Chapter Text
Chapter One: A Prologue Of Sorts
Bakugou Katsuki is not a kid anymore, but when he was, he used to always look out for the most dangerous person in the room. It was the kid who was the loudest, the funniest, the smartest- it wasn’t usually hard to pick them out,
After identifying them, he would immediately start planning how to bring them down. A lot of times it was with physical violence, sure. But that wasn’t the only way. He would be louder than the loudest (not that it was much of a stretch for him anyway). He would study his ass off even if he already knew the material jsust to make sure he got a better grade than the smartest. The funny kids were harder to outdo because no one ever seemed to get his jokes, so that was when he’d typically go straight to punching. But no matter where it was- at school, the playground, or even at home- he could never quell that need to be better than the best.
As an adult, he wonders if that’s part of why he was so drawn to the idea of being a pro hero. Being the best hero isn’t subjective- it’s quantified. You don’t have to guess who’s the best or wonder where you stand. Some statistical analyst runs the numbers and they tell you exactly how much you suck and who sucks more than you.
Obviously, that wasn’t the whole reason he was drawn into it. He never would’ve lasted this long if it were. But considering everything else he’d learned about himself over the last ten-odd years, Bakugou Katsuki had come to the conclusion that his ego was definitely a driving factor at some point.
Even when he did his best to assure he was the loudest, smartest, strongest kid, for whatever reason, some other snot-nosed brat was always everyone else’s favorite. He may have been technically the best, but no one gave a shit about that because no one gave a shit about him . The only people who did were either afraid of him or thought he could give them something they couldn’t get from someone more pleasant to be around. Or whatever.
Heroes, though- heroes weren’t like that. Part of the ranking system takes public opinion into account. Sure, you can’t make everyone happy, but there’s never been a Number One who wasn’t surrounded by loyal fans.
All Might, for example. He was the strongest. Maybe not the smartest, and definitely not the loudest once Present Mic came on the scene, but he was the best. And anywhere he went, there was someone who loved him.
Things have changed for Katsuki since he first started at UA ten years ago. He made some friends- not just cronies, but real, honest-to-god friends, ones he would give anything for (even though they piss him off endlessly). He turned some enemies into allies. He got a better handle on his temper. He even stopped wearing his pants to baggy.
More than anything, though, he grew up. He learned what it actually means to be a man, to be a hero. As it turns out, numbers don’t have shit to do with it.
Most of the time, Bakugou Katsuki is still the strongest, smartest, and loudest person in the room. These days, he usually doesn’t even bother to check, which is nice. He’s in the top five. That’s nice too. He’s got fans out the ass. He will never forget the first time a stranger came up to him, just the way people used to come up to All Might, and told him they loved him. They said, “I love you. You’re my favorite hero.”
It hurt. He was not expecting it to. It was painful and empty and shallow, and he realized, right then and there under the fluorescent lamplight of a 7/11 sign, that being loved for being a hero does not feel like being loved. It feels like nothing.
Some days it feels that it’s all that anyone can see him as. It’s become more and more clear to him as the years have clunked on, as he’s collected accolades and risen the ranks, as he’s saved countless lives at the risk of his own: Bakugou Katsuki does not want someone to love him because he’s a hero. He wants someone to love him in spite of it.
He knows 25 isn’t that old, but it’s the oldest he’s ever been. It somehow feels like he’s been alive and withering for hundreds of years and simultaneously just took his first screaming breath. He’s spent 25 years feeling like he was waiting for something to happen. He never knew what it was going to be until this exact fucking moment.
Ultimately, it happens in his apartment. Kirishima, Dunce Face, Sero, Mina, IcyHot, and Cheeks are there, too. They’re scattered around his living room- he dragged them over to loop them in on a case. He’s been working on it for months in secret, and it’s too risky to work on it in an HPSC-affiliated building like his agency, and unfortunately, that means working from home.
But that’s beside the point really, because a portal just opened up on his fucking ceiling.
While he’s jumping up on his couch getting ready to blast some villain to hell and subsequently blast his rent deposit out the window, everything stills for a moment.
A villain doesn’t come out of the portal- at least not the type he’s used to.
You do.
In a cacophony of groaning and swearing and bleeding, you fall out of who the fuck knows where and land directly in front of his coffee table.
And as strange and terrifying as it is, he can’t help but look at you and wonder if, in some way, somehow, this is the thing he’s spent all that time waiting for.