Work Text:
Gasconade
/ˌɡaskəˈnād/
noun
extravagant boasting.
“whenever he won we were exposed to his gasconade”
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As a child, Katsuki had often been told how great he was. Destined to be the number one hero, the strongest in the class, the one who had it all! He heard it from his parents, from his teachers, and from every one of his friends. Even those like Izuku, who had no quirk of his own to compare with, made sure to tell Katsuki just how amazing he was.
So of course, he believed it. He had proof to back it up, too – he never allowed himself to be all talk. If he was going to call himself the best, he would be the best. Not only did he excel in athletics, he never fell behind in his studies.
No one ever told him he was weak. There was not a single person to point out a flaw. At the time, it was great; he was on top of the world.
In reality, though, he was standing atop a small grassy hill, blind to the stone mountains surrounding him.
When he looked back on his childhood, he often wished someone had told him he was weak. Not even that, he just wished they gave him a little more than “amazing!” How was he supposed to know? Every day he grew weaker, colder, forgetful of what it really meant to be a hero. The only reminder he had was Izuku, but he would just push the boy away, down, somewhere he didn’t have to look at him.
He was boastful and proud, and the worst part was that no one told him he was wrong. Constantly, he told everyone around him that he was better than them, that he would leave his shitty junior high and go to UA, leaving them all behind. And for some reason, they would just agree.
By the time there was pushback, it had almost been too late.
Katsuki’s voice was loud and gasconading, and every word he spoke was what he believed the truth was. He didn’t see it as arrogant, because for it to be arrogant it would have to be an exaggeration.
But when exposed to a group of people with the same potential as him, and when faced with pro heroes who had been training for years, suddenly his little hill didn’t seem so grand.
Worst of all, Izuku was there. He was no longer a small, nagging reminder Katsuki could ignore – he was bright and loud and strong, and it was like their roles had been reversed. Guilt and regret swirled inside of the boy, but all he could express was anger. It was all he knew, an emotion he had been rewarded for. Happiness didn’t help him win fights, and guilt only hindered him.
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“I just want to say,” He wasn’t particularly excited about giving the speech. Really, all Katsuki wanted was for the festival to begin. “I’m going to win.”
It didn’t make him any friends, and all of his classmates shouted in annoyance. People called him arrogant, boisterous, someone who was far too confident in his abilities. The talk didn’t bother him – he knew he would prove them all wrong. Despite his exposure to real adult heroes and the knowledge that he was not the strongest in Japan, he knew he was still the strongest in his class. Really, the strongest in the whole damn school.
He needed to prove it to them; having people doubt him like this was unfamiliar, and it pissed him off.
When Todoroki refused to fight him properly, anger and desperation fought over control of Katsuki’s mind. How could he prove it? How could he show everyone – show himself – that he was still the strongest around?
Anger won, as it always did. The chains were cold and tight, and his rage was the only thing keeping him from feeling the burn of embarrassment. Sure, people saw him as strong.
But it wasn’t enough.
Why did he fight Izuku? What was so special about the boy?
Once again, Katsuki found himself desperate to know what Izuku had that he didn’t. It should have been a simple concept, but his pride prevented him from seeing the truth.
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Something about Izuku had always been different. He praised Katsuki just the same as everyone else, but coming from him, the words were not quite the same. For the longest time, he assumed it was because the boy was looking down on him. Well, it wasn’t really an assumption; more so what he wanted the reason to be.
Their time at UA forced him to confront the real reason. Izuku was inherently better than Katsuki. Hearing his praise felt wrong because deep down, he knew it was unearned.
It was a thought that first occurred to him when he slipped off that damn log and into the river. Izuku stood above him, holding his hand out, and all Katsuki could find was genuine concern. It was confusing, because if Izuku was so good, everyone had been wrong.
He wasn’t the best around.
His body was bruised, and so was his ego. He and Izuku knew they would be in trouble for sneaking out and damaging school property, but he didn’t care. For the first time, he understood. His eyes and muscles ached, but Katsuki Bakugo did not give up.
All the realization did was motivate him. He would work harder, earn the right to call himself the best. With Izuku by his side, he’d never have to feel weak – if he could keep up, he was obviously doing something right.
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The ache was different this time.
Everything was different.
Blood caked his skin, and for once, he wasn’t sure he could catch up.
Izuku wasn’t there, and even with the light from his explosions, everything felt dark. He needed the boy, he realized, to help lift this weight, to light his path, to show him what it truly meant to be the best.
‘Izuku…’ His whole life, Katsuki had no doubts of what strength truly meant.
Maybe if someone had told him otherwise, it would have ended differently.
‘Can I still catch up to you?’