Chapter Text
When Katsuki was four and a half, he presented his quirk. Explosions like stars in the night sky erupted from his hands, making everyone around him smile.
Coincidentally, that’s also when he met his biological father for the first time. A man towering over everyone around him, flames dancing on his skin and in his eyes, looking at the sparks that came out of Katsuki’s hands like they were a promise for greatness, a gift that would help him go where he himself couldn’t.
Katsuki always knew that his dad wasn’t his ‘actual’ father, not by blood anyways, which didn’t mean much to him. They played together, they cooked together, and he bought him hero merch, which is pretty much what a dad was supposed to do by his standards as a child.
He never knew who his blood father was, not until that day, sometimes in late September or October, where he was met with him for the first time. Whatever his dad was, Endeavor wasn’t. He wasn’t gentle, not in his manners, nor in his speech, he didn’t want to play games, and most importantly he didn’t like his favourite hero. But Katsuki met him, encouraged by his parents, something about how important it is for him to know his origins and what not. And in the span of a few days, he met a whole new panel of people, including siblings he supposedly had, a whole bunch of new information to digest, with less than welcoming feelings directed towards him.
When Katsuki was four and a half, he learnt what it meant to not be liked. Not by his supposed real dad, nor his siblings, or the rest of that new family he apparently belonged to. But he was given the promises of being forged into a hero, by the hands of none other than Endeavor, so none of it mattered.
The rest, for him, is history.
Middle school is stupid, and Katsuki can’t wait for it to end. Repetitive days and countless hours spent around idiots he didn’t want to do anything with were just unbearable, not when he could be preparing for UA instead. The entrance exam was still a year from now, but Katsuki isn’t the kind to take it easy on himself. He has every intention of wrecking whatever record the school had, which was the least he could do if he ever dreamed of surpassing the number one hero. Or stupid Endeavor.
Alas, he has no say in that—he still has to graduate from Aldera, and of course he has to be the best at it, so he has to attend his stupid classes and see the stupid faces of his stupid classmates.
“Kacchan,” he hears across the empty hallway.
Talking of stupid classmates—
“No.”
Katsuki doesn’t even turn his back to face the stupid nerd, who for some reason thought he got to talk to Katsuki at all. They weren’t friends, hadn’t been in a while, but somehow, he could never get him out of his life.
“Kacchan,” the nerd sighs this time, as if he was personally bothered by this conversation he was the one to initiate in the first place. Katsuki ends up having to see his stupid face anyways because the idiot made his way in front of him.
“Deku,” Katsuki parrots, “why the fuck do you bother me? Don’t you have better things to do in your life?”
Deku is a good five centimetres shorter than him, but he somehow always manages to look at Katsuki straight in the eyes. Contrary to other people their age, Katsuki natural harshness doesn’t seem to affect the idiot anymore, who somehow seems to take it as an invitation to talk to him. Right now, he looks at him with those green eyes, full of some watery and mushy feeling Katsuki hates and can’t put a name on.
“You should answer your phone,” Deku ends up telling him. “People are trying to reach you.”
Katsuki wishes he could be surprised or confused for at least a second there, but unfortunately he knows way too well what the boy in front of him is implying. They’ve done this dance before, and it always ended the same way.
“What are you, my fucking secretary?”
“Apparently,” the boy mutters, probably not meant to be heard by Katsuki. Alas, they’ve known each other for too long for him not to understand through the muttering. “Seriously, though, Kacchan, you should answer to Shouto-kun at least. He’s been blowing up my phone.”
To that, Katsuki raises an eyebrow. Shouto has never sent anyone more than three consecutive texts in the same day, so that’s a gross overexaggeration.
“Alright,” Deku corrects, defeated by his disbelieving gaze. “He’s sent me two messages in the span of ten minutes, which is the equivalent of spamming for him. Just —answer him.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, asshole!” He shouts, frustration bubbling inside of him. “And fucking block him if he bothers you that much. Why do you even have his number?"
“Because you won’t answer him, maybe?”
“Shut up.”
Shouto, just like his father and the rest of his family, is quite predictable. Katsuki already knows what the topic will be if he were to answer to any of the calls he’s been receiving, whether it’s from his half-brother or Endeavor. He could pick up, and tell them to fuck off, he isn’t the kind to shy away from an occasion to curse at someone, but he believes that ignoring their calls gets the message across much better.
Unfortunately, there are certain people who don’t get the message when they are being ignored. That someone happens to be named Midoriya Izuku, the second-biggest pain in Katsuki’s ass, right after his fucked-up pseudo-family.
The boy looks at him, his eyes full of badly hidden contemplation, his shoulders hunched. “I get it, if you want to ignore… him,” he almost whispers despite them being alone in the hallway of their school, the other students having left for the day already. “But I think… I think you should speak with Shouto-kun.”
“Did I fucking ask? Leave me fucking alone, Deku.” Katsuki hisses, sick already from the asshole. Why did he always believe he had a say in his life, he didn’t know, but it pissed him off.
But Deku, rather than cowering away with his tail between his legs like anyone else would when confronted to Katsuki’s anger, roots his heels deeply in the ground and holds his gaze. No matter how much Katsuki tries to push him away, no matter the name-calling and the ignoring, he always fucking stays, his shoulders rounded and his fingers twitching anxiously, trying to muster bits of courage in order to look him in the eyes and latch on him. He doesn’t fear him, contrary to everyone else.
Well, that’s wrong. Endeavor doesn’t fear him either. Neither does Shouto, the masterpiece was way above that. And then Deku, somehow. Quirkless, useless, Deku.
“You’re both applying to UA, right?” He continues, because of course he cannot take a hint to save his life. “It’s better if you don’t ignore your brother, then—”
“What is it to you?” Katsuki cuts him, voice almost squeaking in anger. He marches towards him, making the other one go back and back until the wall corners him. “Why do you even fucking care, are you crazy? None of this is your business, so stay out of it!”
And Deku is smaller than him, his green curls don’t even reach Katsuki’s forehead when they stand like this, face to face, one cornered by the other. And Deku is scared, he is always scared, he would start stuttering by now if he were facing anyone else. But stupid fucking Deku always acts differently with him, and so despite the fear and the lack of confidence, he stills doesn’t try to escape, he stills tries to hold his grounds. It all makes anger bubble up inside of Katsuki, the lack of control making him dizzy. He wants to punch someone. He wants to scream and he wants to curse. Worse than all, he wants to understand the boy in front of him, and he wants to hate him at the same time.
“Why do you believe,” he begins, words like venom, “that you have any rights to tell me what to do and what not to do? What makes you believe you know anything, huh, Deku?” he spits the nickname like an insult, anything to hurt and gain back control.
For a moment, Izuku tries to sink into the wall, to get away, and Katsuki thinks that finally, he is the strongest here, in control. He isn’t the weakest one in the room.
But then again, Deku can never make anything easy for him, so he talks.
“I…,” he starts, voice shaky, “I just care. About you.”
And if he had any humour in him, Katsuki would laugh. An ugly, dry laugh. But he doesn’t.
“You care,” he repeats, trying to force a wheeze. “You care—why the fuck? What do you think, Deku, that we are friends?”
“No,” he admits, quick and sure. A certainty that’s impossible to deny, not even for the most delusional person in the world. “We aren’t friends. But we used to be, didn’t we?”
Once upon a time. Long time ago. In a time when quirks didn’t mean anything, in a place when no one expected Katsuki to be the greatest. Back in days when no one was better than Katsuki. Where there was no Endeavor and no Shouto and no Rei and no Touya.
Once upon a time, they had been friends. Since then—
“Well we fucking aren’t anymore.” Katsuki takes a step back, and watches as his childhood friend peels himself off the wall, slowly, unsurely. “So you don’t have to fucking care or anything.”
And the boy still has some words to say, Katsuki knows it, he can see it. But he doesn’t leave him the chance to. He turns his back, fastening his backpack on his left shoulder.
“You don’t get to talk about my life,” he says as a reminder. “And don’t you ever call anyone my brother again, fucking understand?”
Somewhere, in the south of Musutafu, not too far away from the trashed municipal beach, there is an old site of abandoned buildings. The prefecture had probably decided that it was easier to abandon it rather than to do any kind of work in the neighbourhood, leaving it in a pile of dust and ran down buildings. Some people still lived, Katsuki’s pretty sure, and some other types of activity that weren’t too legal probably took place around there. Regardless, that was the only place where Katsuki could practice his quirk freely.
He jumps off a building, using his explosions to propel himself before hitting the ground, and redirecting himself. He had first thought of using his quirk that way when he was eight and his quirk had started becoming stronger, evolving from sparks to explosions. His dad—his actual dad, the one who raised and loved him— almost had lost days off his life when he had first seen him do that, hugging him tightly when Katsuki miscalculated his landing and scrapped his knees. Endeavor, on the other hand, had pointed out all the flaws in his technique, and Katsuki had corrected them by the other day.
It was so stupid that they were expected to pass a physical test for the UA entrance exam, but were not allowed to train their quirks without licences. Or supervision, which Katsuki did not have anymore. Not since last year, when he decided to pull the door of the Todoroki estate one last time, in shouts and splutters of anger and shame, and had therefore not trained with Endeavor since.
Katsuki lands back on the same building he had jumped off, his muscles sore of all the exercise he had already done since the end of class. In the horizon, he could see all the dust he had lifted with his quirk, the particles falling down in a messy rhythm. The place wasn’t ideal for quirkless training, but it was definitely suited well enough for his explosions. The people who still lived around there were used to that kind of noise, and whichever junkie had chosen this place for their business knew better than to look for trouble.
Katsuki was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite—he didn’t get to complain about Shouto getting ready for the entrance exam in better conditions when Katsuki was the one who made this choice.
As he does his stretching, his phone screen lights up, showing another notification pop-up. He scrunches his nose at the name that briefly shows up on his phone, unconsciously furrowing his eyebrows.
Shouto had never been the kind to reach out to anyone, and even less the kind to do it several times. Katsuki had a few ideas on why he had been so adamant to contact him lately, and none of them pleased him.
Shouto
> Katsuki, we need to talk. Call me.
09:37 a.m.
> I know you see my messages, don’t be immature.
11:02 a.m.
> What are you, scared?
07:42 p.m.
The bastard was so painfully good at sending the most obnoxious messages known to mankind. And Katsuki swears he didn’t fail for the bait, he didn’t —but whether he liked it or not, he knew the asshole that they called his brother, and he knew him enough to realise that if he went as far as to send Deku messages about him, he needs to talk to him.
as if, asshole. call me yourself if you dare <
As his fingers hoover over the keyboard, he cannot help the racing thoughts inside his mind. While Shouto could only contact him for one thing after a year of close to no contact, he couldn’t totally scratch the idea of Endeavor being behind it, somehow. And anything that involved that man was—
His phone rings, and Katsuki stares right into the name of his brother. He waits for a few seconds; he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of picking up immediately.
“What?” he groans directly into the speaker, an attempt at levelling his voice to sound as normal as possible.
“Katsuki.”
Said boy rolls his eyes. “Well fucking yes, who else? What’s your deal?”
There is a beat of silence through the line, and Katsuki wonders briefly if he is being pranked, before Shouto speaks again, voice low and cold.
“How are you?”
The question sounds rushed, the attempt at politeness of someone who never interacted with people in his lifetime. A weird distance to put, between two people who’ve seen each other at their worst. Between two brothers.
And Katsuki cannot hide his anger. “What the fuck—you’ve been spamming me to ask me how I am? Are you serious?”
“I wasn’t spamming—”
“—yes you fucking were, asshole. You even sent messages to Deku.” He lets out a loud breath, failing at channelling his anger.
He cannot see Shouto’s stupid face, but he can already guess how hard he is trying to adjust his face to seem as icy and cold as his voice, all that despite the general anger burning deep inside of him at any given moment. He’s seen it beforehand, that anger, and he it better than anyone else. Katsuki generally knows Shouto better than anyone else, better than Endeavor and better than himself, even. So he knows that he isn’t getting a call just for the sake of exchanging news.
“You obviously want to tell me something,” he continues, “so just fucking do that and drop the act.”
“Not everything is an act,” comes the immediate response. A statement and yet not a denial.
“With you Todorokis, almost everything is.”
A beat of silence. And then—
“Are you still applying for UA, next year?”
Katsuki’s chest raises in a humourless laugh. Bingo . He had guessed the topic right.
“What do you think, asshole?”
“I think,” he starts, his voice cold in a way that people unfamillar with him would mistake for assurance, “that it’s foolish to assume that things will go smoothly if you refuse to take things seriously.”
“Take things seriously—take things— are you fucking insane?” he shouts. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh, Todoroki, saying shit like that? I’ll beat your ass into next Sunday and you’ll see who isn’t taking things seriously!’
“You say this like you ever managed to beat me. You are not stronger than me, Katsuki. And you probably will never be.”
“I’ll fucking show you, asshole! I’ll shove your head in dirt in UA!”
“If you even get in there.”
Katsuki wants to reach through the phone, and tear off the head of the piece of shit in the other side, who knows him way too much. He knows all the right buttons to push, he mastered at railing him up, and Katsuki always fell for it, like a prey into a trap. And none of this was banter, either, Shouto only intended on being cruel.
He forgot that two could play these games.
“Those aren’t even your words, are they?” he spat, voice hoarse. “What happened, Shouto, did daddy dearest set you up so you’d call me, ask on how I’m doing without him? Did you call like the perfect golden son you are? Or what is it, does he want me to come back?”
“These are my words,” he answers. “My thoughts, all of them.”
“Yes right, and I fucking believe that. Do you think I don’t see what’s going on, Shouto? All of this—you implying that I can’t beat your ass without being trained by Endeavor. Which—isn’t that fucking crazy, considering how much you wanted me out of your perfect little family life?”
“You’re fucking reaching, Katsuki,” he hisses, and had Katsuki not being too deep inside his own anger, he’d be smug about finally bringing him to his breaking point. “You’re making up things in your head.”
“No the fuck I am not,” he spits right back. “And let me tell you two things, Shouto. First of all, when I left that day, I didn’t do it because of you, so get your ego-inflated head out of your fucking ass. I just have a personality of my own.”
The words fall easily out of his mouth, thoughts rooted deep in his skull, truths he always wanted to admit. And yet, they don’t sound right. They don’t get any weight off his shoulders the way he thought it would.
But he continues. “And tell your dear dad, if he’s the one who sent you calling me, that I don’t fucking need him. I didn’t give up training, and I’m stronger than I ever fucking was. Everything I do from now on is for myself.”
And he probably should wait for an answer, but he doesn’t. He hangs up, throws his phone inside his bag, and goes back for another round of training, despite his sore muscles calling for mercy.
When he was four and a half, he met people that they called his family. He met brothers, and he met a sister. He met their mother, so different from his own, lacking the spark of his own. It was the first time anyone had ever looked at him that way, with so much ill-concealed hatred, staring at him with tired eyes who saw in him the proof of how everything wrong. At the time, he didn’t get it. Now, it doesn’t matter much.
There was an exception, though, in the name of Shouto. A boy as small as he was, bearing expectations even bigger and heavier than those placed upon him the moment Endeavor laid his eyes on him. Katsuki doesn’t remember how, exactly, they became close, but it was probably through the long hours of training, and the few moments of rest they got, talking about the number one and their admiration for him.
When he was four and a half, he started going at the Todoroki estate periodically, for hours and hours of training, all in the sake of forming them into the perfect heroes.
At the age of thirteen, he closed the door of the estate behind his back one last time, and never looked back.