasn't? "Thanks, man." He says.
"It's nothing."
The blond boy turns on his heel, and Eijirou couldn't help but follow. "By the way- My name is Eijirou Kirishima! What about you?"
The blond boy looks at the ground, and a few moments of awkward silence pass. Eijirou wonders if he's making him uncomfortable, but his thought gets cut off by a response.
"Katsuki Bakugo."
Eijirou feels much less nervous, now. "Bakugo, huh? Let's be friends, yeah? I hope we can pass the exam together!"
"No."
Expecting some sort of nod, or a simple 'okay,' Eijirou is surprised by the answer. Especially not a straight up No.
They're at the main door now, and it's very awkward. Bakugo huffs out, and faces Eijirou with the same scowl on his face.
"Look, shitty-hair. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to beat everyone here, and become a fucking hero. If you want a friend, it damn well isn't gonna be me. Bring your happy little hubba-bubba somewhere else."
Eijirou's jaw drops. "My hair isn't shitty!- Hey man, there's no need to be rude. I'm sorry if I bothered you or anything but you're being-"
"If you wanna be friends with me, take the exam and fuckin' pass. Good luck," Bakugo cuts him off, and storms off. Eijirou is at a loss for words.
Katsuki Bakugo was brazen, rude, and everything Eijirou simply disliked in a person. Not to mention, he called Kirishima's newly-died red hair shitty. And his hair is not shitty.
The student sits himself down in the auditorium, and could see Bakugo sitting a few chairs down. He sighs.
But Bakugo was nice enough to help him back up, and tell him to be careful. He even said that he was here to beat everyone here. He was either a pretentious dick, or just manly as hell.
Maybe he wouldn't mind being friends with him just for that.
The presentation starts, and Eijirou decides to wait and see.
-
Eijirou stood at the front gates of UA, his uniform on, hair freshly styled, and a brand-new confidence coursing through his veins. Mina walked beside him into the building, and his life already felt like it was going to change for the better.
Opening the door to 1-A however, somehow managed to water it all down.
Katsuki Bakugo's hands were fuming as a taller boy with blue hair and glasses held a notebook in his hands, standing in front of his desk.
"Give it back," Bakugo growled.
"With you sitting like that and disrespecting school property, I think not. Apologize, and I'll give the notebook back."
"Like hell I'll fuckin' apologize! You took the damn notebook straight from my fuckin' hands, you bastard!"
"Ex-Excuse me?! Your language-"
"Japanese. Give me. The damn. Notebook!"
"No-"
"You fuckin' asked for it-"
Eijirou steps in, and places a hardened arm in front of Bakugo before he can lunge. "Haha, I'm sorry about that. Could you please just give the notebook back?" He asks the boy with glasses.
The boy looks between Bakugo and Eijirou, and pushes up the glasses with his hand. "Alright, fine. But don't disrespect your fellow peers or school property like that, you're in UA now. That means-"
Eijirou gently takes the notebook from the boy's hand, and bows slightly. He gives it to an extremely mad Bakugo, who snatches it from his hands with a cocked eyebrow. "You passed," He points out.
Eijirou smiles. "I did!" He turns back around, and chuckles awkwardly at the boy with glasses. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name! I'm Eijirou Kirishima. And you are?"
The boy with glasses looks skeptical, but answers nonetheless. "Tenya Iida."
Eijirou smiles, acknowledges him, and pushes Bakugo back into his seat. Quickly sitting behind him and throwing his bag underneath his desk, the redhead smirks at the blond. "Well, I passed. That means I'm your friend."
Bakugo turns around and faces Eijirou, visibly confused. "The fuck did I say that?"
"At the- you know what? Never mind. Either way, you really did it. Top score at the entrance exam? That's crazy, dude!"
Bakugo rolls his eyes. "Of course I did it. I'm just that awe-" He pauses, looks at the notebook in his hand, and turns back around. "Whatever."
More people slowly trickle in, and a girl with a bob of brown hair seems to notice Bakugo, wave, only to get ignored. Eijirou feels uncomfortable with the tense atmosphere. "So, uh. Bakugo. What's with the notebook? Why did you get so worked up over it..."
Bakugo tosses his head back and lets out a loud, obnoxious groan of annoyance, and the whole class almost goes silent. The chatter picks back up in mere seconds, and Bakugo turns around.
"It's nunya."
"What's nunya?"
"Nunya business, Shitty-Hair-"
"My hair isn't shitty."
"Shitty. Hair. I don't have to tell you shit."
"But you said I could be your friend if I passed the exam. And I did."
"I don't care."
"So you do remember!"
Bakugo turns around, but Eijirou doesn't flinch. "What's it to you?"
"You're my friend. And I want to know more about my friend!"
"I already said-"
"Tell me."
"You're a stubborn piece of shit."
Eijirou smiles. Bakugo faces the front again.
"I-"
The blond is cut off by the class going dead silent, and a- is that a huge, yellow worm?!- appears in the doorway. The worm- Okay that's not a worm- zips open, and a man that looked suspiciously homeless walks in.
He stands in front of the podium, his long disheveled hair resting on a grey scarf. His facial hair and dark circles scream tired, and his deadpan expression matches the feeling. "It took you all forty seconds to notice me. If I was a villain, you'd all be dead by now," He remarks. Eijirou feels his heart catch his throat.
"My name is Shota Aizawa, I'm an underground hero going by Eraserhead. I'm your homeroom teacher this year." Eijirou notices how Bakugo opens up the notebook, and immediately takes notes. He then takes out another notebook from his backpack, flips to a page and glances between the two, and continues to write more. The redhead was intrigued.
"Welcome to your worst nightmare. Now put on these uniforms, and meet me outside."
"Sir, what about the orientation ceremony?" A girl asks.
"It's useless to attend those events. You have fifteen minutes, I expect you won't get lost. If you do, you're expelled. Got it?"
The man walks out, and the class is stunned.
So this is UA.
Bakugo is the first to move, putting away the notebooks and grabbing the uniform on the podium, before storming out the door, straight to the locker rooms. Eijirou hurries from behind, and the rest of the class follows.
Eijirou had to admit- He hadn't met anyone like Bakugo before. He was so rude, yet still managed to be better than everyone else. He followed instructions to a T, and Eijirou could barely begin to talk about the conviction in his eyes as he swung the door to the changing room open. Not to mention, he somehow managed to be the most disrespectful in the room, while also having the neatest uniform.
Eijirou decided to ignore the scars on Bakugo's arms as they changed. He had only been around this guy for less than twenty-four hours, and he found himself more and more curious.
He decided that he would try his best to decipher who the heck Katsuki Bakugo was, no matter how long it would take.