Chapter Text
There was an explosion. It’s ironic how it was an explosion and Katsuki wasn’t at the forefront of it. He didn’t try to contend with it. He couldn’t try.
In the midst of battle, no one really thought to look at the skies. There hadn’t been time to consider that, after America’s first attack, there’d be a second one. No one had thought about it. No one could, not with the more present threat of Shigaraki and AFO looming over them.
Katsuki remembered hearing the explosion. He doesn’t remember seeing it. How could he when all there’d been was a clear sky one moment and just…nothing the next.
In the pre-quirk era, there’d been this part of history so engrained in people’s hearts that it only took two names to wrench out sorrow and anger and humiliation in one go. Katsuki hadn’t cared much. It was all in the past.
What did he care about ‘Little Boy’ and ‘Fat Man’?
Katsuki remembered seeing the clear sky over Japan, the one that’d come after the stormy clouds had gone their way. Then he blinked and there was another sky above him.
He hadn’t ever gone abroad so he didn’t know what the sky looked like in other places. Did the moon look different too? The stars? The damned sun?
Probably not. He wasn’t stupid to think so.
But he was thinking that explosion must’ve spread some sort of stupidity contagion because the sky over Japan definitely didn’t have two suns and a shitload of—are those fucking dragons?!
Katsuki wanted to curse. So he did. But what came out was a blood-curdling cry and that was definitely not from him. The cry was so fucking annoying. Grating on the ears and made him want to blow up his own eardrums more than it’s already damaged beyond repair—
“Is he alive?”
Huh?
A shuffle on grass. Fabric rubbing against his skin. The hitched breath of someone near. The distant roaring of those dragon-looking mega-sized birds up there in the sky.
The crying stopped. It’d stopped long ago because there was a shadow over him and while it was against the light of those two freaking suns, he could still see who this giant was.
Bakugou Mitsuki’s enormously big face looked down at him, tired, hard of breathing, and so fucking different. For someone who hated Katsuki’s delinquent-esque phase in middle school, his mother had a lot of answering to do now what with those face tattoos and—
Horns.
His WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK didn’t come out the way he wanted to and again there was this hella annoying cry instead. He was around half sure it was a baby’s cry and he didn’t hit children but that moral code was close to breaking at this point.
His ‘mother’ smiled tiredly at him. “Guess I didn’t need to ask, huh? Now stop your whimpering Masaru and come hold our son.”
There was some shuffling again and a whooshing sound Katsuki couldn’t determine because he was too busy realising he could hear. Like actually hear. There was no foreign sensation of hearing aids in his ears and yet he could hear like he’d never been able to since his explosions gave its due consequence.
It’s how he realised there was another person joining this crying orchestra. An adult. His ‘father’ apparently who looked too much of a stranger without his glasses, had those same fucking tattoos on his face, and—horns. Again. But while this man’s face was as giant as his ‘mom’s’, he was crying and that was all Katsuki needed to know.
Yup. Crybaby? Being wrangled by his tattooed mom? Definitely his dad, that’s for sure.
“He’s… he’s… he’s—!” Then the tears that’d almost dried up went back to full force again, gushing out and landing on Katsuki. On his face to be exact and he was definitely gonna have words with his old man.
“Katsuki,” The old hag says after slapping some sense into his old man. “That’s his name, Masaru, and you better remember it. Katsuki—our little victory.”
And to Katsuki’s shock, the old hag started crying, too. Her tears were warm, almost… scalding(?) as it landed on his face and he was definitely gonna blow up the both of them for being so embarrassing.
That is, right after he figures out why in the fucking hell he’s a baby.
He wasn’t stupid. He figured it out after seeing the old hag’s gigantic face. Things clicked into place when he couldn’t let out explosions or move as he wanted or even speak as he wanted.
Bakugou Katsuki could only cry. Day and night of his attempts at swearing or talking, he’d just cry and maybe that’s enough of a revenge to his parents who aren’t freaking out like he was. Yes, it has come to a point where Katsuki can admit he was indeed, freaking out.
His solace came in the form of a playdate.
“Katsuki,” The old hag said, all smug. “Katsuki of the Bakugous. That’s who this menace of a brat is.”
“Mitsuki,” His old man sighs. “That’s not how you introduce our son and heir.”
“What? Want me to lie and say he’s a perfect angel who loves his parents so much that he lets them get their beauty sleep?”
At this Dad 2.0 coughed and looked away, unable to give a retort or even come to Katsuki’s defence. Mom 2.0 went all smug and directed her attention back to the hosts who were patiently smiling through the whole thing.
Held in the old hag’s arms and hanging onto her hair, Katsuki had a pretty good view of everything—and everyone. The couple was adorned in the same tattoos as his parents were, horns jutting out of their forehead proudly and tails (yes, sadly) swishing behind them.
Finally getting Mom 2.0’s attention, the couple saluted and bowed deep.
“Greetings to Bakugou-sama and Masaru-san,” The man said and something about him seemed… familiar. “We’re honoured that you introduced Katsuki-sama to us and our kin.”
The man smiled from ear to ear, sharp teeth gleaming, and a brilliant light in those deep red eyes and Katsuki knew. He knew before someone came out of the house, holding in their arms a black-haired baby, exactly who this man and his ‘kin’ was.
The one carrying the baby stepped forward and, through a curtain of lank black hair, wide red eyes looked at him with recognition.
Son of a—
Katsuki bites Eijirou. Before the old hag pulls him back to chastise him, the fucker, who obviously recognises him but can’t speak shit just like him, bites back.
Great. Just like old times.
It isn’t a surprise, really, that with the continued playdates, Katsuki and Eijirou grow close. Of course they do. There must some sort of bro code somewhere dictating the unbreakable bond between two bros who’ve seen each other shit themselves. The first few times it happens, it’s Katsuki and Eijirou laughs as a baby for the first time—at least, before crying again when he bites the fucker who then shits himself.
It was a cycle, alright? An annoying embarrassing as fuck cycle that’s showing no signs of ending since his old man keeps insisting he’s too young to start potty training.
The old hag snorts and pokes at Katsuki’s nose. “He’s my son, Masaru. He’s bound to do things earlier than the rest of em extras.”
“Our son,” His old man says, arms crossed and looking surprisingly unrelenting on the matter. “Who’s barely a year old! If anything, it’s that competitive spirit he got from you that’s pushing him for things he isn’t ready for yet!”
“It ain’t a rule they gotta be at least a year old to start learning how to hold their piss and shit—”
“Mitsuki! Language!”
And as his old man rushes to cover his ears, Katsuki’s just considering how long it’d take to deal out worse swears his parents in this life (and world? Who the fuck knows?) would’ve never dreamt to think up.
Seeing how he’s still being swaddled and carried? A hella long time.
Which is something he can’t even properly gauge anymore since there’s, ah, two freaking suns. How did they even measure time here? Instinct? Some oral tradition song or story? Just some fuck all stick in the ground and watching two shadows?
Katsuki didn’t know and he hated not knowing. Eijirou knew this and wisely followed his lead during their playdates when they were left alone long enough so they could sneak into Shitty Hair’s dad’s study or library. Finding either was a headache (or adventure as Eijirou’s stupid grin seems to say) in itself and figuring out how to get at anything in baby form was another issue entirely.
It’s during one of these escapades that an idea crosses Katsuki’s mind. It’s stupid, insanely dangerous, and something Aizawa would’ve stamped his NOPE on but it kept nagging at him nonetheless.
After all, if neither of them can reach it then it’ll all be too easy to make it reach them, right? The logic of it’s so strong that Katsuki managed to convey it with his floppy baby arms and facial expression to Eijirou. His sidekick. His (ugh) best friend and fellow victim.
Eijirou’s red eyes shone with determination and without another word (read: cry), they crawled towards the gigantic-looking bookshelf and—
Shook the hell out of it.
It was his best and worst idea yet.
“No.”
“Fucking yes.”
“No.”
“I already said fucking yes, nerd,” Katsuki clicked his tongue. “What, you calling it bullshit?”
Izuku opened his mouth, probably ready to call bullshit, but Katsuki was prepared. He was a year older and knew when the nerd was ready to puff up and go on a tangent that would last till the second sun set. Maybe not even then, actually. It’d happened before.
So he shoved a ball of herbs in Izuku’s mouth and watched him choke.
“If you weren’t gonna believe shit then why ask how I got the burn scars, ha?”
“You—” Izuku coughed and hacked out the herbs. “You k-kept a—ack!—avoiding the s-subject before!”
“Yeah! ‘Cuz I got it for a stupid reason!”
The didn’t want to make you think I’m stupid went unspoken but for all the magic the nerd didn’t have, Izuku seemed to always hear the unspoken things. Especially Katsuki’s and it was annoying as hell to see that glare quickly turn soft and concerned. Ugh. Great.
The sigh hadn’t left his mouth yet before Izuku crashed right into him, arms wrapping round him. They don’t topple over. This had happened way too many times for Katsuki not to be prepared, already bracing for the embrace. There was one thing he still couldn’t handle though.
“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, his breaths gentle against his skin. “You know I’d never think your mistakes then reflect on you now, right?”
And then the nerd would raise his head, curls wild with the impact and the gentle breeze, and pin Katsuki with those eyes he knows too well. It’s in moments like this that his arms round Izuku would tighten and he’d look into those eyes, searching, searching, and asking—
Do you remember me?
Izuku’s eyes remained clear and a shaky breath comes from Katsuki. The moment breaks and he grins, if a little forcedly, letting the breeze take away his hope and despair again.
“I don’t know,” He says as if the realisation isn’t settling in his gut, adding another weight there. “Pretty sure you gnawing on Auntie’s herbal books still reflect on you, idiot.”
Because Katsuki knows Midoriya Izuku, he expects the squawking. He takes the playful push against his chest and answers in turn with fingers prodding at the nerd’s ticklish spots. He knows how Izuku laughs and pleas for Katsuki to stop Kacchan stop I can’t ha—
Katsuki knows exactly what this Izuku will do because they are the same. They have the same amount of freckles littering his face and body. The same blush that rises when he’s too out of breath from laughter and is looking at Katsuki like he’s the world.
Except this Izuku doesn’t remember and Katsuki thought that was okay until he gets reminded each and every time.
Before he met up with the rest of the class (Eijirou doesn’t count), Izuku stumbled into his life. It was more of tripped and fell into a ravine and would’ve been a splatter of freckles and useless shit if Katsuki hadn’t spotted him during his first ride. The whole thing felt like déjà vu except he was doing the saving and being all reckless because this was his first ride on a goddamned dragon.
Izuku hadn’t helped shit. He flailed, cried about being eaten, and even tried to punch Katsuki in the balls. A dick move that he still lorded over the nerd to this day.
But when the chaos was all but done and they were both lying on the grass, gasping for breath, the realisation that this was Deku sinked in and he was tackling the nerd. Izuku held nothing back. The nerd fought dirty and oscillated between feral and a sobbing mess begging Katsuki not to kill him please my mother still needs me and I’m not tasty! It’s déjà vu again when he finally pins the nerd down.
“Deku—fucking—Deku, just listen to—ow, you ass—oi, Deku!”
“I’M NOT DEKU, STUPID DRAGON!” Izuku screams into his face because he was a little shit. “GO FIND YOUR STUPID DEKU AND LET ME GO!”
“YOU’RE CALLING YOURSELF STUPID, IDIOT!”
“I’M NOT?!”
This goes on for a solid hour till they both go hoarse and Katsuki lets the nerd go, knowing he’s too exhausted to escape, anyway. Silence settles over them and he breaks it because that’s how this works and Izuku’s obviously still scared of being eaten.
“You really don’t remember?”
For some reason, Katsuki’s voice is small and he hates how it sounds but Izuku’s way too fine with it with how he stops tensing and faces him. Katsuki looks at the nerd—there are the freckles, just as many as there were when Izuku was a brat; eyes that have always been too big and bright for this world and the exact same shade; and wild dark green curls just as messy and uncontrollable.
He looks at Izuku but he doesn’t see him. Not the idiot he’d terrorised during middle school and definitely not the self-sacrificial arse who thought he could fight a war all on his own. It was Izuku but not Deku who followed him around through all those years, calling him his ‘hero’ and his ‘victory.’ This wasn’t the Deku who’d call him Kacchan like it was second to remembering his own, the syllables etched into tongue from years and lifetime’s use.
And that? It was some fucked up shit.
“Well fuck,” Katsuki said, choking out a laugh. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this shit all over again, huh?”
The weirded out expression on Deku—no, Izuku’s face was the first this world’s version of the nerd made him laugh for the first time in a long time.