I don't know if I like this chapter or if I got it right. I'm considering it… a published rough draft, up for heavy review.

This chapter was difficult to write. Mostly because Bakugou has always been slightly beyond my comprehension, so writing him as a character that made sense to me, without justifying his bad behavior, was a challenge. It was also emotionally… interesting.

Four: Explode

explode [ik-splohd]

verb

1. burst or shatter violently and noisily as a result of rapid combustion, decomposition, excessive internal pressure, or other process, typically scattering fragments widely.

TECHNICAL: undergo a violent expansion in which much energy is released as a shock wave.

2. a. (of a violent emotion or a situation) arise or develop suddenly.

b. (of a person) suddenly give expression to violent emotion, especially anger.

c. suddenly begin to move or start a new activity.

3. increase suddenly or rapidly in size, number, or extent.

4. show (a belief or theory) to be false or unfounded.

Bakugou Katsuki is born at noon. He is Quirkless, as the majority of newborns are, and he has almost no hair at all. He has ten fingers and ten toes. He has a screaming fit and then falls asleep. He is average in every way, and born of an average labor that came right on schedule after an average pregnancy. There is nothing special about him at all.

He grows to be energetic and forward, fearless, but still… average. Physically and mentally, he performs no better than any other child his age, no matter his effort or enthusiasm. The only thing that sets him apart is his competitive ambition, and the fact that he seems determined to be utterly better than everyone in every way, even though, at his age… well, there's no telling. His parents have average, unimpressive quirks, and average careers not really worth noting, and they live in an average apartment in an average neighborhood that is only desirable to live in because it is very safe and relatively close to a successful heroics academy.

Nothing much is expected of Bakugou Katsuki by anyone but the boy himself.

When Katsuki is three years old, he only has one friend. This is alright with him because it's not as if he has the time or patience for two friends (ugh), but there is always that awful nagging feeling he has whenever he has to share Izuku with other people, because as much as he has been praised, Katsuki still sort of knows that everybody likes Izuku better.

Izuku is polite and quiet. Izuku is plays nice and never gets into trouble. Izuku is funny and smart. Izuku is what the adults call "charming" and "sweet." People volunteer to babysit. They like him. He's the kind of kid that people want. Cute, well-behaved, and full of potential.

Izuku is going to leave Katsuki behind.

Katsuki never remembers to be polite and he doesn't even know how to be quiet. He doesn't play nice and he barely manages to stay out of trouble. He is smart, but maybe not as smart as Izuku, and he's never been funny. He is what the adults call "trouble-maker" and "a pistol." And, sure, he thinks that he likes being called those things because he's pretty sure that they mean he's tough and strong, but no one volunteers to babysit him, and… well, his father likes him. To admit that he is not the sort of child that people want is not something that his three-year-old brain can fully comprehend, much less admit to, but he knows that he is not cute or well-behaved. And his potential is of his own making and, at the age of three, there isn't much of it except in the ambiguous sense that he could do anything because he isn't anything yet.

For all these reasons, Katsuki prefers to keep Izuku to himself. Because if Izuku plays with the other children, if he strays from Katsuki, then he might come around to thinking that he's better than Katsuki. Which, which, he's not, of course, because Katsuki is the best and he's going to have the best quirk, but Izuku might start forgetting that, so Katsuki doesn't give him the chance to realize that he might possibly be slightly better than him (but he's not, he's not). If Izuku starts thinking that he's better —he's not better— then he might think he doesn't want Katsuki around anymore, which is stupid because Katsuki is a great friend, but if Izuku were to get that idea, then Katsuki would go from having one friend to no friends at all.

It's stupid. It's not going to happen because Katsuki is obviously the best friend for Izuku, and they've already got a plan to be heroes together, and that alone will keep them together forever. Sure, Izuku will probably end up being Katsuki's sidekick because Katsuki will undoubtedly have the better quirk, but that's just fine. That'll be more than enough.

It makes a great game, too, because they're not heroes yet, but they can pretend.

Katsuki is three years old and he has a raging, explosive tantrum when Izuku doesn't come to play with him. One day without Izuku might have been manageable, but it's been over three days and he considers this to be unacceptable because he can't even remember a time he's gone that long without Izuku.

His parents, as always, give in to the unstoppable force of a screaming child. Eventually.

He's too young to know to be worried, really. He's never had someone in his life be seriously sick. He's only faced death in small concepts, like a dead bird at the park or a swatted spider. He doesn't realize that anything more than his own good mood is at risk.

Because of this, he's more demanding than sympathetic. Izuku seems okay, and so it's fine. This is all a waste of time, as far as he's concerned.

Later, he doesn't remember a lot about the hospital. It was new and vaguely interesting, but his memories are more of those learned imprints of now knowing what a hospital is like instead of remembering what it was. Because later, he remembers the smells, and the noises, and the lights, and the weird clothes people wore, but he doesn't really remember all that much about what happened, because that wasn't important.

Because it doesn't matter that Izuku was sick.

Because Izuku would be just fine.

[He's not a friend. He doesn't see us. He doesn't see anything that he doesn't understand, and he does not understand much. That's alright. He's a child. He won't understand until he recognizes and accepts his own ignorance.]

Will he, though.

[Perhaps.]

Katsuki is four years old and Izuku has been acting really weird for forever now. It's stupid, and Izuku should go back to normal, but his mom says it's because he was sick in the hospital.

That's stupid.

People only go to the hospital when they're sick if they're sick really bad. He understands that. But then they get better. If they don't get better, then they have to stay in the hospital. Izuku was let out of the hospital, and that means he should be better.

But he's not.

Not really.

He's so… slow. And quiet. And he doesn't want to play anymore. He doesn't seem to mind exploring so much, so Katsuki explores a lot and takes Izuku with him so that they can see cool things, and that's better, but Izuku is still really quiet. But Izuku being quiet isn't really that weird, because he's always been kinda quiet, but the thing is that he doesn't cry anymore.

Katsuki would think that's a good thing. You can't be a hero if you're a crybaby.

But Izuku smiles less, too. And doesn't mumble anymore. And the mumbling was stupid and sometimes Izuku smiled too much, but even at four years old, Katsuki know that something about this is very, very wrong.

And he doesn't realize it, not yet, but he's… scared.

He's less scared when his quirk manifests, bright and loud and perfect. It's his and it's him. And so he looks to Izuku for approval, because that's, y'know. What matters. Because Izuku is the one who knows all about quirks and how to be a hero and which quirks make the best heroes so it will be Izuku's words that hold any weight, because it will be Izuku who can tell Katsuki that his quirk is good, brilliant, the best, and that they can be heroes, and that all this weirdness is over now and they can be alright again.

(It will be Izuku who can fix this broken thing this.)

Izuku doesn't say that, though. He doesn't say anything. Not even congratulations, which even the people who don't really care still say.

Izuku flinches from Katsuki's quirk and looks away.

Katsuki is four years old when Izuku comes to school with news. And Katsuki thinks that it's about time that Izuku got his quirk, because everybody else has theirs and Izuku's is late, but whatever, because this means that they'll finally get to play Heroes and Villains the right way (maybe Izuku will want to play again at all, because he hasn't in forever), with their quirks, because now they'll both know their quirks and they'll start making real plans about what kind of heroes they'll be.

(And maybe Izuku will stop looking away. Maybe Izuku will talk to him more. Maybe things will go back to the way they were before, but better, because they'll have quirks, so they'll be fine.)

So Katsuki waits and waits for first recess, and in that time, he starts to wonder. What is Izuku's quirk, anyway? Because a quirk better than Katsuki's just isn't likely, no sir, but Katsuki has heard his parents talking about this. Uncle Hisashi can breathe fire. That's… really cool. That's a great hero quirk. And Auntie Inko is telekinetic, just a little, which isn't as cool. But quirks, Katsuki knows, are like math. Sometimes you just get one quirk from one parent, and not the other one. But sometimes, if you're really cool like Katsuki, you add both quirks from both parents together, you get a new, better quirk.

1 + 1 = 2

Fire-breathing plus telekinesis equals pyrokinesis. Probably.

That's… that's not better than Katsuki's quirk. It's not. But everybody wants pyrokinesis because of Pro Hero Endeavor, who's had the Number Two spot on the rankings for forever. And Katsuki doesn't precisely know what that means yet, but he knows it's important.

Katsuki wanted pyrokinesis, and he thought Explode was as close as he could get.

But Izuku might have it. Izuku might have the quirk that everyone wants.

There's a hot, heavy feeling prickling behind Katsuki's sternum, and he thinks he might be getting a tummy ache, too. He feels gross. He wants to make sparks, or scream, or just go home, and he wants to curl up in a ball and become a bomb but he also can't stop squirming.

You're full of dynamite, son.

He doesn't know why. It's stupid, it's so stupid, and he can't even find the words for how stupid this is. But, for a brief moment, his bottom lip trembles and his breathing comes a little fast, so he clenches his teeth and sneers at his desk.

He's angry, that's all. He's mad because he had to wait too long. Because his teachers are dumb. Because Izuku was late.

It'll be okay, right?

They rush out to the playground at recess. Katsuki is pushier than usual, but his tummy still hurts and so does his chest and so he stomps, glaring, and doesn't care if anyone is in his way because he's bigger than them so it doesn't matter.

Izuku finally shows up, late, looking weird. He always looks weird now. Mama says it's because Izuku was sick really bad and sometimes when you're sick bad enough to go to the hospital, then even after you're done being sick, you still don't feel good for a long time. And being sick for a long time makes you looks weird.

(Skinny. Izuku is the skinniest.)

But Izuku has his quirk, now. Quirks make people strong. So Izuku will feel better soon because he's stronger.

Izuku shuffles out to meet Katsuki. Izuku never does anything fast. Katsuki pops a few sparks that make Izuku look away with a scrunched-up nose, but it makes him feel better, so he does it a few more times.

Then Izuku says—

He says—

He says something that turns that hot feeling in Katsuki's chest into lava, and his achy tummy flips a few times, and the tiny sparks turn into fire-bright cracks of nitro, and Katsuki almost screams.

But he doesn't scream.

"Quirkless, heh?"

Katsuki knows about Quirkless people. He's heard his parents talk about that, too.

Quirkless people aren't heroes. They don't get to be important. They're weak. The weakest. Quirkless people don't get to be anything because they aren't anything. One day there aren't going to be any Quirkless people at all.

(He remembers what his mother said when she thought he wasn't listening. Quirkless people die.)

"That's no good," Katsuki says. That hot feeling splashes around his ribs and his heart is thump-thump-thumping away and so he bares his teeth and the sheer desperation almost turns the expression into a smile but no no no he is not smiling. "You're useless without a quirk."

Useless. Hopeless.

Bared teeth like a frightened animal. A defense mechanism. An aggression. A warning. Not a smile.

Izuku, Katsuki's friend who is going to die, just blinks slowly with huge eyes and long eyelashes and no sign of life.

"Maybe it's just late, Kacchan," he says.

Maybe it is. But Katsuki knows it's not. He should have known before.

Izuku was never going to get a quirk. Izuku was already broken. He's been broken since he went to that stupid hospital.

"Useless," Katsuki huffs. It sort of hurts. But he thinks of the kanji he knows and comes to what he thinks is a pretty smart conclusion, which he sort of noticed before but never brought up because it didn't apply and it wasn't nice.

It applies now. And who cares if it's nice?

"Deku."

Katsuki doesn't know that word as well as he likes to know words, but he's heard his mom use it a few times and he knows the kanji is sort of the same.

"That's what you are. A Quirkless Deku."

And then, when it perhaps should have ended in tears, or yelling, or any reaction at all from Izuku, the boy just stares, blankly, loose-limbed and shrinking.

Like a deku.

The lava-hot feeling, the one making Katsuki sweat so hard that his shirt is sticky?

It finally explodes.

He's hit Izuku before. He doesn't exactly remember doing it, but he knows he did because he remembers the day it happened and, also, his mom mentions it sometimes. She calls it pushing buttons. She says, all kids do it, ya brat, but you're the worst. You don't just push the buttons, ya smash 'em. But Katsuki doesn't remember being angry at Izuku. He just did it because he could.

This time, he's angry.

So, with fire in his heart and a stinging cry held behind his flushed face, Katsuki hits Izuku as hard as he can. It's not very hard, he knows, but he's popping off bright flashes from his hands, too, and those sting like a real slap.

Izuku doesn't do a thing. He doesn't cry. He doesn't try to run away. He doesn't fight back.

Izuku is going to die.

Bakugou Katsuki is four years old and he has many friends, but none of them are Midoriya Izuku.

Whatever he thought when he was three is dust in the wind. It is he who has left Izuku behind. Izuku was going to be so great, everybody could tell, but he's not great anymore, or even good. He's useless. He's Quirkless, which is bad enough because that means he's going to be defenseless for the rest of his life (a short one, because there are really old Quirkless people and a few young Quirkless people but no Quirkless people in the middle, because the really old ones are just leftovers and the ones who should be in the middle are dead and the young ones won't get to be in the middle either because they'll die too), someone who will always need to be protected, but he's also… damaged.

If Katsuki had any hope that Izuku would get better, or get his quirk, or both because that would be the best thing, he no longer holds that hope.

And, sitting at his kitchen table while Mitsuki makes lunch, he can't hold the words, either.

"Stupid Deku blanked out like an idiot today."

Katsuki never calls him Izuku anymore. Not out loud, at least. It doesn't feel right.

His mom slows her task of chopping vegetables, but doesn't stop.

"Katsuki, you know that's not his fault," she says, quietly. She doesn't say much that quietly. Her voice is a bit hoarse. "He can't help being that way."

Katsuki isn't used to hearing quiet from his mother. She's usually at high volumes. Inside voices aren't really her thing. But they've had this conversation before, and her saying the words quietly does not make them easier for him to swallow.

"I know," he grunts. "It's just stupid. He used to be smart but now he's stupid."

She doesn't look at him.

"Izuku's sick, kiddo."

She doesn't say that Izuku's not stupid, though.

And Izuku's not sick. Sick people cough or blow their noses. Sick people throw up. And sometimes, if they're really sick, they go to the hospital. But then they get better.

Izuku isn't getting better. He's worse than ever and he doesn't even have a quirk.

"He's not sick, he's broken," Katsuki mutters, folding his arms over the table and shoving his face into his sleeves. He glares across the cheap, fake woodgrain of the tabletop and eyes the tiny scorch marks littering the surface with temptation.

He could make more of those.

"Don't call him that," she says, like he doesn't say Deku every single day. Like she doesn't know what that means.

"But it's true," Katsuki insists.

The conversation devolves from there, because Mitsuki isn't great at explaining things at a reasonable volume, or at all, and Katsuki isn't great at listening to anything he doesn't want to hear, and Katsuki's father is terrible at interfering.

But, from what his mother is yelling about, Katsuki gathers this: that the hospital visit (which Katsuki only remembers because it came immediately after the royal tantrum he had when Izuku wasn't there to play with him for three days in a row) happened because Izuku's head was hurt, really bad, and sometimes when you get a really bad hurt on your head, it can make you different for the rest of your life.

It happens all the time, his mom says. In car accidents, or in sports, or when someone trips and falls. You can bump your head and be fine later, but sometimes you're not. And sometimes, if you're like Izuku, and you hit your head before you get your quirk, you might never get your quirk at all.

"Good thing I didn't drop you as a baby, huh?" she asks with a fake chuckle, ruffling his hair.

Yeah. Sure.

Good thing.

Katsuki is five years old and he has a favorite toy, one that he has treasured for nearly two years: a mecha toy, painted army green and rust red. It's styled after the Jaeger from those super-old Pacific Rim stories, so it looks fairly retro in comparison to newer mecha models, but the moving parts rearrange smoothly and its shiny lights never flicker and the tiny motor inside barely makes a sound when Katsuki turns it on. It has a voice, too, and it has a variety of pre-recorded responses that are just robotic enough to match its metal body but just emotive enough for him to make-believe that it really wants to talk to him even if it can only say so many words.

Katsuki has the empathy levels of a brick and typically doesn't anthropomorphize his toys. They're just toys. One day they'll all be gone, and he'll have new ones. But this one, he names Gipsy Danger, after the jaeger from that really, really old movie that his parents would never have let him watch if they had remembered how old he wasn't. This toy looks nothing like Gipsy Danger, but Katsuki is five and he doesn't care.

His parents know how much he loves it. They aren't terribly surprised when he loses control of his quirk (of his temper) and accidentally breaks it.

They usually don't bother trying to fix his toys. They did at the beginning, but he breaks so many that they've stopped trying. But they do their best to fix this one, because they know it was an accident, not to mention his favorite.

(They know he loves it. That he's actually tried to be gentle with it. And consider how little he loves, and how much less he bothers to be gentle with, they care enough to try to fix this.)

It mostly works by time they're done poking and prodding its innards. They proudly present it to him, and it has scratched-up paint and a dented helm, but it still walks and talks. He's very happy to have it back, and the dents make it look like it got in a fight with a kaiju, so he doesn't mind those.

But then.

It walks, yeah, but it's jerky and stiff and sometimes it falls over because on leg won't move as fast as the other. And the voice still works too, because it says all the same words it used to say, but it sounds less friendly and more electronic.

It's disappointing, but not so bad. At least it works.

But then the voice gets more and more of that strained, fake tone, kind of staticky and definitely not even a little bit like it's actually talking. Not how it used to.

There's no tantrum. One isn't expected, really, because he doesn't tell his parents that their patch job didn't work.

Gipsy is wrapped up in an old shirt, put in a shoe box, and shoved in the back of his closet. Because Katsuki doesn't think it's really Gipsy anymore.

He misses Gipsy enough that he doesn't throw her away. But he doesn't open that shoebox again.

Katsuki is six years old and he didn't think that hitting Izuku would happen again.

Okay, that's not… exactly true. He didn't plan to hit Izuku again. He had shoved Izuku a lot, though, which was kinda like hitting but not as bad. And he had used his quirk around Izuku a lot, too, which wouldn't be so bad, except he would get close enough that Izuku would get burnt. Which was also… not unlike hitting. Especially since he was kinda-sorta doing it on purpose, or at least not avoiding it.

So it's not as if he could honestly say he would never hit Izuku again, especially considering how often he wanted to.

But he never thought it would be as bad as that first time. He was just mad that day. But today is their last day of school before summer break, and here's the thing:

He's still mad. And, to no surprise, Izuku is still getting worse. So Izuku is dumber and Katsuki is madder and y'know what? Izuku doesn't even call him Kacchan anymore. Or Katsuki, because that would be okay too. But, no. It's Bakugou, like they haven't been raised together, like Katsuki doesn't call Izuku's parents Auntie and Uncle, like they didn't both get flu for the first time together, like they weren't basically brothers.

So what's it matter if Katsuki gets fed up? Since none of it matters, who cares?

Who cares if he fires up his quirk and hits the Quirkless loser?

"Wake up!"

You're not Izuku.

"Cry! Cry!"

You're a fake.

Deku doesn't try to get away.

Izuku is gone.

Why not? Even dumb animals run away from Katsuki's quirk. Has Deku gotten that dumb?

He died in a hospital.

Gipsy is still in a shoebox. Katsuki hasn't looked at her in almost a year. He didn't think he'd miss her anymore, but he does, because Izuku was quiet and still but Gipsy still walked and talked and played with him.

My best friend is gone.

Now she doesn't, though.

He left me behind.

He's got new friends who tell him he's cool. But he doesn't care. They just follow him around. And they're not very smart, like Izuku, or cool, like Gipsy.

Why are you even here?

But he doesn't have Izuku or Gipsy anymore. It's weird, because he can't remember not having either of them. Even Gipsy was a present from forever ago.

You're empty.

Actually, now that he's thinking about it… he doesn't remember, exactly, but he thinks Gipsy was a present from Uncle Hisashi. He hasn't seen Uncle Hisashi in a long time.

You're not him.

"Cry, you s-stuh-stupid Deku!"

Izuku would have cried.

Bakugou Katsuki is six years old, and Midoriya Izuku does not cry.

As someone with health problems that have damaged my ability to function normally, and with a relative whose personality was altered as consequence of a head injury, let me tell ya. This was so wrong to write.