Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shoto decided he had a new favorite pro hero the moment Hawks called Endeavor out live on national television. Winning the spot of number one was Endeavor's life dream. To see it questioned the very second he'd officially earned it was Shoto's dream come true.

And that line he'd used! "Just watch me"! Shoto snorted. From any other hero, it might have sounded cool. But from him, they were empty words. His actions already showed that as a hero (as a father, as a husband, as a person), Endeavor was coarse, rough, irritating, and he got his flames everywhere. Shoto just wished more people could see it.

Idly, he brought up the website for the Japanese Hero Billboard Chart and swiped through the photos from the press conference. With his ridiculous Hellflame mask and hair, getting a decent candid shot of Endeavor was nearly impossible. Even professionals sometimes struggled – as was evidently clear halfway down the page when Shoto nearly had to stifle a laugh. The photographer had tried to capture Endeavor's reaction to Hawks whispering at him on stage, but his fire must have flickered right as the picture was taken. Endeavor's eyes bugged out in a glare and his nostrils flared so wide it looked like he was inhaling his own stupid moustache.

Thank you, Hawks.

He messaged that one to Fuyumi. It would take her a while to top it.

He glanced through the rest. He'd already gotten what he wanted and he was tired. He gave a moment's re-appreciation to Hawks' face as he struggled to keep his silence and savored Endeavor's ire when Hawks finally broke. He left the last image loading while he prepared for bed.

When he picked up his phone again, he nearly dropped it.

This. Photo...!

He was halfway through another text to Fuyumi before he stopped himself.

He couldn't send her this.

It was against their rules.

They'd promised to send each other a quality Endeavor only one at a time. (Because who in their right mind could deal with more than that? Especially Fuyumi considering she still had to live with him.) Until she responded to the challenge he'd already issued, this perfect image was out of bounds. ...But who knew how long that would take her?

He closed his eyes and tried to focus. It was fine. He didn't need to show this to anyone right now. It wasn't life or death, here. He could wait.

Except he couldn't.

He had to show this to someone.

In another timeline, he would've simply done the logical thing and texted it to Midoriya with an unprecedented use of the crying while laughing emoji and that would've been the end of the story. Unfortunately for Shoto, in this timeline he gave in to the temptation of forcing his father to rue the day he asked the world to watch him.

Shoto pursed his lips and gave his laptop a sidelong look. The internet would be the obvious way to do it. And sitting at the end of some news site's endless press conference photo gallery where no one else would ever find it didn't count. He needed to get people to really look at it, to talk about it, to spread it far and wide, to—

Twitter.

He needed twitter.

It was the best avenue for sharing civilian-driven hero news and... Shoto didn't have one. He'd... looked at them before? Most heroes used it as an informal connection point with the public and Shoto expected he would too by the time he left U.A. But right now? What would he even tweet about? Ectoplasm's weird dislike of integral expressions? He could just say that normally.

But, Shoto decided, looking between his futon and his computer and settling at his desk, he had something to say now. How hard could twitter even be? Shoto knew what a hashtag was. And he'd been captioning photos of Endeavor to make Fuyumi smile since he'd had a phone that could send images as attachments. Even if he just posted this one time... it would be worth it.

It was the work of moments to set up an account, confirm his email, and link it to the mobile app. It took slightly longer to decide on a user photo before he realized the answer was staring right at him. He cropped a perfect 100 by 100 pixels from the masterpiece he was linking: Endeavor, with frown fixed in a perfect half circle and a downdraft from Mighty Wings fanning the flames around his face in every direction. He looked like an angry sunflower had caught fire. Hawks hovered over him, hands together as if he were a proud parent cooing over a petulant child.

One quick little line and three hashtags later and Shoto was clicking send on his first ever tweet.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: Looks like the new number one hero #Endeavor got SOMEONE on board #justwatchme #fantheflames https://bit.ly/2sZ80XB

He went to bed, feeling a little like a hero.

There were unfamiliar notifications on his phone when he woke up in the morning.

He blinked at them in confusion and then blinked completely awake. People had liked his tweet! He took a deep breath and with iron will, set his phone aside. He'd pack up his futon, shower, get dressed, get his school things, and then eat. He'd have plenty of time to savor these messages after breakfast.

He did not have time after breakfast.

Ashido and Kaminari had appeared on either side of him as he finished his natto rice wheedling to know how he'd answered the grammar exercises for Present Mic. They hadn't left until Iida fended them off. Then on the walk to the main campus building, Yaoyorozu engaged him in an actual discussion on the same subject. When they finally got to Class A, he only had time to settle down with his things before Aizawa-sensei caterpillared in swathed in his yellow sleeping bag to make his daily homeroom announcements.

For nearly half the day, Shoto was too busy to check his phone. It was technically against the rules anyway, but with U.A. moving all the students to on-campus dorms, the teachers had become less strict when someone snuck one out of a pocket or bag during breaks. The assumption, Shoto knew, was that they were assuring their parents they were okay and not that they were checking their twitter mentions in a quiet moment five minutes before fourth period to see if anyone else was laughing at their parent.

Well, some things just couldn't be helped.

Shoto set his phone down on his desk and opened the app to see what the world had to say.

— omfg their faces

— P R I C E L E S S

— hawks: IS THIS YOUR NUMBER ONE?
    hawks, five seconds later:

— i love hawks he's such an arrogant ass lol but endeavor fukkin delivered. "just watch me"???? i died

    — yeah i bet endeavor wants to hawks to "watch him" lmao

— I watched the presentation live how did I not SEE THIS?!?!

— oh yeah hawks can really """fan""" endeaovors's """flames""" if you know what i mean ≖‿≖

— tbh........ i ship it DON’T @ ME LMAO

The first few were good. The Endeavor praise was worse. But some of these he didn't get. "Ship it"? What was that even supposed to mean? But scrolling through the rest of his notifications, the word kept popping up. He sighed, opening a new tab on his browser. This wouldn't be the first time he'd had to moogle slang. He fired off his query and stared at the results.

"...a 'ship' is the concept of a fictional couple..."

Well, that one wasn’t right.

"When you imagine 2 people would be good together in a relationship, so therefore you 'ship' them."

...No.

"Shippers are people who care deeply about the romantic relationships between their favorite characters — and sometimes, celebrities or even the people in their own lives."

Shoto glared at his phone. He'd reached the end of the page and there hadn't been any variation to the results. He didn't... he didn't understand. So those tweets were actually seriously suggesting...? But no one should ever "ship it" with Endeavor! Ever! The idea alone was just so wrong. Besides, Endeavor would never tolerate it. After all...

Shoto wasn't often allowed to play with his eldest brother, but that didn't stop him from wanting to. When he'd beckoned him over one day, Shoto went.

"Look at this," he'd said, crouching to Shoto's height. He held a picture in front of Shoto’s face. It was on flimsy paper, not thick like a photograph. "What do you see?"

Shoto glanced from the illustration to stare wide-eyed at his brother. "...All Might. All Might and Endeavor."

"Very good," his brother drawled. "And what are they doing?"

Shoto considered the picture again. "Touching faces."

"It's a kiss. They're kissing."

"It looks gross." He wrinkled his nose.

His brother laughed. "But don't you want to know why they’re doing it?"

Shoto shook his head. "Can we play hero now?"

"Hmm, no. Not yet. Let's make a deal. You go ask daddy about kissing All Might and then we can play hero, okay?"

It didn't sound very fair to Shoto, but his brother was smiling. Fuyumi and Natsuo always smiled when they promised to play with Shoto, though their eyes never looked like daddy's when they did it.

"...Okay," Shoto agreed, stomping out of the room and tiptoeing toward the training hall.

He knew to go there because that's where Endeavor always was, mostly. Peeking around the doorway, some of the tension sprang away from his shoulders when he saw daddy wasn't wearing his fire face today. He hovered in the doorway and it took several long moments for his father to notice him.

"Shoto. Come in. It's not time for your training right now. What do you need?"

Shoto was relieved. He didn't like training with daddy. It was hard and hurt and daddy shouted whenever he didn't do his quirk right, which was often. Confident that none of that would happen now, he edged up to his father.

"Come now, Shoto. Out with it."

And so Shoto piped up, "Did you kiss All Might once?"

That was the first time Shoto had seen Hellflame engulf Endeavor's entire head.

He turned, scrambling out the door, running straight back to his brother, who took one look at the tears streaming down Shoto's face and threw his head back in a laugh.

"Ahhh, so sad, Shoto-chan!" He reached forward, tugging on Shoto's cheeks. "Look at you! Did daddy scare you? Don’t cry!" He pinched down harder and Shoto squirmed to get away. When his brother didn't let go, he screamed.

Endeavor had stepped in then. Like most memories involving his father, it didn't have a happy ending.

So no, Shoto couldn't imagine Endeavor reacting well to finding out people were shipping it between him and Hawks. Even though pissing off Endeavor was the whole point. And even though it would probably make Endeavor spontaneously combust...

Well.

Maybe there could be some merit to a ship. Despite the personal injury to himself, Shoto could admit in retrospect that aspects of his brother's prank had been kind of funny. But then, it hardly mattered. Now that Hawks had pushed Endeavor's buttons in front of the whole country, it wasn't like they'd ever even be seen together again. RIP @no1tryhard. At least some people had enjoyed it.

The bell chimed the end of break and he swapped out his phone for his notebook and pencil.

Chapter Text

The whispers broke out during lunch.

A hush had seeped through the mess hall overtaking each table one by one. Classmates hunched together, pouring over screens. By the time the miasma of murmurs reached class 1-A, Shoto could only catch the barest snippets.

"...happening in Fukuoka..."

"...heroes there?"

"...monster attack, I don't..."

"...feathers, so Hawks..."

"...clean through a building..."

"...Endeavor, but that's not..."

He set down his chopsticks. All around him, his friends were digging in bags and pockets. Down the row, Shoto saw Shouji push away from the table and stride out the door, phone already at his ear. Across from him, Uraraka bit her lip.

"Shouji-kun," she whispered, staring at the door where he'd disappeared. "He's from Fukuoka, so..."

Shoto didn't know the details of what was happening yet and he didn't know Shouji as well as his other friends in class, but still. He hoped whoever was at the end of the line answered Shouji's call.

With an ill sense of foreboding, he pulled out his own phone and tapped open the app for NHA Web News. A single headline took up the whole homepage, stark red and bold.

BREAKING: LIVE - Nomu attack at Umai Building in Fukuoka – No. 1 and 2 heroes Endeavor & Hawks on scene

There had only been a few blurry images posted so far. A building in the city center with a single window completely shattered. Endeavor hovering on twin jets of fire and facing down a massive oily black nomu, bat-like wings stretching wide.

He refreshed the page. Nothing new. Refresh. Nothing. Refresh. Nothing.

A few seats down from him, he heard Ojiro say, "Guys, what’s this phrase that keeps popping up? 'Fan the flames'?"

Shoto's head shot up.

All along the table, his classmates were humming in agreement.

"Whoa, glad I'm not the only one who noticed that!"

"Yeah, I'm seeing it all over too."

"It's making it easy to follow the action, but what's it supposed to mean?"

Shoto blinked and opened his mouth to answer—

"It's the new hashtag for the Hawks and Endeavor team up."

—and clicked it closed, turning to stare at Midoriya, taken aback. Midoriya was clutching his phone with both hands, holding it so close to his face his nose was almost smushed against the glass. His eyes were moving frantically side-to-side and he hadn't even spared anyone a glance before answering.

Shoto almost corrected him. He almost spoke up and said, no, #fantheflames was just a joke because Hawks had flapped his wings last night and made Endeavor look like a pissed off dandelion. But when he switched over to the twitter app, searched by the hashtag, and saw mentions pouring in by the dozens – all about the fight in Fukuoka – he couldn't bring himself to say a word.

He scrolled through the feed, staring at shaky photo after shaky photo of Endeavor hitting the nomu with blasts of fire and then strings of concentrated flames. There was a short video of the nomu's arm stretching out like rubber and punching Endeavor clean through a building. The next photo showed the beast's elongated limb swinging out in a wide arc, having cleaved the top of the skyscraper right off. And another, this one of Hawks leaping from a window, wings half their normal size as behind him feathers plucked civilians out of the air and zoomed them to safety.

None of this was what Shoto intended when he'd slapped that hashtag on a tweet last night. He didn't understand how it had morphed this much in less than twenty-four hours.

When the end of lunch bell rang, no one moved. It wasn't until their fifth period sensei came to collect them in person that class A dragged themselves back to their classroom. Without a word, their teacher pulled the screen down over the white board and turned on the projector. As the livestream finally came online, Shoto sunk into his seat, weak-kneed.

He couldn't register the rapid-fire Japanese of the reporters struggling to narrate the scene. All Shoto could do was stare at the action now rendered almost life-size on the classroom wall. The camera focused on Hawks soaring through the air, his wings reforming with each flap, then panned forward to where Endeavor had snared the nomu in a complex web of fire. Feathers shot into the nomu's back as Endeavor yanked his trap closed like a noose.

It almost seemed to work.

As the burning constraints evaporated into the wind, the nomu sagged and lurched. Its head hung grotesquely to one side almost completely severed from the spurting stump of its spine. But as Shoto watched, the shadowed skull of its face grinned wider. Tendons and muscles rippled and the head spasmed back into place. The feathers caught in its flesh fell away.

Someone whimpered.

Shoto tore his gaze away from the horrifying spectacle playing out on screen to look around the room.

His friends, his classmates... Some were covering their faces. Others were on their feet, jaws dropped in shock. For all this fight was taking place almost 900 kilometers away, it was almost like watching All Might fight the nomu back in the Unforseen Simulation Joint. Or worse, because none of them could do anything this time.

Turning back to the livestream, Shoto was surprised to spy Shouji's arms hanging on either side of his desk. Even from the very last seat of their row, Shoto could always see the back of the tall boy's head; he must've been huddling low to disappear so entirely now. Shoto hadn't even noticed Shouji rejoin the class – or maybe he'd rushed back here earlier to make his frantic call. Shoto didn't know. But as he watched, the sleeve of Hagakure's uniform rose and hovered near one brawny shoulder. He thought of invisible hands offering visible solace.

He startled when Yaoyorozu placed one hand over his. He turned to her, confused, but she only offered him a grim smile. She must have seen his hyper-focus on Hagakure and Shouji. It... it wasn't a source of comfort he would usually accept, but her palm was warm over his. He didn't pull his hand away.

Then an unholy explosion resounded through the speakers and Shoto jerked his attention back to the screen.

"—believable, I repeat, unbelievable!" The shout of a reporter mixed with exclamations of disbelief from his classmates. "Number one hero Endeavor has completely vaporized the top of the Umai Building!"

That was an overstatement.

Pulverized, more like, and while the move was an impressive display of power even Shoto didn't know his father possessed, it wasn't without consequences. Hawks was darting among the falling concrete, too distracted now to be any help against the nomu. He pinwheeled, taking hits left and right as he sacrificed dexterity of flight to plaster feathers against the largest chunks of raining debris and force them away from civilians.

Hawks' problems were only getting worse. White nomus burst forth all along the black one's body, plummeting toward the fleeing people below. Not only Bakugou cursed loudly as Hawks dove after them. But the camera didn't follow him. Instead, it swung back around to Endeavor.

The camera zoomed in slowly – so far that Shoto could actually see the sweat pouring down his father's furious face. Neither he nor the nomu moved, staring each other down.

Until – suddenly – a thick tendril of flesh shot out. Endeavor lunged to the side, jetted forward, and dropped abruptly from sight. The news camera frantically panned out just enough to catch the moment Endeavor's boots reignited. He rocketed upward, one fist extended, burning with a fire so hot it shone bright white.

The nomu didn't even flinch against the residual heat searing through its skin. It flicked Endeavor's punch aside and slammed its claws under his armpit. Its other hand raked down the meat of Endeavor's face until it caught on bone. Grip secured, it yanked him through the air like a ragdoll and flung him straight down.

Silence reigned in class 1-A when the camera finally found Japan's number one hero, crumpled and unconscious on the ground. Not even the news crew filming the action had anything to say.

All along Endeavor's body, the fire of Hellflame was entirely snuffed out.

The nomu landed a moment later, cumbersome and heavy. It gazed over its handiwork and looked almost... disappointed. Slowly, it drew back one fisted hand and Shoto couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, couldn't think, and the nomu was lost in a storm of feathers.

Hawks had arrived.

The nomu batted at the air, but Hawks' projectiles were too fast. They peppered the nomu's back like bullets. The nomu reared up, arms stretching after Hawks, quick as snakes, but he was too nimble too. He beat his re-assembling wings and easily twisted out of reach. The news crew's equipment was far too far away to pick up what he said then, but it didn't miss his cocky grin. He spread his arms wide in invitation.

The nomu thrust itself into the air after him. But its bulk was no match for Hawks' speed. Even the news crew was struggling to keep the camera on the action. The video veered back and forth unable to get more than fleeting glimpses of his daring aerial acrobatics. Yet every time it caught Hawks execute another narrow escape, the classroom resounded with impressed oooohs.

But for Shoto, still struggling to control his breathing, the incoherent chaos on screen was starting to make him queasy. He didn't even know why the news crew was trying so hard to follow Hawks. They were hardly even getting anything. Couldn't they at least show—? Hawks wasn't the only hero out there, so why—?!

Almost as if the reporters had read his mind, the camera spun around.

Todoroki Enji had staggered back to his feet.

Half his face was a gore-stained mess of flesh. There was no flame about him anywhere, not one spark of fire. But he raised one fist into the air and a lively blaze sprang up around his fingers.

Class 1-A erupted into cheers. Half his friends surged back to their feet, whooping encouragement at the screen. Shoto didn't move. He felt sure if he stood from his desk, he would actually be sick.

The class finally quieted when the livestream cut back to Hawks. He must've caught Endeavor's flash of fire out of the corner of his eye, because one hand rose in a lazy salute. But instead of bearing down on his father's position, Shoto was surprised to see him bank sharply in the opposite direction.

His classmate's cries of dismay echoed Shoto's sinking heart.

Just what the hell—?

"WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING?!"

Hawks was closing in fast on a high concrete wall.

"No, don't—!"

"Hawks-san, watch out!"

"He's going to crash!"

In front of Shoto and in a rare display of passion, Tokoyami beat both fists on his desk. "No. He's not!"

He was right.

At the last possible moment, Hawks whirled his wings in tight around his body. He torpedoed forward, rolled, flipped, and landed feet first on the vertical surface. He kicked off, springboarding himself straight past the nomu.

The nomu was not graced with the same agility. Too massive to alter its course, it cannoned through the wall at full momentum.

Hawks didn't spare it a glance, leaving the nomu buried under a mountain of rubble to finally, finally wing his way back to rendezvous with Endeavor.

"...Is it over?" That was Asui, all the way on the other side of the room. Not even the news crew had an answer to that, but they seemed to think so. Why else would they still be loudly congratulating Hawks on his exemplary flying? As the camera lingered on where the nomu went down, the top few rocks fell away.

No.

It wasn't over yet.

The reporters fell abruptly silent as the nomu ripped its way out of the rocks. It shook its body free of dust and debris and... stopped... almost as if it were taking a moment to consider something. But the news crew was more concerned with how the heroes would respond.

When the camera panned back to him, Hawks was frowning over his shoulder. Behind him, Endeavor was sprinting up the street to meet him. He was still completely devoid of Hellflame and it was... strange... to Shoto to see him like that. It didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense to see the mangled, fireless face of his father in Endeavor's battle garb. It didn't make sense. It didn’t. make. sense.

A hiss of pain brought him back to himself. Beside him, Yaoyorozu grimaced, her fingers caught in Shoto's white-knuckled death-grip. He hadn't even known he was doing it.

"No, Todoroki-san," she said when he met her eyes. "It's alright."

But Shoto had already dropped her hand as if it burned. He crossed his arms and clutched the shirt of his uniform tight with both hands. Two seats in front of Yaoyorozu, Midoriya shot him a worried look. Shoto glanced past him, pointedly looking back at the screen. Midoriya reluctantly did the same.

The nomu was now charging at a pocket of civilians. Feathers were snatching people out of its reaching grasp left and right, so Hawks must not have been far behind. He appeared with a sad flap of tattered wings, commanding nearly all his feathers to harry the nomu back toward himself. But when the nomu swung around to face him, it had one elderly man dangling by the wrist in its claws.

All of Hawks' free-wheeling feathers froze and fluttered down. For the first time since the fight began, Hawks touched the ground. His gloved hands were raised palm up in a universal gesture of peace.

The nomu shook the old man, gaping maw opening and closing as if it were making demands. Somehow, Shoto didn't think it would actually be willing to negotiate.

And then, his father raced into the frame. As soon as it saw him, the nomu flung its hostage away and sprang. His father roared something at Hawks, flecks of blood spraying from his mouth and his teeth stained a violent red. For one wild, incredulous second, Shoto thought Hawks responded with that dance move – the dab? the dabi?! – before Endeavor exploded in a blinding light.

When he finally blinked the dazzle of stars from his eyes, Shoto saw the nomu was dazed and on the ground. Two feathers were speared through each hand, pinning it in place. Hawks tumbled gracelessly over its head, the remnants of his wings still a bedraggled mess at his back. He held a single feather in his hand like a knife. He raised it high and rammed it down, embedding it deep, deep into the nomu's brain.

For a long moment he crouched there, panting. But then he stood shaking Mighty Wings to the full breadth of their span and planted one booted foot in the center of the nomu's back like an avenging angel.

The nomu didn't move.

It didn't even twitch.

And in class 1-A it sounded like a bomb had gone off.

Ashido snagged Aoyama into a victory dance that somehow swept up half the class. Kirishima was standing on his chair, both fists raised to the ceiling. Shoto thought he might be crying. There was even a distant hum in the air as if in this one unified moment, the entire school was cheering.

Shoto was relieved too. He was. He was.

The villain had been defeated. Countless people had just been saved.

And yet.

Through the jumping bodies of his classmates, Shoto saw reporters and police swarming the scene on screen. He caught a glimpse of Endeavor on his hands and knees, apparently still wiped out from his finishing assist. He took a great gulp of air, red dripping from his beard, and Shoto felt for the first time like his fire side was going to boil the blood right through his skin.

Endeavor didn't have the right.

How – how dare he – after all he'd done to, to all of them, to go and do this, and to almost, to almost... And for everyone to, absolutely everyone to just, just praise him, uncritically! When they didn't even know— they had no idea what Endeavor still had to answer for! Shoto tried to cling to that, tried to remind himself that he'd only ever even told Midoriya, but—

Kirishima and Kaminari were both now rehashing the fight play by play for their classmates as if they all hadn't just sat here watching it and Midoriya was giving Shoto that look again and Shoto couldn't handle it. He didn't know what he'd do if everyone expected him to just... completely let go of his leftover resentment now that his father had nearly—

Had nearly—

And, and it wasn't like Endeavor was even okay! With the fervor finally dying down, Shoto had a clear view of Hawks fussing around him. He'd helped Endeavor sit up and currently seemed to be trying to smother him in moist towelettes. And his father was allowing it. He only moved to bark something at a policewoman reaching to pry the feather from the nomu's head. She scrambled back, waving her arms in apology.

Shoto's phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, undid the lock screen, and immediately rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten to close twitter. It was still set to search that stupid, goddamn hashtag he'd created and there were so many mentions the app couldn't even calculate it anymore. He gave the feed a flick of a scroll and was annoyed to see that, yep, here too it was just wall-to-wall pure Endeavor adulation.

And because Shoto clearly enjoyed torturing himself, he switched over from recent tweets to top. What would Japan's "favorite moment" be? The "flash of light"? The "raised fist"? They'd certainly loved it when All Might had done it.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't about the fight at all. The timestamp showed the top tweet had been posted nearly an hour before the battle had even begun.

It was a candid phone photograph of Hawks walking down a crowded street in downtown Fukuoka. Endeavor was hulking along beside him sideways, arms akimbo. Even though the pic had been taken at a distance, Shoto could see his father's face was whole and covered in the usual amount of fire. The caption read:

— look i swear i wasn't gonna #fantheflames but guess who i saw just saw? walking down the street together?? discussing their lunch date??? https://bit.ly/2Mqn5IN

Shoto slammed the retweet button.

He wouldn't have been able to explain it if he'd tried.

Hunting down every last scrap of information about Endeavor's "date" with Hawks was just something Shoto had to do. With every picture he dug from the depths of #fantheflames, every image he retweeted, every photo he posted that showed his father when he was still... still from before, a knot of tension unwound from his shoulders.

And Shoto wouldn't say he was becoming obsessed with it either, despite how concerned his friends seemed to be for some reason. They kept trying to ask him how he felt and if he were okay. He was fine. Obviously, he was fine. Yes, Aizawa-sensei, he was dealing with it. What did it matter when the last time he'd spoken with his father was? They didn't talk normally and everything was normal. Really, his life hadn't changed at all.

He got messages from Fuyumi and Natsuo and answered them tersely.

Yes, he'd watched the fight.

Yes, he was fine.

Yes, he'd seen the text from dad.

No, he hadn't talked to him yet.

Because Endeavor had sent him a text several days after Fukuoka, and Shoto had seen it. But for some reason the words just blurred together whenever he looked at it and Shoto ended up ignoring it.

On Twitter, things were simpler. He'd post a photo, people would like it, and sometimes they'd even follow him just so they could see more dumb photos. But eventually, he scrounged up everything he could find from Hawks and Endeavor's pre-lunch stroll and there was nothing left.

Nothing left, unless...

Shoto almost didn't want to look. But when he finally forced himself to stop letting his eyes skitter past certain images, he realized it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. It seemed no one in Japan wanted to linger on the fact they'd almost lost their second number one hero a mere three months after the first. Instead, people were circulating the same post-battle pictures of Hawks and Endeavor again and again.

Shoto didn't personally understand what was so heartwarming about getting mummified with blood-stained wet wipes but the internet seemed to be all over it:

— (can't believe i'm saying this when 1/2 is endeaovr but) they're so cuuuuute (〃ﾟ艸ﾟ)) #fantheflames

— be still my heart i really can't with how hawks is trying to cool him down #fantheflames

— GET WELL SOON @ENDEAVOR!! @HAWKSYMOXIE PLEASE CONTINUE LOOKING AFTER HIM!! #FANTHEFLAMES

— hawks taking care of endeavor has added years to my life he's such a precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure #fantheflames

— hawks jUST got this boyfrand no way in hellflame is he letting some beasty snatch him away #fantheflames

But honestly, Shoto really couldn't complain. Imagining Endeavor's seething wrath at all the sugary sweet shipping sentiment everyone was pouring all over him and Hawks was somehow just... so relaxing. Now, if Shoto could just find an image with the power to reduce Endeavor to kindling, he'd finally be able to move on with his life.

He discovered it in a dead end photo gallery for a small town newspaper in Fukuoka Prefecture he'd never even heard of. Such was the boon of being the number one pro hero: Endeavor couldn't just avoid doing interviews now. More and more news outlets would be conducting their own coverage and getting awful, horrible pictures for Shoto to steal.

This one... Shoto blamed the amount of time he'd been trawling through twitter lately, but in his defense, the innuendo was right there. Hawks had probably been doing that zipped lips gesture he was increasingly famous for, but his mouth wasn't even closed in this photo. He was grinning, tongue caught between his teeth, his hand stopped in a perfect 'o' right by his lips. His visor hung low enough on his nose that Shoto could see him glancing to the side, one plumed eyebrow cocked flirtatiously. Endeavor, half his faced swathed in bandages, hovered over Hawks' shoulder directly in his line of sight.

If Endeavor ever knew this photo existed... If he, god forbid, ever found out Shoto had been the one to spread it around... The very internet would cease to be because Endeavor would kill it with fire.

Shoto posted it anyway.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: 👌👌👌👌👌 #fantheflames https://bit.ly/2JETFcX

Seconds later his phone lit up next to his laptop with an incoming message.

It was a text.

From dad.

Shoto. We need to talk.

Shoto stared at the borderline obscene photo he'd just shared to his twitter feed, the text, and back again.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Shoto wasn't going to die.

If he actually stopped to think about it, there was no logical way dad could be texting him in response to his tweet. It had to be pure coincidence. Everyone knew Endeavor didn't even do social media. He left it entirely up to his sidekicks to speak on his behalf and always had. Shoto had met the two sidekicks currently in Endeavor's employ. They were brawny if a bit boring and decent enough. Surely, they would never inform on him...

Shoto sweated.

There... there had been one incident eight years ago... A now former sidekick had gone off the rails against some guy flaming Endeavor in a youtube comment. Admittedly, once he'd been old enough to look it up, even Shoto thought the guy'd been out of line. But the sidekick's response had been... extreme to say the least. It had become so infamous it had even garnered its own entry on heropedia.

Shoto closed his eyes. He really shouldn't psych himself out like this, but it had been awhile since he'd read it. Sidekicks always knew so much more about their heroes than the average person. There might be some vital intel Shoto could glean from it that could give him an edge. Like whether or not he should even be worrying.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and dashed off the correct URL:

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class at UA, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on villain bases, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire JHA. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across Japan and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Japanese Hero Association and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.

...On second thought.

Yeah.

Shoto was going to die.

The twitter account didn't have his name on it anywhere, but he'd still been stupid enough to use his U.A. email for it (shit, shit, he was he such an idiot). He set up a burner email immediately and prayed that would be enough to save him. The only other thing to do was see if he could stall for time.

He picked up his phone like it was a dead thing and pecked out a reply.

Can't. Homework. Lots of it.

Endeavor's answer came quickly.

Shoto, this is important. It's about your future.

Was. W-Was that a threat? Was Shoto's future suddenly in jeopardy?!

I'll need to get permission. Might take a while.

Dad only texted back hmmm which was a whole other level of horror because what was that supposed to mean? There wasn't even anything he could say to that. He'd just have to stew in it for the rest of the night.

When he finally went to bed, the words prepare for the storm, maggot kept orbiting his thoughts. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

Shoto awoke late the next morning. He crawled from his futon feeling like his body were made of bricks. He almost fell back asleep while flossing his teeth but jerked awake when it hit him: the perfect plan. If he simply never asked Aizawa-sensei for a permission slip to leave campus... If he just conveniently forgot on purpose... Endeavor couldn't do a damn thing about it.

His euphoria got him bleary-eyed through breakfast. Ashido stole his natto before he could add it to his rice and he didn't even care. He was going to survive to adulthood. She could have his natto for today.

His euphoria got him through the walk to class, into his seat, and lasted right up until Aizawa-sensei ambled up to his desk. He dropped a piece of paper in front of Shoto's face.

"You can head home directly after seventh period," he said and returned to the front of the room to start the announcements.

Shoto put his head in his hands.

Such was the bane of being the son of the number one pro hero. Endeavor could phone up the teachers in the middle of the night demanding to see him and they'd write up the permission slip without even giving Shoto a chance to beg for his life.

Fuyumi met him at the door when he arrived home. She was smiling which was a good sign. It meant Endeavor wasn't lurking to take him down before he even got his shoes off.

He was fingers-deep in his laces when he noticed the pair of sleek, sporty sneakers next to dad's loafers. He frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Is Natsu here?"

"Natsu?" Fuyumi asked then saw where he was looking. "Oh! No, dad just has someone over for a meeting. It shouldn't last too much longer. We have time for a cup of tea."

Shoto couldn't think of anyone who wore shoes like that who Endeavor would willingly consort with, but he followed obediently after Fuyumi as she tugged him down the hallway by the sleeve. She settled him cross-legged at the dining room table and in short order had a cup of chilled green tea in his hands. She sat across from him, staring into her own glass.

When their eyes finally met over the table, there was a lot they didn't say. There was a lot they didn't need to say because the understanding of a shared past and shared blood spoke through the silence better than words ever could.

Fuyumi finally took a small sip of her drink. "His bandages are off now."

And just like that, Shoto tensed up again. In all his panic at the punishment he was doubtlessly going to be getting, he'd forgotten. This would be the first time he saw his father's new face. In his mind's eye, Endeavor was unchanged underneath all the dressings and gauze. But Fuyumi was still talking and he struggled to picture the new reality she was describing.

"The wounds have all healed up pretty well, but they're still a bit raw, a bit red." She winced. "They look kinda bad. They're definitely going to scar. But he didn't lose the eye, which is a miracle. He wouldn't let the doctors tell me how much visibility he has left in it. I know he has some, but I don't think it's everything..."

Shoto watched her trail off, tugging nervously at a stray lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail.

"What else? Ah! That thing got him pretty good right here," she gestured under her arm, "so he's moving a bit slow. But there were no complications with that, either."

Shoto fidgeted with his glass, finally setting it on a coaster just so he'd stop. "So, did Recovery Girl, or...?"

"Shoto, don't be silly. Even if Recovery Girl somehow managed to get on the very next direct flight to Fukuoka... Dad would have already been in surgery. Maybe even out of it. They have doctors down there too, you know. They did a good job. Don’t worry."

Surgery. Shoto hadn't known there had been surgery. Or maybe he had. That first text dad had sent after the attack that he'd never read... Maybe he'd said something there. Guilt weighed him down. It was oppressive, it was—

Fuyumi spluttered on a sip of tea, eyes on her watch. "Oh, Shoto, sorry! Dad told me his meeting would be over by now. You can go ahead and head over."

—gone. Totally gone.

Fuyumi stood, downing the rest of her glass. She slipped around the table beside him and put her hands on her hips.

"You didn’t drink your tea!"

Shoto tried to grab it but Fuyumi was faster.

"No time to worry about it now, I guess. I'll just put it back in the refrigerator."

She swept it away into the kitchen. And there it went. The closest thing he'd been given to a last meal and he'd been too distracted to even taste it.

Shoto got to his feet slowly. He hovered next to the table, reluctant to move.

"Sis, do I have to...?"

"Don't worry, Shoto," he heard her say, out of sight but just around the corner. "It'll all be over soon. Now go. Don't be late!"

Thanks for ushering him to his execution on time, sis.

As he walked down the hallways, Shoto tried to steel himself. He'd faced down the League of Villains twice. He'd faced down the Hero Killer Stain. He'd even faced down a whole room full of elementary school children.

He could do this.

He knocked on Endeavor's office door. His father called out a gruff permission to enter. Shoto slid open the shoji screen and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was that they weren't alone.

Hawks was draped over a backwards facing chair in front of Endeavor's desk. He wasn't in his hero outfit and when he looked over his shoulder, Shoto could see a giant pair of sunglasses sitting on his forehead instead of his usual visor.

"Oh, hey, look. It's Shoto-kun."

Hawks stood. He grabbed the top rail of the chair and spun it around. He advanced on Shoto, dragging it behind him. He didn't stop until he was almost close enough for Shoto to reach out and touch. Then he planted the chair down, backwards again, and straddled it.

He looked up at Shoto, grim and unreadable. He rested his chin on one fist and said, "...So."

Shoto's heart stopped. Fear was stabbing up his throat. He could see his own terrified face reflected back at him twofold in the lenses balanced on Hawks' head. This was it. This was the moment Hawks and Endeavor were going to kill him for his crimes. They'd do it together. That would be justice, probably.

"You failed the provisional hero license exam."

...What.

"You screwed up."

Shoto couldn't even be pissed a total stranger was grilling him on a months old academic non-achievement. He was too flushed with the inconceivable, life-breathing chill of relief.

"...I'm taking supplementary classes for that."

As soon as he spoke, Hawks brightened and grinned. He jabbed a thumb behind him.

"Yeah, your dad was just telling me all about that! Sounds like you're doing great."

And speak of the devil, Endeavor finally cut in then.

"Hawks," he grit out. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Hawks met Shoto's gaze and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, dismounting the chair, "I do gotta jet."

He laced his fingers together, stretching them over his head while his wings splayed out behind him. He used the natural sway of the movement to lean forward. He put a hand by his mouth as if he were going to impart on Shoto some great secret and looked up.

Because, Shoto realized, if he subtracted the highly distracting wings, the number two hero was... tiny. Hawks was half a hand span shorter than Shoto, at least.

"I'm just saying," Hawks said, not even bothering to whisper. If anything, his voice got louder. "Once you get that license, if you're looking for a place to intern—"

"Hawks! Out!!"

"Okay, okay! No need to singe my feathers." He laughed. He threw Endeavor a look that was basically the same one Shoto thought he was going to die for tweeting and said, "See you around... Enji."

He gave Shoto a nod of acknowledgment as he passed him, slipped his shades down over his eyes, and slid the shoji shut gently as he left.

At least, Shoto was gratified to note when he turned to face his father, he was right about that look making Endeavor want to kill something with fire. He was furiously swatting out a number of small blazes that had erupted over the surface of his desk.

Shoto sighed. He knew he wasn't actually in trouble now, but this talk still wasn't going to be pleasant. He carried the discarded chair back to its place in front of the desk and sat. He examined the newest scorch marks around an abandoned tray of tea things. It was actually pretty interesting how that one had come out in the shape of a—

"Shoto."

Shoto didn't look up. He crossed his arms.

Endeavor, apparently, was going to talk anyway.

Typical.

"That upstart was right about one thing. You'll be done with those classes soon enough. We need to talk about you interning with me after you get your license."

That got Shoto's attention. But his angry retort died on his tongue because it was worse than Fuyumi had led him to believe. And a distant, choking part of him wondered: if Fuyumi said this was healing well...

Gashes zigzagged along the left side of his father's face in a dull scarlet. One bisected his eyebrow neatly, skimming just over the top of his eyelid. Another began just below and ran down alongside his nose to tug his frown off-kilter. But the nomu had really dug in at his jawbone. A thick knot of gouges serrated up his jaw like a ghoulish smile. And dad just looked... exhausted. Like he'd brushed his hair and done nothing else. He obviously hadn't shaved in days and no wonder why...

But all of this... it still didn't mean dad could just dictate his life.

"I don't know," Shoto said stubbornly. He fought down the urge to touch his own scarred face. "I just got an offer from someone pretty cool..."

He could almost hear Endeavor grinding his teeth. Guess all those were intact, then.

"You think so? You'd rather intern with some second-rate hero when your father is the number one?"

Shoto tried to force away his growing frustration. If it hadn't been for Hawks, dad might not even be here, but of course Endeavor still had to act like he always did. But the irritation bled through anyway.

"I did my field work with the last second-rate hero. It turned out well enough."

With the whole Stain fiasco, it really hadn't and they both knew it. But Shoto was too angry to care. He glared at Endeavor, daring him to disagree. And Endeavor looked murderous. Any second now and Shoto bet fire would be racing along the desk again. He inwardly scoffed at his past, melodramatic self for being afraid of this. He could take it just fine.

But dad surprised him.

With great effort, he forced his fists open and laid his palms flat.

"It's your decision," he said as if the words physically pained him. "Think it over. You know there's an open space for you here."

Shoto didn't respond. Neither moved and it took mere moments for the silence to become claustrophobic. There was one last thing he had to say and he didn't... he didn't want to, but...

Even as he opened his mouth, he could already hear the attitude. But he couldn't stop it and he couldn't take it back. It sounded like an accusation, but it was true.

"I'm glad you came back from Fukuoka."

His father heaved a great and weary sigh.

"I'm glad too."

Afterwards, feeling raw and red-eyed, Shoto rounded on Fuyumi in the kitchen. For one thing, he really needed that tea. For another, she had some explaining to do.

"So... Dad's meeting was with Hawks."

"Oh, was he still there?" She didn't wait for an answer, picking up on the question he didn't ask. "I overheard them talking when I brought them some tea. I guess they're teaming up again? Not like that, Shoto. Oh, your face! No, there haven't been more nomu rumors or anything. It's just returning the favor. You know, like an eye for an... eye? Bad choice of words...!"

Shoto let her ramble on, downing his iced sencha sip by sip. She even showed him the latest stack of drawings from her kindergartners. As he flipped through crayon rendering after crayon rendering of the nomu fight, he couldn't help but wonder.

What could really go wrong, if Hawks had Endeavor's back?

Not much, it turned out.

With his insider intel from Fuyumi, Shoto knew to be on the lookout. He saw the headline as soon as YAP! News got the Hero Newsflash (after their repeated update failures right when Shoto needed them most, the NHA Web News app had been terminated with extreme prejudice).

The Boys are Back in Town!
No. 1 Hero Endeavor returns to his usual beat today for his first official appearance since the spectacular takedown of a modified, high-end "nomu" in Fukuoka in Kyushu. Once again, he is accompanied by 22-year-old No. 2 Hero Hawks. While the long recovery break to heal up injuries sustained in the Kyushu attack was a first in the career of the Flame Hero, we here at YAP! News are happy to report: Villains, Watch Your Backs! Endeavor can still bring the heat if you're up to no good in the neighborhood and Hawks will fan the flames!

Shoto could've done without the punchy title – really, the punchy everything (and that fan the flames reference... it had to just be a coincidence, right?) – but the article was informative enough. The patrol had been relatively run-of-the-mill. A few minor villains had been stopped. People saved. Damage prevented. And at the very end of the article, to illustrate their success—

Shoto didn't even have to think about it. He had it downloaded and uploaded to twitter in under a minute.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: Glad to see these two are still hooking up #fantheflames https://bit.ly/2IHZSQb

The photo showed Endeavor and Hawks side by side. Hawks was flashing a V for Victory and somehow, by some act of god, he'd gotten Endeavor to do it too. He still glowered through it – and wasn't that worse than ever, scowl now lopsided as it was. And Hellflame could only cover so much. Scars evidently weren't it. The fire flowed around the ghostly white lines etched into Endeavor's face, highlighting more than they hid.

And yet, Shoto found, the scars didn't seem to have dampened the enthusiasm for #fantheflames at all. If anything, despite initial misgivings, the morale of his followers was better than ever.

— damn endeavor's face got JANKED UP

— Endeavor was scary before, but now he's straight up terrifying. (ಥ﹏ಥ)

— gdi everything i see with these two makes me ship it harder

— little by little hawks is gonna turn endeavor into that how do you do fellow kids guy isn't he

— idgi endeavor's an asshole. why's everyone shipping it? (￢_￢;) he alwasy looks like he's gonna murder hawks

— sure, sure: this team up, I like it, ANOTHER & all but the shipping... idk isn't hawks like half endeaveor's age?

Shoto stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He really would've preferred to have not seen that last tweet chain. Ugh. The things he was willing to put himself through for the sake of this joke...

And yet throughout the day, he kept checking his notifs anyway. Late in the afternoon, Shoto finally told himself he had to stop. He'd look at one more and then he'd be done. He'd do his homework and that would be the end of it.

But when he unlocked his phone, he nearly fumbled it.

Because apparently, All Might had been listening.

Shoto had been retweeted by the former Symbol of Peace himself.

NEVER FEAR FOR...!
@ALLMIGHTISHERE: Hey Japan, THIS is a number one hero!!!! #fantheflames

He breathed. That wasn’t bad at all. And he knew he’d said just one more tweet, but Shoto couldn't help it. The curiosity burned. He had to know how an endorsement from All Might would change things. He tapped to see the responses.

— @toriboi4622: @ALLMIGHTISHERE ...all might there are two heroes in that photo

Oh my god, All Might.

It pained Shoto to admit it but by now he knew exactly how that tweet was going to come across. The shippers were going to love it. Sure enough, when Shoto expanded the replies – and there were so many, so many – it was all anyone was talking about.

— can't believe our lord and savior all might ships hawks and endeavor #blessed

— if all might says it, it must be true and if all might ships it, it must be OTP

— #allmightisallright guess that means it's time to #fantheflames (...it was only a matter of time tho lbr)

— """""budding relationship"""""" ≖‿≖

It's Hawks!
@hawksymoxie: @ALLMIGHTISHERE lol thanks. I try.

Shoto did drop his phone this time. He left it lying on the ground, too horrified to retrieve it.

If Hawks had replied to All Might. And All Might had retweeted Shoto. ...It meant Hawks knew about @no1tryhard. It meant Hawks knew about #fantheflames. It meant he knew there was a ship.

Dammit.

He was never supposed to find out. This was all just to make fun of Endeavor, not Hawks. Hawks was actually... cool. He'd laughed in Endeavor's face more than once and gotten away with it. But maybe... maybe Hawks just thought #fantheflames was funny too? What had he even said again? “lol”?

Shoto snatched his phone off the floor.

Yeah.

Yeah.

On second read through, it was clear to Shoto that Hawks was just playing along – if even that. He'd only replied to All Might and wasn't responding to a single person now bombarding him with mentions. And really... it was only with those so-called "shipping goggles" that anyone could've even misconstrued All Might's tweets in the first place. Hawks was just acknowledging he and Endeavor made a good team. It wasn't like they were actually friends or guy pals or anything. Endeavor didn't even like Hawks.

This really wouldn't change anything.

Shoto really hated being wrong.

It was Saturday and Yoarashi Inasa was ruining everything. Again.

Shoto had been prepared for whatever inane get-to-know-you questions Yoarashi would think up for him this week, but he hadn't been prepared for this:

"LOOK AT THEM BOTH TOGETHER! WHAT A PAIR OF BLAZING SPIRITS!"

Yoarashi had been trying to show Shoto his phone all day. He'd made the background the Hawks and Endeavor victory pose from their Tokyo team up. No matter how many times Shoto tried to tell him he'd already seen it, Yoarashi kept whipping it out to stare at it intensely.

Even now after they'd finished another cruel and unusual training session from Gang Orca, he was marching along beside Shoto with it held aloft like it was that freedom torch on the Americans' Statue of Liberty.

"I ADMIT I WOULD LIKE TO SEE THEM CONTINUE TO FAN EACH OTHER'S FLAMES TO BECOME TRUE HEROES OVERFLOWING WITH HEATED, HOT-BLOODED PASSION!"

Shoto ground his teeth together. He knew these were all buzzwords in Yoarashi's vocabulary, but after listening to him spout it repeatedly for the whole class, if Shoto didn't know better, it almost sounded like—

Shoto's eyes widened. He stopped walking.

"Yoarashi. Do you... ship Hawks and Endeavor?"

Yoarashi froze beside him, phone still raised high. Then he slammed his head against the pavement.

"FORGIVE ME, TODOROKI!" he shouted into the cement. "BUT I AM UNFAMILIAR WITH THAT TERM!!"

He surged upward and Shoto took a hasty step back. Yoarashi's face was completely red, but he didn't know if that was from the blood rushing to his head, the blood rushing out of his head, or something else. He didn't even get the chance to ask if he was alright. Yoarashi was already waving furiously and sprinting toward Shishikura and Utsushimi.

"UNTIL NEXT WEEK, U.A.!!!"

"Damn, half and half," Bakugou said, slouching up beside Shoto. "What the fuck did you say to baldy? I've never seen him get lost so fast."

"...Nothing."

Because it was nothing. What did Shoto care if someone he knew and might be friends with was actually shipping Hawks and Endeavor? That's what he was trying to get the public to do anyway, wasn't it? It's not like anyone else would be into it. Yoarashi was Yoarashi. He wasn't exactly an average guy, more like... an outlier who shouldn't be counted. Plus, he'd denied it, so Shoto was probably completely wrong anyway. No way could even Yoarashi go from hating on a hero to shipping them in such a short amount of time.

Yeah.

Yeah.

That must be it. It was just normal-for-Yoarashi admiration. That's why it seemed so weird on the surface. Because it would be on anyone else.

Pleased to have that worked out, Shoto edged around Bakugou and headed toward where Present Mic was waiting.

"Oi, dammit, you asshole! How many fucking times do I have to say walk BEHIND ME?!"

Shoto breathed a sigh of relief. Normal. Everything was finally starting to return to normal.

True to Shoto's prediction, the following week Yoarashi didn't mention Hawks or Endeavor even once. He'd been a bit cagier than usual at first, sure, but he'd just asked Shoto what his favorite movie was then got offended when Shoto said he didn't have one. He'd demanded to know what Shoto liked to do in his free time instead and had somehow wrangled Shoto's phone number out of him, but...

It was good. It was great, even. And it was time to ace the last supplementary class exam and finally get his provisional hero license.

Chapter Text

Shoto passed.

He stared down at the card in his hand. It was such a small thing to fight so hard to earn. The responsibility of carrying it would belie its light weight – as Shishikura, still license-less, was pounding into Bakugou's head one last time – but Shoto knew he was ready for it. He ignored the series of explosions behind him to admire the word HERO stamped on the silver sheen of the back. One day, it would gleam gold, but for now it was enough to have caught up to this point.

As for the pros... Shoto would have enough on his plate dealing with just the one today.

Endeavor.

He hadn't texted this time to say he was coming, but Shoto wasn't surprised he was here. Where there was a will there was a way, and Endeavor's will had always been to embarrass Shoto at school as much as possible. At least this time he hadn't made a scene.

Shoto supposed he should go greet him since he'd gone and come all this way. There really wasn't anything else for Shoto to do here. He'd already said his goodbyes to Yoarashi and the others. If he went back now, he might get roped into another round of selfies. Shoto didn't know what the point of such in-depth Before and After the Exam documentation really was, but once Utsushimi had suggested they should, like, for reals fam, totally do it and Shishikura declared it a passing good idea, Yoarashi hadn't let it go.

Shoto really wasn't looking forward to getting grilled by the rest of class A because the first photos ever uploaded to his three-year-old instagram account were of him surrounded by Shiketsu kids and wearing Yoarashi's hat. In his defense, Yoarashi was tall and Shoto was too proud to jump for his phone once it'd been plucked out of his reach. And Shoto didn't think he'd ever in his life use the words 'at least' anywhere in the same vicinity as Bakugou, but he had forced his way into the last few, furiously claiming Shishikura was trying to steal his rightful spot.

...Shoto was stalling.

Endeavor was waiting. Arms crossed and foot tapping, he stood a good distance from Present Mic and the Shiketsu escort. It was obvious this time he only intended to speak with one person.

With great reluctance, Shoto began his approach. Halfway there, he saw Endeavor open his mouth and take a deep breath. Shoto stopped abruptly. His new license dug into the meat of his palm as his fists clenched.

Old man, don't you do it...

"SHOOOOTOOOOOOO!"

Oh my god.

Did he have to do this every time?

"Finally!!! You've passed! Good work!! Now step it up and show Japan they've got a new champion hero on their hands!"

Shoto finished his arduous journey under the scrutiny of every. single. bystander. At least he'd inherited one worthwhile gene – the ability to withstand annoying fathers without going red on the right side of his face. Even if Endeavor had finally left off shouting about surpassing All Might, Shoto being his 'greatest creation,' or insulting everyone else in the general area, it was still irritating and worthy of Shoto's frostiest glare.

Endeavor wasn't smiling either, but there hadn't been any need to shout. Shoto could tell he was pleased. As Shoto looked up at him, he held out a hand.

"Let's see it, then."

No way. Shoto wasn't about to surrender his license to just anyone, least of all dad. He held it up for inspection instead, forcing Endeavor to bend down to squint at it. He made a contemplative sound as he did so.

"Still going by 'Shoto' as your hero name, I see."

If dad was going to be like that, then his right to even look was now revoked. Shoto drew the license back and pocketed it. He wasn't going to let his old man ruin this for him too.

"I've told you before," he defended himself, "I'm going to choose my own path. I'm using my own name because it'll just be me out there, no one else."

As expected, Endeavor frowned at that. But, Shoto found, it was an odd frown – one he'd never seen before. It almost looked like dad was fighting his own face. It made his scars twist oddly and it was... not pleasant.

"You think I don't like it," dad said slowly, "but who do you think chose that name for you in the first place?"

And Shoto... Shoto had never thought to think about which of his parents had named him as a baby. Now that he did... The kanji wasn't exactly subtle. Of course it'd been dad.

God dammit.

It was too late to change his codename now, wasn't it? He'd have to fill out all the paperwork again and pay a fine to get the card reprinted. On top of coming up with something new, and what would it even be? His mind was totally blank. ...At least he'd had the presence of mind to use katakana. That made his hero name at least marginally his own.

But that still didn't answer his most burning question.

"Who else—?"

"Fuyumi," dad said, apparently not needing to hear the rest. "Your mother named your brothers."

Of course she had, and of course, as a result, they'd ended up with the actual good names. Although 'Fuyumi' wasn't bad. Dad must've been in a weird state of mind to land on something that nice for her. Just Shoto's luck he was the one set apart from his siblings yet again, this time with something dumb.

Shoto was so frustrated he didn't even see dad's next attack coming. The heavy hand landed on his head before Shoto could block it and ruffled up his hair.

It definitely didn't feel nice.

"If you accept your name, if you accept yourself... then I accept you. Shoto."

And those words definitely weren't consoling.

Shoto batted dad's hand away. He reminded himself that the last time Endeavor spoke about Shoto 'accepting himself,' he’d been howling it in front of a packed stadium during a live event broadcast worldwide as Shoto got it beat into him that his fire side was his own and not cursed just because he'd gotten it from dad's DNA.

"Now," Endeavor said, unaffected by Shoto's weak retaliation, "let's be off. We shall celebrate your achievement."

He strode off, confident that Shoto would follow him and just, what?

No.

Shoto didn't want to go anywhere alone to celebrate with Endeavor. Dad may be getting better lately but that would still be too... bizarre. He took a step back and looked over his shoulder. The Shiketsu delegation had since departed and it was only Present Mic left trying and failing to engage an inpatient Bakugou in a conversation as they waited for Shoto to come back.

Before Shoto could sneak away, though, Endeavor realized he wasn't behind him, turned back, and beckoned at him.

"Hurry up, Shoto. Fuyumi is waiting."

Shoto felt himself twist back around and take several steps forward almost involuntarily.

Sis was gonna be there?

That changed everything.

"Natsu?" he asked as he caught up, already knowing the answer.

Sure enough, dad didn't meet his eyes. "No. Natsuo is busy today."

Disappointing, but not unexpected, and Shoto didn't blame his brother for not wanting to be anywhere near dad, even if Fuyumi and he would be around to soften the impact.

They were just setting out, this time together, when they were waylaid by someone with a Voice.

"Hey, hey! Not to be a bother Endeavor-san," said Present Mic behind them, "but we're gonna be expected back at U.A. soon."

As they faced him, he indicated Shoto with a polite nod of his head.

"Yamada Hizashi," Endeavor acknowledged. He said the name like a threat. And then, he grinned.

The muscles of his face moved like he'd just been waiting to do it, and Shoto realized with a pang in his heart he didn't understand that, maybe, he had. ...After his fight with Midoriya at the sports festival... dad hadn't stopped smiling until Shoto had shut him up. Today... he hadn't smiled at Shoto once. Instead, it seemed Endeavor was entirely aware just how nightmarish and grotesque his scars looked stretching as Hellflame writhed around them. And he weaponized it.

Shoto didn't know who had formerly been number one on the Looks the Most like a Villain Ranking, but he knew who it was now. The shift in rank would've been deeply satisfying once. Now, strangely, he didn't want to ask how dad felt earning that first place.

"Are you saying," dad was continuing dangerously, "that my Shoto can't spend time with his own father?"

Present Mic burst into nervous laughter and put his hands up in surrender. When he spoke, his voice vacillated wildly between volumes.

"NO, no!! HEEEEEY! We can do VERBAL agreements, YEAH! Just have him back before dark, eh, EH, Endeavor-san?!"

He shooed them on, whirled around, and speed walked back to Bakugou. He tried to put a hand on Bakugou's shoulder, but he just shook it off. He shot Shoto an intent look Shoto didn't know how to read then abruptly stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned, and strode on ahead of Present Mic without another glance back.

Shoto didn't know why Bakugou was so angry this time. If anything, he should've been pacified by getting to walk in front for once. But whatever. Shoto had better things to do right now than get caught up thinking about Bakugou's moods. He glanced up at his father. All trace of good cheer, false or otherwise, had slid from Endeavor's face as he watched the student and teacher pair depart.

...Wait.

Dad didn't seriously think... Shoto was anything like Bakugou, did he?

Shoto suddenly became aware that his arms were crossed in annoyance and he didn't know when they'd got like that. He forced himself to straighten them out, then forced himself to speak neutrally despite taking deep offense that dad might see any kind of resemblance between him and his classmate.

"So where are we going to meet sis?"

Endeavor seemed to come alive again at the question.

"Yes! Come, Shoto. It's this way..."

Dad did indeed get Shoto back to the dorms before dark.

He'd hailed a taxi with ridiculous ease for Shoto and Fuyumi to share and gruffly told Shoto to update him as soon as he could. He shut the door for him then turned away to head back to work. That was Endeavor, though. He'd never take a whole day off even if it was Saturday.

The entire ride to U.A., Fuyumi chatted easily about this and that, showing him pictures on her phone from her class. Shoto sat quietly and listened. It was the thing he missed most about moving from home to the dorms. Even if he hadn't gotten to spend time with her every day back then... even if a lot of those moments had felt like they were stolen...

That stupid old man, making it seem like hanging out with his own sister was an act of rebellion... And yet he was the one who'd gotten them together today, which left them... where? Especially when it actually hadn't been awful.

...Shoto had better have made the right choice with this...

But Shoto put that out of his mind for now and enjoyed the last few minutes he had with sis.

When the taxi dropped him off on campus, Fuyumi rolled down the window and hung way too far out of it to wave him off. Even as the car started rolling away, she didn't retreat back inside immediately.

"TAKE CARE, SHOOOOTOOOO!!" she shouted as the taxi turned the corner and disappeared.

Shoto decided he'd never tell her she sounded exactly like dad when she did that. Out of all of them, she was the one who'd inherited his unholy talent for embarrassing others. She'd just have to square that with herself one day once she finally realized it.

He entered the 1-A dorms and felt the change come over him. It wasn't huge and it wasn't bad, but...

Time to be Todoroki again...

He greeted his friends in the common area, showed his license off to everyone asking to see it, told the truth that he'd just looked where the photographer had told him to when they demanded to know how his ID picture had turned out so well when theirs hadn't, and finally extricated himself so he could go put his hero costume case away. When he returned, he kept his backpack with him, choosing to sit at one of the tables to do a little homework instead of huddle on the couches and poufs with everyone as they watched some action movie. Although it was always kind of funny hearing Bakugou go off about how all the explosions were wrong...

When Aizawa-sensei yawned his way in some hours later with that little girl Eri at his side, a lot less of Shoto's homework was done than he'd planned. He hoped that didn't impact what he was about to do. He'd thought he'd have to wait until Monday, after all. Luck seemed to be favoring him, though, because Aizawa-sensei waved off the welcomes he was receiving from every angle to come sit almost directly across from Shoto as Eri-chan chose instead to crawl up on a couch cushion beside Kirishima. And Shoto, who hadn't previously looked at her too hard until then, was entirely distracted from digging the packet out of his backpack because in Eri-chan's arms was...

It was...

"Why does she have that?" Shoto asked Aizawa-sensei, staring in disbelief at the Endeavor doll Eri-chan was holding.

She was sitting quite primly next to Kirishima now with the doll facing her in her lap. She calmly detached the felt flames on its face? And even from this distance, Shoto could see the scars that had been stitched into it. Eri-chan then took out a roll of gauze from her skirt pocket and started, very seriously, winding it around doll Endeavor's head.

In front of Shoto, Aizawa-sensei blinked his tired eyes and shrugged. "We went to the store. It's what she picked out."

"Is it...?" Official? Shoto couldn't even get the final word out.

Aizawa-sensei shook his head as if he'd heard it anyway. "Fan made."

What kind of underground store had they gone to that had that kind of fan made Endeavor merch? And really, Shoto supposed this shouldn't be affecting him like this, but he'd just... he'd just never seen anything Endeavor-related in the hands of a little girl before, much less something marketed to one, even if it was unofficial. He didn't even know how that was supposed to work. He supposed he'd find out in every second year student's least favorite unit of Legal Issues in Heroics: Copyright and Trademark Law, but—

Eri-chan looked up suddenly as if she could feel his eyes on her. She stared at Shoto for a long second, then down at the doll, and back at him again, her mouth now open. She touched a hand to her little face and then held up her gauze as if... she were offering him some. Shoto gave a frantic shake of his head and dropped his gaze to the table, face burning.

That damn old man... getting scarred on the same side of his face... Though discounting that third year girl Hadou, it had been a long time since anyone had really pointed out Shoto's...

When he peeked at her again a few seconds later, Eri-chan had apparently already forgotten him. She was shyly showing her doll to Kirishima who was exclaiming proudly about her nascent nursing skills.

And well... if Eri-chan got to have her moment with Endeavor, Shoto supposed he could do it too.

Ever since that day he'd been called home, Shoto had actually been giving it thought. It wouldn't have to be for long and it wasn't like it'd been stamped in actual blood or anything. Plus, he still wasn't as good as he wanted to be with his fire side yet and if he were being honest... there really was only one person who could seriously coach him on that, and in so doing... Shoto would die before he admitted it to anyone, but it would also be the best chance he'd ever get to covertly, through the power of observation, glean the secrets of Brilliant Scorching Fist-Hell Spider.

Without preamble, Shoto finally got the paperwork out of his bag and slid his completed application to intern at the Endeavor Hero Agency over to Aizawa-sensei.

Besides, Shoto figured as sensei picked it up with a raised eyebrow and slowly flipped through it page by page, it wouldn't be everyone who could say they'd interned with the number one hero. The least Endeavor could do was make Shoto's resume look good when he moved on to bigger and better things.

"Everything seems to be in order," Aizawa-sensei said and Shoto relaxed. He hadn't known he'd even been so tense. Then sensei continued, "But I'm afraid the answer is no."

And Shoto felt like he'd suddenly lost complete control of his ice side.

"Why?"

The question tore out of his throat almost without Shoto's conscious knowledge.

"Endeavor has a good track record with interns and sidekicks, so normally it wouldn't've been a problem, but..." Aizawa-sensei sighed. He looked around the common room. No one was paying them any attention so he finished his explanation, "Well, we weren't going to officially announce it until Monday, but I might as well tell you now. The amount of teachers who think it's a good idea has shifted. With the... difficulty of Eri-chan's rescue, what happened to Togata, and now the possibility of more high-end nomu being out there, outside of students who already have one, no permission will be granted for any new first year internships."

And Shoto... he understood what Aizawa-sensei was telling him. He did. But after everything he'd gone through to even want an application at that agency with that man to exist in the first place...

He wrestled his phone out of his backpack without thinking, navigated to the right contact, and hit dial.

Dad answered on the first ring. He sounded excited.

"Shoootooo!! I'm at the office; I can't talk long. But tell me the good news! When do you start?"

"I don't."

"What?"

"The application was rejected."

"What?"

"I just submitted it to Aizawa-sensei. He said internships are off the table now for all first year students."

"...He's there now?"

Shoto glared right in Aizawa-sensei's face and ratted him out without mercy. "Yeah, he's still here."

Aizawa-sensei's eyes widened comically and he frantically gestured for Shoto not to do it, but it was too late.

"Put him on," dad ordered in his ear, and for once, Shoto had no qualms at all about following his command.

He held out his phone to his teacher – the teacher who had, Shoto reminded himself, already betrayed him anyway by sending him home that one day against his will to talk about, of all things, interning with Endeavor. Shoto had thought he was going to die.

Payback.

Shoto knew what they said about it, and what Shoto had to say was, "Endeavor wants to talk to you."

And, no matter how many stupid puns he knew he was going to have to put up with in his life, Shoto didn't do anything halfway. Not anymore. As Aizawa-sensei accepted the phone like he were being forced to touch something moist, Shoto let his thumb brush past speakerphone and press down.

Shoto had the rare pleasure of seeing Aizawa-sensei take a deep breath and put on his 'talking to parents' face before the bulldozer hit him.

"Ah, Todoroki-san—"

"AIZAWA SHOUTA," Endeavor's voice thundered over him and through the common room, instantly drawing everyone's goggling eyes. "ERASER HEAD."

Aizawa-sensei nearly flung the phone away on reflex. He frantically tried to find the button to quiet the call, but Endeavor had already got going and once he got going, there'd be no stopping him.

"WHAT THE HELL DOES U.A. THINK IT'S PLAYING AT?! FIRST MY SHOTO FAILS THE PROVISIONAL EXAM AND YOU FORCE HIM INTO THOSE DEMEANING CLASSES—"

...Okay, the start of this wasn't going great.

"—BECAUSE WE LIVE IN A TIME WHERE THE PUBLIC SAFETY COMMISSION WANTS MORE GOOD HEROES ON THE STREETS FASTER... AND THEN YOU DISALLOW INTERNSHIPS ENTIRELY?! DO YOU WANT THOSE HEROES OR DON'T YOU?!"

Getting better, old man.

"Todoroki-san," Aizawa-sensei heroically tried to interject, "there was more that went into this decision than—"

"IS THIS ABOUT THAT YAKUZA BUSINESS?" Endeavor cut him off at a roar. "I KNOW FOR DAMN SURE THERE'S NOT A HERO IN JAPAN WHO DOESN'T APPLAUD WHAT YOU ALL DID FOR THAT LITTLE GIRL AND WOULDN'T DO THE SAME THEMSELVES."

Over on the couches, Shoto saw Kirishima nudge Eri-chan with a grin and point from Shoto's phone to her doll. She gasped and hugged it tightly to her chest.

"Or maybe," Endeavor went on, suddenly much quieter, but all the more insidious for it, "you think after the fight with that nomu that I'm incapable of keeping an eye on my own boy?"

"...Not at all, but you have to admit, if there are more—"

"So it's your students you think incapable then? For god's sake, they're already fifteen, sixteen! There's not a single student with a provisional license who you shouldn't be encouraging to get an internship, no matter what's out there! You should be setting them up for them! And I would think, if you think they can't handle it, you of all people, Eraser Head, would just expel them and be done with it."

Aizawa-sensei looked furious, but his voice came out almost normal, if slightly clipped. "...We will review our guidelines taking your views into consideration, Todoroki-san."

"Good. See that you do," Endeavor replied and then said, mockingly, "Plus Ultra."

And the line went dead leaving the 1-A dorm common room in a resounding silence.

"...Holy shit," Kaminari finally managed. He broke out into a slow clap that was taken up by what seemed like everyone.

But Shoto...

Shoto...

He didn't—

He didn't disagree with anything dad had said, he didn't. Endeavor was on their side, he'd been arguing for them just like Shoto had thought he would, but what he'd said, he'd said 'they're already fifteen!' but all Shoto heard, what he'd heard was—

"He's only five!"

"He's already five!"

Smack!

He flinched.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't five years old. He wasn't exhausted and hurting on his hands and knees on a tatami-covered floor listening to his father rage as his mother cried. The only sound of flesh-on-flesh was the dying applause of his classmates.

And Aizawa-sensei was giving him an unreadable look – a look that, for some reason, reminded Shoto of the same one he'd seen on Bakugou's face earlier that day, and... Shoto... had had his provisional hero license for only a few hours, but somehow... he knew it was him who should've had to endure Shishikura's final lecture on responsibility. Not Bakugou. Worst of all... while Shoto might not be able to tell exactly what he was feeling, he knew for sure sensei wasn't looking at him like that because he was angry.

"Aizawa-sensei," Shoto said anyway, feeling small. "I'm sorry."

He gave Shoto a slow nod, acknowledging the apology, accepting it. And then he turned to address the room at large.

"Since this isn't the classroom, I have no qualms saying that, for what it's worth... I agree with Endeavor. I'll bring the issue up with the other teachers. ...Again."

He brushed off all further questions and comments, and that seemed to settle things for the time being. He turned back to Shoto, blinking wearily, and handed him back his phone.

"Now," he said and indicated the internship application that sat between them on the table almost like a curse, "do you really want me to take that?"

What Shoto wanted was to not have to think it through again. He'd already done that so many times. He knew who his father was. He knew what he'd done – how harshly he'd pushed Shoto to train, how he'd barely seen him as a real person, just a means to achieving his own goals, how he'd kept him apart from his siblings. But all that... it was, ironically enough, like a fading scar – one that, if today was any indication, Endeavor – no, his dad, was already ever-so-slowly starting to puzzle out how to heal. Now that Shoto knew for sure his father had made the resolve to change... it was exactly why he wanted to see what kind of dad he would become.

And as for what he'd had done to mom... Shoto clenched his fists in his lap. That wasn't a scar. It wasn't something that would heal, it wasn't something that would fade. It was a well and it was dark and it was deep and all it would ever take to draw that rage up by the bucketful would be to remember it, and it was something Shoto could never forget.

But.

Maybe. One day. Depending. There could be a wellhouse. And maybe. One day. Depending. The rage could be a quiet thing. But never, never would that water be sweet and never, never would it run dry.

Which meant—

"It's your decision," Aizawa-sensei prompted Shoto again, breaking through his thoughts and breaking through the silence.

And that... was a funny choice of words, wasn't it? Because the first person who'd told Shoto that...

It'd been dad.

And the application— Filling it out hadn't felt like a curse. It hadn't been like a business transaction or like pulling teeth, like when he'd accepted Endeavor's offer to do his field training at his agency. No... This... It had been a family thing. It had almost been fun. . .

Earlier that Day:

It turned out they were meeting sis at a café.

Fuyumi had seated herself by the door to wait for them and looked up from her phone when they walked in.

"Shoto!" she cheered as soon as she saw him, ignoring Endeavor completely. In less than a second, she was smothering him in a hug. "Congratulations!"

"Ah, sis..."

He submitted to the affection as usual, but he didn't want a bunch of strangers to stare—

Oh.

From over Fuyumi's head, once he actually took a look around, Shoto saw the cozy little hole-in-the-wall was mostly abandoned. There was just one person in the corner and Shoto could only tell that much because giant newspapers didn't hold themselves up.

That was alright then.

He stood still as sis got it out of her system and Endeavor strode ahead to the cash register. Eventually, Fuyumi linked arms with him and dragged him along to stand behind dad.

They waited.

Nothing happened.

"...Well?"

Huh?

Endeavor was... raising a flaming eyebrow – his good one – at them both expectantly. And the barista behind the cash register held one hovering hand over the buttons to ring up drinks as her eyes flickered timidly from person to person. But that was impossible. Shoto shared a look with Fuyumi and it was clear she was seeing this too. Dad... wasn't going to just order them all a round of iced tea? He was going to let them get what they wanted?

"Dad," Fuyumi hesitated, seeming much younger than her twenty-two years, "is it really okay?"

"Get what you like," said Endeavor stiffly, glaring at the menu as if he could sear a hole into the colored chalkboard with his eyes alone.

Fuyumi looked at it too.

This was so... surreal. Just... even at the base level, Shoto didn't even know if Fuyumi had ever stood in the same room as this bastard when he was Endeavor. And now they were here? And doing this?

Fuyumi stepped up to the cash register and Shoto felt himself start to sweat. What would it be? Would it be something simple to keep dad calm? Or would Fuyumi—

Sis went all in.

She ordered the largest size of the most decadent, luxurious thing on the menu: a tiramisu frappe that promised to be topped with a layer of crunchy cocoa cookies, white chocolate brownies, and a swirl of cream cheese mousse. Shoto thought it sounded disgusting. Endeavor, too, was clearly having trouble restraining himself from saying so.

But that just sealed the deal, didn't it?

When it was Shoto's turn, he looked the barista dead in the eye and asked for a small chocolate brownie matcha green tea frappe. Because it wasn't about wanting it. It was about dad not wanting him to have it and having to put up with it anyway. Even if Shoto was tainting perfectly good matcha with chocolate to do it. ...Even if he still couldn't force himself to ask for a larger size.

Sis, what is wrong with you?

The biggest surprise of all, however, came when the barista turned to dad and asked, "Anything for you, E-E-Endeavor-san?"

Shoto fully expected Endeavor to bark out a request for an iced green tea like it was obvious, but he didn't. He glanced from Shoto to Fuyumi like he was trying to figure out who they were and then at the menu again like he was actually seeing it this time. Shoto had never seen Endeavor look so lost before.

"I will try this... gingerbread latte," he managed eventually. He said the name of the drink as if it had crash landed on earth from an alien planet.

But Shoto thought – as Fuyumi rapidly hauled him away to find a table to sit at while dad paid – that the real alien here was Endeavor. Because what? What? What?!

"I know," Fuyumi whispered as they took their seats.

As one, they stared at Endeavor as he loitered by the drink pick-up area rather than join them. Another barista had emerged from a back room to help whip up the drinks and, with no other customers to serve, they were ready in what seemed like no time at all. Fuyumi hopped up when the last drink was added to the counter – even Japan's number one hero couldn't easily carry three full drinks at once – but she motioned Shoto back down when he made to join her.

"Not you, Shoto. It's your day."

As soon as she got there, there was some kind of commotion. Fuyumi let out what Shoto would charitably not call a squeal as she looked over the mugs and the barista – the woman who'd rung up their orders – was nervously bowing her head repeatedly and waving off whatever enthusiastic praise sis was raining down on her. Finally, Fuyumi grabbed up her own drink and Shoto's and zoomed back toward the table.

"Be careful, dad, be careful!" she said over her shoulder. "Don't ruin it!"

And Endeavor, unthinkably, was taking heed. As Fuyumi set the drinks she was carrying down and hovered by her chair, he edged his way to their table cradling his mug in cupped hands. When at last he arrived and placed it down with confused gentleness, Shoto also got up so he could behold what could be so exciting about a single cup of coffee.

And so there stood three Todorokis gazing down at Endeavor's face rendered with exacting cuteness in foamy milk and fine cinnamon detailing on top of a steaming gingerbread latte.

"I just need to get a photo of this!"

Fuyumi had her phone out. She was taking what was definitely way more than one photo.

"I'll send it to you too, Shoto," she said when Shoto made the mistake of looking in her direction for too long. "Don't worry."

He really wasn't worried about it, but he guessed it wouldn't be too bad a thing to have, just as evidence, mind you. Evidence of what, Shoto hadn't decided yet. He'd figure it out eventually. If Fuyumi really did send him everything she was getting, he'd have plenty of documentation for whatever when the time came. And it might come soon as the tilt of Endeavor's scars was getting stormier by the second.

"Fuyumi."

"Ah, s-sorry, dad." She shrank back and thrust her phone back into her purse. "I'll just—"

Endeavor sighed and looked away. "Please forward it to me as well. I'll give it to my sidekicks. They can do some kind of... promotional endorsement." He scowled over their surroundings as if that was the last thing he'd like to do, and, for Shoto, that was it.

If Endeavor could stand here promising to advocate for a place he was clearly disgusted by because his daughter found the latte art they made of her dad adorable... then he really had changed enough for Shoto to make this decision.

"I've been thinking," he said and sat back down, "that I wouldn't mind so much... being Endeavor's intern."

"Ooooooh."

Fuyumi plopped down in her own seat, pulled her purse into her lap, and stuffed a heaping spoonful of cream cheese mousse in her mouth as she glanced back and forth from Shoto to dad like they were in the midst of a tennis match.

"...You're sure?" Endeavor asked, lowering himself into his chair and steepling his hands above his mug.

Shoto felt a flash of irritation. What was this? The third degree? Endeavor was supposed to just immediately agree, not question him.

"Yes."

"Have you thought about it?"

"Yes."

Shoto had literally used that verb. Wasn't Endeavor happy about this?! He was supposed to take out an already-filled-out application from nowhere so Shoto could get mad about that, not act like a decent human being.

"I'd hoped you say that, Shoto," Endeavor said, undaunted in the face of Shoto's annoyance, and gestured to Fuyumi. And Fuyumi... sis... she frowned apologetically at Shoto around a bite of cookies and removed a manila folder from of her purse. Because of course, of course that was why dad had invited Fuyumi along – so she could stash the application in her giant bag since obviously Endeavor couldn't carry it around in his stupid butt pouch without folding it up. This goddamn old man, pulling one over on him...

"I've already filled out a few things," the bastard said, "but the rest, Shoto, we can discuss."

Fuyumi set the folder down, flicked it open, and slid it along the table to rest in front of Shoto. Then she took out a pen, clicked the nib out, and put that near him too. She patted his hand reassuringly and gave him a thumbs up when he shot her a dark look.

Well.

Fine.

Shoto picked up the paperwork. Let him just see how Endeavor had messed everything up. Dad had taken the liberty of entering in... his and Shoto's contact information and the site information. That was it. That was... a lot less than Shoto was expecting and oh, there was one tick he'd missed under the compensation section—

Paid.

Endeavor had ticked the box for paid internship. And the salary was quite high.

Feeling mollified, Shoto turned to the other pages to find out what exactly he had to do: write a description of the internship, mark off the skills to hone, list his learning objectives, and detail what tasks would meet them. Easy enough.

He stared at Endeavor.

Endeavor stared back at him.

Silence.

Fuyumi coughed. She placed a palm on the paperwork and drew it back to herself, taking up the pen with a few unnecessary clicks of the retractable tip.

"So!" she said brightly. "Shoto, what do you want to improve on?"

And that's how they wrote it: with Fuyumi as their scribe, crafting full sentences out of the near monosyllabic responses she coaxed out of Shoto and tempering in Endeavor's more heated interjections. She asked a lot of questions about hero work too, which was neat. Shoto had no idea there was so much sis didn't know. He answered her as well as he could and it was... interesting to hear Endeavor gamely offer his take as well. When he wasn't being the worst, when he was just doing his job, the sheer wealth of experience he had... Well, Fuyumi had the pen after all and it wasn't like Endeavor had spewed out anything Shoto had really wanted to write down.

By the time things wound down, with the application complete and stapled – teaching really was a different world, Shoto figured, when Fuyumi hotly defended carrying a stapler in her purse for 'emergencies' – and their drinks drunk – Shoto's had run out with startling speed somehow – Shoto lost whatever modicum of respect he'd gained for Endeavor anyway. Because Fuyumi had picked up their empty mugs and said, "So, did you like the coffee, dad? You never drink that stuff."

And Endeavor had huffed, crossed his arms, and replied, "There's nothing wrong with a snort of coffee every once in a while."

There was just no way, Shoto concluded as he watched Fuyumi valiantly struggle to contain a wheeze of incredulous laughter, that he could ever take someone who measured coffee in snorts seriously. . .

Now:

After today, Shoto could understand Fuyumi's longing for a 'proper family' – even if the gaping holes that still existed were more than justified. But he wondered now if there would ever come a day when Natsu wouldn't be mysteriously busy. If he'd ever want to be there.

Big bro Touya too.

...If they ever found him.

And with all that in mind, Shoto finally looked up from the application abandoned on the table to meet Aizawa-sensei's eyes and said, "Take it."

Aizawa-sensei nodded, tucked the packet under one arm, and stood. Before he could wander off to check in with his other students, a final thought occurred to Shoto.

"Wait. Just so you know, sensei, my sister Fuyumi helped write down a lot of the application."

Shoto had had enough trouble over this already. The last thing he needed was for whoever did the full review to see it was written in the hand of three different members of the Todoroki family, sometimes literally on top of each other, misunderstand, reject it again, and accuse Shoto of plagiarism. Though that again would be that old bastard's fault. . .

It seemed sis really didn't like being told when she'd got something wrong.

"Shoto, please. I'm a teacher. I know how to spell."

"It's just one word, sis. I can fix it for you. I'll be fast."

If she'd just let go of the pen...

Across from them dad let out a frustrated grumble. "Oh, for the love of—"

He plucked away the pen and snatched up the sheet of paper they were struggling over. He crossed out both their attempts – Shoto's shaky and sloppy from having to fight Fuyumi to get it down – and pointedly wrote both characters in strokes so precise it might as well have been calligraphy. ...What a dick. But at least he and Fuyumi had both been half right.

Dad handed the paper and the pen back to Fuyumi and said, "Shoto, listen to your sister."

That was hardly fair, but Shoto couldn't even be upset. What dad had just said... it was something he'd never heard him say before. And with buoyed spirits, Fuyumi brazenly stuck her tongue out at Shoto before she went back to recording his expected internship duties. . .

Aizawa-sensei gave him an oddly contained look. "...Duly noted."

He left.

Shoto allowed himself a sigh of relief, glad all his dad issues were over for now. Aizawa-sensei really didn't need to worry about it. After all—

Shoto turned on his phone. Instead of hitting the button for his messages to shoot his old man an update, he opened twitter instead.

—it wasn't like he didn't have his own methods of giving Endeavor grief.

A hero internship, Shoto quickly found once his application was indeed approved, was very different than hero field work.

For one thing, it was longer than a week. It didn't happen every day and he didn't spend part of it recovering in a hospital. He didn't even get to hit the streets immediately. Instead, he'd found himself trailing after Endeavor's sidekicks through a chilly room reminiscent of a library – if libraries were full of shelves of boxes instead of books. They'd led him to a work area accessible via the back and the taller one had upended the sack he was carrying in the middle of the table.

Shoto really hadn't expected his first day on the job to be spent sorting Endeavor's fan mail.

He also hadn't expected the sidekicks to coddle him by handing him stacks of letters sent in by school kids and tasking him with deciding which ones to show Endeavor rather than letting him read the incoming stuff. Apparently, they'd thought the potential of opening up an envelope only to find it was hate mail would be too upsetting rather than a dream come true.

"Does he see it?" Shoto had asked.

No, no, they'd assured him. Who wanted to read hate mail about themselves? But it had to be read by someone and well, they'd said, they did show Endeavor anything they thought was a serious cause for concern.

"One of the archivists does some kind of analytics on it too," one sidekick told him waving the clipboard he was taking notes on in demonstration. "I've seen a few of the reports she generates. She presents it to him as a sort of visual representation of the ratio. ...Not that he really ever pays much attention to it... or well, he didn't. Now, maybe..."

He trailed off looking thoughtful, but all Shoto could picture was a woman who looked eerily like Fuyumi standing in front of Endeavor's desk next to a large pad illustrating his badness level. Even if he could concede that Endeavor was a remarkable hero, knowing what he did about him personally, Shoto bet it would still be unusually high for someone dad's size. ...Shoto would pay cash money (admittedly, cash money Endeavor was now paying him, but wasn't that just justice?) to get his hands on the official Endeavor's Faults Report. But since that seemed temporarily out of reach, the next best thing would be this mountain of mail that might hold a few hidden gems—

"So you just throw it away – the hate mail," he said, trying to ease his way into it.

"No, Shoto-kun. We don't get rid of anything, ever. The archivists might, later. We only help out with the initial overview and sorting, especially now Endeavor-san's getting so much more as the number one."

"It's a lot," Shoto observed, shrugging, and turned to his own little assignment.

Dear Endearvor, sensei says we can't rit to Al Mihgt anymor, I have to rit to you, but I gess you cud bee cool to or may bee hot but your face looks like Halloween. . .

This one was definitely going in the 'show' pile.

"Well," he heard one sidekick say, "...maybe you could help..."

Yes!

It'd worked.

And so they'd handed Shoto a clipboard, told him what sorts of keywords he was looking for to mark down and how to recommend a letter for Endeavor's personal attention, and let him loose.

Only he was several letters in now and not a single one had been hate mail yet. And if he couldn’t get this next one open soon, Shoto would not be responsible for the resulting wrap rage. As if in answer to his internal vow, the top tore free suddenly and something white and gauzy sprang out and fell beside his chair. Shoto reached to pick it up only to have the nearest sidekick lunge at him.

He snatched the scrap of cloth off the ground then ripped the packaging out of Shoto's hand. Before Shoto could so much as blink, the sidekick crumpled both things together without even looking at the letter inside and slam dunked the whole thing into the nearest wastebasket. He called his colleague's name.

"It was lace," he said grimly when the other sidekick came over.

His face morphed into an enraged glare. Without a word, he shot a bolt of green energy into the trash can. Immediately the contents went up in sickly emerald flames which begin to emit a noxious dark smoke.

Shoto coughed. "I thought you said you never..."

"This was different, Shoto-kun. Fan mail like that... there's never anything worthwhile in it. It deserves to burn."

"Does... he get stuff like that often...?"

The sidekicks eyed each other uneasily.

"...An old procedure has recently been revised and put in place, which you just witnessed," one said.

So... was that a yes?

"...We should've warned you about it, Shoto-kun," the other confessed, scratching at the wrappings on his face like he was embarrassed. "Sorry."

Shoto didn't even know what that thing had been. Whatever it was, the 'procedure' seemed a bit extreme. The smoke had died down quickly, but it was still there. Wasn't that breaking all kinds of fire codes or something? ...Was the Flame Hero's agency even legally bound by standard fire codes? Shoto wasn't exactly against illicit action or yelling in police chief's faces if it meant saving lives, but this seemed kind of pointlessly dangerous... It had just been a bit of fabric. Had it been a towel? Shoto could've sworn the ones Hawks used on Endeavor's face in Fukuoka had been disposable, but maybe people had been inspired by that? Or maybe this sort of thing was only okay when Hawks did it... and lace really couldn't be that comfortable on the skin, especially against the scars.

But – whatever.

Shoto was thinking too hard about this. There wasn't a conspiracy here or anything.

Bottom line, the sidekicks were looking out for their boss, and Endeavor, for some reason, was not to receive any fan mail that contained cloth. Instead, the sidekicks updated him, if Shoto felt anything soft in a letter, he was to set it aside for someone else to investigate without opening it himself. Easy enough to remember, especially because it seemed like there was so much of it, god. These people really needed to keep their handkerchiefs or whatever to themselves.

But it seemed, once Shoto did get to accompany Endeavor out on patrols, that a lot of people just couldn't keep it to themselves around the new number one hero.

During the few outings they'd managed to squeeze in after he'd recovered from fighting Stain with Midoriya and Iida, Shoto had watched people cringe when Endeavor walked by. He'd seen them turn away, start to frown, actively appear more fearful and tense. A few very brave or very stupid people had even outright asked him why he was even there. And all that when Endeavor had just gotten all the credit for taking down the Hero Killer.

It wasn't like there weren't still a fair few nervous faces now, but most of those were from the ones unlucky enough to be on Endeavor's mangled side. More people were... smiling. Some seemed relieved. And a lot of people, to Endeavor's annoyance and to Shoto's deadpan delight, came up to them, and the question, every single time, no matter how differently worded, was the same.

"Endeavor, Endeavor! Where's Hawks?"

"No Hawks today? Did he go home? Is he coming back?"

"You make such a good pair! I hope you two team up again!"

"Seeing Hawks-san and Endeavor-san together makes me feel so safe! Please continue to take care of us!"

Hawks and Endeavor did make a good team, Shoto knew, but he couldn't help but feel that this was the culmination of all his hard work with #fantheflames. Finally he was getting to reap what he'd sowed. And to see the effects of all his efforts in real time... He hid it surprisingly well, but Shoto knew this old bastard. Endeavor was pissed. With every question Endeavor dismissed, with every mention of Hawks' name he disregarded, the Hellflame coursing through his costume grew hotter and the fire of his mask climbed higher. Shoto's secret hope was that one of these comments would be the last straw and he'd get to witness Endeavor going entirely blue in the face.

But it was... awkward too, slightly. When a few people lost their courage or quaked after they'd approached. They'd jerk their heads away from Endeavor, try to focus on Shoto for some relief, see he was scarred too, and then just mumble at the ground instead. Not everyone was like that, though. Most people, actually, weren’t.

And one in particular...

"Young man, young man!" This, directed at Endeavor by the most ancient woman Shoto had ever seen besides Recovery Girl. "Where have you put Hawks-chan? You haven't quarreled with him, now have you? You've no idea how youthful the two of you make me feel!"

"...Honored Elder," Endeavor begrudgingly began and was immediately interrupted.

"Hey, baa-chan! I'm right here."

Shoto hadn't even known he was currently in this city. But there Hawks was, strolling up behind her, unmistakable with those statement red wings. Shoto could almost feel the weight of all the onlookers observing his approach. Grandma Fan, for her part, clutched her heart when she saw him. Once he was close enough, Hawks obligingly turned his cheek up to be patted ...because even some grannies were taller than him, apparently.

"Would you mind so terribly, dear?" she asked him, hand still on his cheek. "A photo for my grandson? With Endeavor? He's such a big fan."

"No problem," Hawks agreed for both of them.

He would probably never realize how fortunate he was, Shoto thought, that old people were the only ones Endeavor respected almost without question. As a child, Shoto even used to wish he were an old man just so he could force dad to leave him alone and apologize to mom. Now, since Grandma Fan had put in her request, Hawks sidled around her and up against Endeavor. If looks could kill, Hawks would've already been dead in the grave. But otherwise, while Endeavor did cross his arms and blue did start to creep along the very roots of his flaming beard... he held his tongue and allowed it.

It was only when Grandma Fan had gotten her phone out and up and Shoto realized he'd better move to step out of the frame that she caught sight of him.

"But what about you, dear? I don't know you..."

"He's Shoto-kun!" Hawks said before Shoto could get his mouth open or Endeavor could claim him. And Hawks didn't explain further, didn't say he was Endeavor's son or mention his quirk or even say he was a trainee pro hero. He just left it at that which was... refreshing, honestly.

"Oh," said Grandma Fan. "Well, I'm sure my grandson will know who you are. If you'd like, Shoto-chan?"

She ushered him in towards Hawks who was reaching for him with his free arm. Since he couldn't disobey an old lady and he couldn't be miffed at getting –chan'd by a stranger when she'd done it to Hawks too and he seemed to like it... Shoto stepped in to awkwardly stand beside him. Hawks, clearly having no difficulties at all with his current situation, snaked a hand behind his back to rest just above Shoto's hip and tugged him closer.

No, the only one with difficulties was Grandma Fan who was looking at her phone in consternation. "Now, how do I do this again...?"

"It's okay, baa-chan," Hawks encouraged her slyly, arms wrapped securely around the waists of two Todorokis. "Please, take your time."

Shoto really wished she'd figure it out fast. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with his hands. He'd just cross his arms, but Endeavor was doing that. Why was this so much easier when Yoarashi and Utsushimi were here?! Even Shishikura hadn't expected him to do anything, let alone Bakugou. There hadn't been all this pressure back then. Which was... only getting worse because now Hawks was very much leaning into Shoto's space. When he glanced down at him, there was sweat on his face. With his own fire side to it, he couldn't tell very well, but Endeavor must not have been holding back with the heat.

And that's when Hawks whispered, almost in his ear, "Put your arm around me, Shoto-kun."

What?!

...O-Oh. For the picture. Of course. He could do that. He hesitantly moved his left arm up underneath the wings and kind of... left it there. That would look alright, right?

Except then Hawks said, the good humor thick in his voice, "And don't you dare hover hand me."

Shoto had never heard that term before, but the meaning was clear. It was just... it was already tough enough not to worm out of Hawks' grasp. Outside of Fuyumi... and mom when he could visit her and sometimes Natsu when he was actually around and rarely dad when Shoto failed to block it... he didn't touch people and people didn't touch him. Even fighting and training, his quirk worked better at a distance. The last time it wasn't one of those reasons, it was Yaoyorozu when... when the high end nomu... when Hawks had saved dad. He supposed... he could... since Hawks was asking...

Shoto let his hand rest gently on the back of Hawks' fur-trimmed coat.

And no sooner had he done so than Grandma Fan let out an enlightened, "Ah! Here we go! It's like this, isn't it? Ready, set—!"

"Cheese!" cheered only Hawks as she finally snapped her photo.

Endeavor waited just long enough for her to put her phone away with a bow of thanks before he scraped Hawks from his side. He cast a quelling glower at all the passersby trying to sneak up and piggyback on the moment for their own candid shots. He turned away as Hawks, unperturbed, waved benignly at the excited crowd.

"Say, En...deavor-san," Hawks said as the throng began to disperse, "do you have a minute?"

Endeavor would have to because even though he'd let Shoto go, Hawks had extended his wings out wide. Every time Shoto thought he was close to getting around them, there were always more feathers and he was starting to feel almost like a hostage. Though that form of address had distracted him too. Shoto could understand using 'Endeavor' in public, but Hawks had called him by his first name the other time he'd been with them together. It'd almost sounded like he was going to do it again now, so was the formality really necessary...?

"Can it wait?" Endeavor bit out, looking not at Hawks but Shoto, piercing eyes sending the clear message of get over here! and well, Shoto was trying.

"Oh, absolutely not."

Endeavor let out a doubting snort and gave up on Shoto. He powered straight past Hawks, forcing him to wave his wings out of the way or get burned. He took Shoto by the shoulder, turned him right around, and started carting him off without a glance back.

"Let's go, Shoto."

Shoto had just succeeded in yanking himself free when Hawks fluttered back in front of them, hands up to stop them.

"Wait, wait, wait! Endeavor-san, you're not even going to hear me out this time? It could be life threatening!"

Endeavor actually stopped at that. He put a warning hand up in front of Shoto too. Shoto would've sworn he could hear his teeth grinding.

"Is it. Life threatening?"

"No, but—"

"SHOTOOOO! COME WITH ME!"

He grabbed Shoto's shoulder again and dragged him away at a brisk walk. Hawks didn't reappear again and as he twisted out of Endeavor's grip for the second time, Shoto looked back. Hawks was still standing where they'd left him... and he was laughing. The nearby civilians... they evidently hadn't heard much of what had been said because they all looked thrilled.

And Shoto couldn't help it.

He smiled.

Hawks must have seen it because as his wings started to flap, he glanced Shoto's way and saluted. And then he was up and airborne, soaring over the nearest roof, and Endeavor had started to seethe, and life was beautiful.

"That young, upstart, novice— WASTING my time!! It just burns me up, by god. It's not as though I don't understand the pressure of being number two at his age, but you wouldn't have caught me laughing in All Might's face when I was twenty two."

Shoto's smile faded. He didn't bother answering dad to point out that even at age twenty two, Endeavor had unilaterally declared All Might his hero nemesis and glared daggers at his back whenever he saw him. Shoto didn't even need to have been alive at the time to know that was true. And dad was still ranting.

"—There's no respect in young heroes these days. And that goes for you too, Shoto! Don't think I've forgotten your little attitude. You may think that boy is... is 'cool,' but—"

Not even the sight of Endeavor doing air quotes around the word cool was enough to prevent Shoto's mood from souring at that comment. It might be true, but out loud Shoto had only implied Hawks was cool one time and that was weeks ago now. Dad was getting a little too defensive about this and Shoto decided he wasn't gonna stay here and listen to it.

"I'll patrol down this way tonight."

Endeavor bellowed after him but blessedly, as Shoto ducked away down a mostly-empty side street, dad let him go.

Shoto gave it a day before he went online to see if any pedestrian-taken mid-patrol photos had ended up on twitter.

In that, he wasn't disappointed, but the subject of the photos... It was awful. Someone on the street that day had made off with one of all three of them together and they'd posted it: Endeavor looking like he was seconds away from committing arson, Hawks in the middle with a near-glowing grin, and Shoto hanging uselessly at the end. And in all the rest of them... Shoto was there. In every single one, dad's hand was on Shoto's shoulder. It looked like he was either trying to protect Shoto from Hawks or use Shoto as a shield against Hawks.

And when Shoto looked at the comments, it was even worse. Because they weren't talking about the ship... they were talking about him.

— hey whose that kid with endeavir????

...Little did they know how close 'Freezer Burn' actually was – if they could only see how Shoto spelled his name with kanji. Shoto thanked for the second time whatever lucky star was his that he'd had the foresight to go with katakana. As it was, Shoto wished he had a quirk that'd let him downvote a tweet. He would've done it on all of them, except that one person who seemed keen on defending him. He didn't need it, but he appreciated it all the same. If he had to hazard a guess... it would be that it did actually suck to have people talk about you on the internet and if he had to actually confess... maybe, since the hype 'irl' was real enough and the passion online seemed to be dying down in lieu of whatever else was new... it could be time to pack it up. He'd had a good run with the joke and now it'd run its course. And Shoto supposed Hawks would go back to Fukuoka soon or wing his way to some other city. The fire of #fantheflames would die when he left without anything new to feed it, especially when the fuel that was there didn't take. Soon all this would just be forgotten.

Except...

It wouldn't be.

Because when the second nomu attacked, it came from nowhere.

And it changed everything.

Chapter Text

Shoto always liked Sundays.

They were quiet and slow and he could catch up on his homework. He had piles and piles of it now since he was missing so many classes for his internship, but he didn't mind. He'd gladly take anything that wasn't extra guidance. He turned another page in his packet, skimming along the text of the short story they were reading for Cementoss' modern literature class – something about a beast beneath the moonlight. Across from him, Uraraka curled in on herself until her forehead thunked on her textbook.

"I'm never gonna get this," she complained.

Shoto didn't really know what to tell her. He hadn't attended class this past Friday when Present Mic had sprung a whole slew of new English grammar at them, and he hadn't had the remedial lessons yet to learn. Thankfully, Yaoyorozu had been there and she was here now, too. She patted Uraraka on the shoulder.

"No, you can do it," she assured her. "Maybe if you think about it this way instead..."

Shoto let her patient explanation flow over him without taking it in, just as he tuned out the rapid scritch-scratch of Iida's pencil working through his math problems beside him, Midoriya muttering over his hero notebooks, and the more vocal studying methods of his classmates who preferred the poufs and sofas to the common room tables. No, it was absorbing, really, how much he already hated this Li Zheng guy. Getting stuck as a man-eating tiger was too good an end for a bastard who abandoned his family in pursuit of renown as the best poet around.

The growing thunder of footsteps pounding down the stairwell was the only thing that broke his concentration from the scathing response he'd begun to pen to the first short answer question.

Shoto glanced up in time to witness Bakugou – because who else could it be? – kick open the door, sprint forward, and vault over the nearest couch. He snatched up the remote control as he balanced, standing, on the cushions.

"Hey, could you, maybe, you know, get off my homework?" Jirou grouched.

"No," Bakugou snarled, switching on the television and flopping down. So much for the bonds of victory over class B. Sound blasted into the irked silence and only got louder as he turned the volume up, swearing about shitty cartoons.

"Bakugou-san," Yaoyorozu said, irritated but too polite for her own good, "we're all trying to study here. Do you think you could—?"

"Shut up," he snapped over her. "You damn nerds should've had it on already! Don't blame me you got interrupted!"

He changed the channel to the news and a scream ripped through the room.

"Get it off! Get it off, Kamui-san! Get it off!"

It was Mt. Lady.

And she was flailing.

Her body, five stories high, took up most of the screen. Something dark and oddly bisected skittered across her shoulder. She batted at it, but it jumped up and out of her reach, too quick for her giant hands. It lodged itself in the swinging strands of her curled bangs and began to climb.

Mt. Lady shrieked. The boom of it frizzled through the TV’s speakers. "It's in my hair!"

She shook her head, eyes shut tight, blonde locks whipping around her face. But whatever it was had latched on and wasn't letting go.

"The nomu," spoke a voice – also female but much closer, clearer, and projecting an air of authority only years as a heroics correspondent could master, "appears to be fixated on Mt. Lady. But, as we have just heard, Kamui Woods, at least, should also be on the premises, though our cameras haven't spotted him yet!"

Nomu.

Shoto felt a cold sweat break out along the back of his neck.

It'd been almost amusing before he’d heard that word watching Mt. Lady act like Fuyumi when a spider fell on her from the ceiling. But nomu...

From the corner of his eye, Shoto thought he saw his friends exchange worried glances, but he couldn't look away from the television to be sure. Mt. Lady stood rigid now, apparently in terror as the nomu fisted itself more firmly into her hair. The only sound was the rapid thwapping of the blades of the news copter and the distant howl of high speed winds as it flew closer.

Shoto could tell the nomu for what it was now, though it was different from the one that had attacked in Fukuoka. While its body was black with the same slick shine of obsidian, its limbs were a sick smoky yellow – and it had six of them. Four arms, two legs. Horns sprouted directly from the exposed brain above its goggling eyes, almost as if it'd been made to mock the costume of the very woman it now sat atop.

With the action paused, Shoto pushed back his chair. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu did the same, taking new seats as they crowded onto the couches. There was no reason, Shoto decided, to get that close. He hung back behind the nearest one. Iida joined him in wordless solidarity and Shoto was... grateful for it. Grateful too for the grounding crinkle of what must have been Jirou's abused and sat-on homework as Bakugou shifted below him. A sound as mundane as that shouldn't be so reassuring, but—

"For those just tuning in," the reporter interrupted Shoto's thoughts, "we are overhead here in Yaburitoru Park where a modified human nomu has—"

Shoto stopped listening.

Because that—

That was nearby.

Not in Musutafu, but Shoto could hop on the train and be there in just over an hour. In fact, he had been there once before. He hadn't recognized it on the screen. It looked different from above. With the cherry trees devoid of leaves and sakura blossoms. With a woman as tall as a semi-truck was long taking up a quarter of the available space. With the dread of possible imminent destruction stealing his breath.

At least there were no civilians running around near Mt. Lady's feet. The rest of the park in camera-view seemed deserted. Good. Maybe Kamui Woods hadn't appeared yet because he was overseeing an evacuation or something. Maybe—

"We have yet to receive reports on possible casualties from inside the Infura Building—"

Dammit.

Of course, though. Shoto shouldn't have been that naïve. It took time to scramble a news crew. This attack hadn't just started. At least, being Sunday, the likelihood of many people actually having been inside at the time would be low.

"—which, we understand, took damage as Mt. Lady sought to apprehend the nomu."

The image on screen changed to a panning view of a high rise office. It had seen better days – days when it didn't look like it'd been punched and kicked. Shoto relaxed anyway. Mt. Lady was notorious for property damage, but she'd never hurt a civilian yet. The trouble she'd clearly had earlier could even be brushed off as inconsequential, maybe, since she certainly had her quarry now. Maybe she could just, Shoto didn't know, walk it to jail?

It didn't seem keen on moving. It stood between her horns, long neck extended, periscoping its head back and forth. Its lips flapped.

"Would you shut up?!"

Mt. Lady didn't wait for an answer – would she have gotten one? The nomu— it'd been speaking to her? But— Shoto didn't get the chance to wonder about that further. In a sweeping snatch, Mt. Lady seized the nomu from its perch before it could dive away again.

Then she began to squeeze.

It twitched in her grasp, limbs jerking. Its body broke. Healed. Then broke and healed again. She let out a wordless huff of outrage, the wind of it strong enough to rock the helicopter.

"...D-Damn," Shoto heard someone mutter. Sero, maybe, though possibly even the onboard cameraman. Whoever it was, Shoto concurred. Mt. Lady hadn't looked half so merciless during her last effort Titan Cliff to aid in Bakugou's rescue back in Kamino Ward. Shoto side-eyed Mineta. He'd done his field work with her, hadn't he? His face was white as a sheet. He held up a shaking hand and pointed at the TV with a squeaking wheeze like a dying vole.

Shoto turned back in time for the nomu to demonstrate again how it was different from the one Endeavor had fought with Hawks: its mouth split open wide... and wider and wider. The news crew was getting a gorgeous shot right down a gullet laced with endless rows of icicle-sharp fangs.

"Oh, no," someone moaned.

"She's not—"

"She can't—"

The nomu wasn't facing Mt. Lady. She had no idea how it was rallying against her crushing grip until it bit. It sprung on the meat of her gloved hand like a bear trap.

Shoto had never thought about it before. He was forced to now: how a bigger body meant more blood.

Red gargled up from between the nomu's teeth and coursed in a delta down the back of Mt. Lady's hand. Her ruthless expression twisted to silent agony. It was somehow more chilling to hear her utter nothing when they all knew Gigantification made her loud enough for even the microphones aboard the helicopter to pick up whatever she said. Shoto grabbed at the couch in front of him, fingers digging into the plush cushion even as on screen, Mt. Lady's fingers stuttered open, crimson dribbling from them like bloody rain.

The nomu plunged to earth alongside those hellish droplets, but never made it to the ground. It was thrown sideways out of frame, constricted in the restraints of Lacquered Chain Prison.

"We've got Kamui Woods on scene now!" The reporter, quiet since Mt. Lady's injury, barked out the narration with relief. The camera swerved away from the wounded woman to catch her teammate jumping through the air with his captive in tow.

But there wasn't much to be relieved about for long.

The nomu was writhing even before Kamui Woods touched down. He grabbed his forearm, struggling to reinforce the bindings of the confinement, but the strength of saplings couldn't match a monster's. It had too many arms, too many gnawing fangs. The camera couldn't zoom in close enough to make out how it happened, but suddenly its prison went to pieces.

It was free.

The next thing Shoto knew, Kamui Woods was bracing himself and stepping back as it lunged forward and, snarling, got scooped up on the toes of a massive purple boot and punted out of view.

Kamui Woods glanced from the foot upwards to Mt. Lady, out of frame, upwards after the nomu which had landed Shoto couldn't guess where, and back to Mt. Lady. He put his hands on his hips. He must've been spouting something stern because the turn of Mt. Lady's ankle somehow looked chagrined.

It took a few seconds after that – of wondering why the hell they were waiting around – for Shoto to notice the tendrils of new shoots sprouting from Kamui Woods' elbows. They grew fast, spiraling down his arms like trellised vines. They thickened as they grew and twisted together when he clasped his hands out in front of him, exploding up and up and up. The camera followed as they wrapped securely around Mt. Lady's left forearm.

Her injured right hand, still bleeding, she held close to her chest. She looked pale, Shoto thought, but determined. She extended her arm out in a wide arc and, though the movement on her was slow, it ripped Kamui Woods off his feet.

From the pouf she was perched on, Ashido lit up with a barely contained gasp of excitement. "She's turning him into a yo-yo!"

Not a bad comparison, except Shoto bet he wouldn't be wound back up. Almost as soon as he thought it, Mt. Lady snapped her arm forward like she were skipping a stone over water. The camera listed to one side from the force of the displaced air as Kamui Woods whipped forward. Arbor, uncoiling, slipped free from Mt. Lady as he was launched skyward. The tilting helicopter camera got a good close up as he soared past. It didn't correct itself immediately, veering to circle around his partner. Mt. Lady's eyes followed it, pupils blown wide. She seemed out of breath and was definitely paler than she’d been at the start, but the correspondent on board offered no commentary on that.

Then again...

Shoto hadn't been able to focus on the blather during the last fight he'd watched like this. He'd only seen references to the doubt cast on Endeavor's abilities later – damningly retweeted with an image of an angry scarf-clad kid. Perhaps that'd been enough for Japan's journalists to re-evaluate how not to incite terror in the populace.

As the copter banked back around her shoulder, Mt. Lady's mouth settled into a stubborn line. She strode ahead to support her teammate.

The nomu had broken its fall from her kick on a towering building right on the edge of the park. The evidence of the continued fight was marked in the slanting scrape of shattered windows down one side. Even as they watched, another burst in a spray of glass. The nomu tumbled out, contorting like a thrown cat, right into Mt. Lady's uninjured palm.

For a second it was too shocked to move. In the next, it was trapped again inside a timbered prison. And in the third, it had splintered its way into another freefall. Mt. Lady shook the wooden fragments away and dove after it, Kamui Woods not far behind.

The next few minutes played out in tense silence as Shoto witnessed the rinse and repeat of the nomu's capture and release alongside his classmates.

"They need to get it away from the buildings," Iida said from beside him. Shoto almost started. Iida had been so quiet, he’d almost forgotten he was there. His eyes were hard behind the lenses of his glasses. But he was right. If this beast got into the city, there was no telling what it would do, where it would go, or where it could hide.

"Herd it back into the park," Shoto agreed.

"Can they, though?" Sero, who himself swung from place to place with his tape, observed Kamui Woods' movements with a critical eye. "They have to capture it, but..."

Once again on screen, the nomu wrecked through wood before Mt. Lady could pin it down. It showed no signs of tiring, either, though the heroes wouldn't last forever.

"He doesn't have the power," Midoriya finished for Sero. He had his hero notebook fisted in his grip, but he wasn't looking at it. "And she lacks the speed."

It was true. Midoriya rarely ever got it wrong, but something about the pronouncement rubbed Shoto the wrong way.

It hadn't just been power or speed that had resulted in victory in Fukuoka.

Shoto clutched again at the rough fabric of the couch cushions to ground against the words he wanted to say. He knew his friends didn't need to hear them. It was Shoto who'd gotten it wrong in his first go around with the provisional license exam. More than power, more than speed, teamwork was what would secure a win, and this team—

"Where the fuck is Edgeshot?"

—was still incomplete.

Shoto blinked down at the top of Bakugou's spiky hair. He'd completely forgotten about the highest-ranked member of this squad. Going by the ooohs of revelation around him, Shoto wasn't the only one. But it made sense that Bakugou would remember.

"He could have the day off," Iida pointed out with a pointed finger. "It's not easy coordinating the schedules of three full time heroes."

"Nah, he's there," quipped Kaminari. "We just haven't seen him because he's a ninja, you guys."

"But I've seen footage of him fighting before," Midoriya, their hero expert, chimed in again at the same time Bakugou said, quieter and more intense than he'd been even half a minute ago, "Don't be stupid. I've seen him fighting before. The camera would catch it."

He'd seen it, everyone was uncomfortably aware, because he was the only person any of them knew who'd witnessed Edgeshot at work up close. Way back on that night in August...

"...It was just a joke," Kaminari said, shoulders hunching. He was saved from further embarrassment because – speak of the devil – a comet-like curve of racing red had appeared in the sky on screen.

When red met earth, Edgeshot poured into existence from the ground up. With two fingers held aloft to channel chi and his thick scarf fluttering behind him like a flag, he looked every bit the hero. ...Until the nomu raged his way, jaws snapping, and he back flipped to escape. He was whole when his feet left the ground, but by time he'd completed the revolution, the top half of his body was undulating tentacles resolving into one crimson rope piercing through the nomu's throat.

"That’s kind of messed up," Ojiro said. He was clutching his tail, looking green.

If he thought that was bad, it only got worse from there. Sure, Shoto had a strong stomach and sure, the distance of the camera from the action was obscuring the worst of the details, but even he was hard pressed not to wince when the nomu took a few steps forward, lancing itself into what was Edgeshot's own body, and collapsed.

The thread that was Edgeshot wormed itself out from under the beast and towards a pair of legs, squiggling back into an almost full person. Shoto really wished Edgeshot hadn't decided to leave his head bobbing out like the world's worst jack-in-the-box. He jogged that way over to his teammates and, as one, almost the entirety of class A averted their eyes.

"Well! Another hard won victory!"

"I guess that's the difference in rank!"

"Didn't it end quickly last time, too?"

"Yeah, but at least then it wasn't so... anticlimactic."

"Wait... what did Edgeshot even do?"

"He cut off the blood flow. It's just unconscious." Bakugou was still glued to the television. "It'll get back up in a second."

Shoto hoped he was wrong, but... it was all right there, live on camera.

Edgeshot stumbling to a halt as his floating head-on-a-string swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees to peer behind him. The nomu planting one hand flat on the grass, then the second, third, and fourth... pushing itself back to life and back into action. Edgeshot's head jerked back, screwing itself on properly as he sprinted the rest of the way to Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods, the nomu hot on his heels.

It was almost a sick joke – the heroes with forces bolstered, but reduced anyway almost right back to the stalemate they were at before.

It would've been fine, probably, if the nomu would've just spared the three heroes a moment to properly coordinate a plan. But Shoto knew from his own experiences that wasn't how it worked. At least Edgeshot had introduced some much needed maneuverability to the heroes' attack and defense. He kept darting in close, ducking the slashing fangs and either delivering blows that seemed to eat up his whole limbs as he slammed Foldabody into the nomu's flesh point blank or distracting it with agile flips.

Still, the fight wore on and as it did, Shoto could feel the restlessness in the room rising, the tension strung as tight as Edgeshot was flexible.

It wouldn't take much longer now.

Someone was going to say it.

"They need more firepower."

Shoto hadn't expected it to be Uraraka. Then again, she'd done her field work with Gunhead. He shouldn't be surprised at her combative spirit.

"No," he said anyway, and it was all he could do not to growl it out so much like the man whose name was on the tip of every tongue. "They can do it."

"Todoroki-kun..."

He couldn't guess at what her tone meant. He couldn't guess at what all the looks he suddenly wasn't getting signified. He couldn't guess at what the feeling in his chest was, tight and swelling at the same time. He knew it wasn't exactly faith in the heroes fighting for their sakes right now. It was just... they didn't... they didn't need Endeavor for this. Even if he was number one, he didn't have to do everything. Other heroes – these heroes – were just as capable. As long as they—

"They just need to work together."

Iida...

He was smiling at the screen. At Shoto's glance, he turned that smile on him. The understanding there, the silent support... Iida really was well-suited to the role of class president. And of friend. Shoto was glad he could call him both.

The optimism of Iida's reminder – because it was a reminder: it was everything getting beat into their heads in school right now with their repeated spars against class B – injected some lightness into the gloom of the room. More than one person began to nod. Kirishima punched his fist against his palm with a resounding slap. Kaminari whooped, his hair frizzing with static. And Aoyama swallowed down visible nerves to give a rallying cry for the heroes to "sparkle on! ☆"

Almost as if they'd heard it, the synergy on screen seemed to spark.

They'd managed by now to get the nomu into the wide grassy plain of the park. Edgeshot and Kamui Woods kept harrying it as Mt. Lady held back. She was the powerhouse of their team, but she couldn't match the three others for agility. With her wound making her even more sluggish, she was the biggest target and her teammates had been protecting her.

Until, abruptly, Edgeshot stopped.

The nomu halted too. It seemed wary. Then Edgeshot's hands zoomed off in opposing directions like extendable boxing gloves. They zipped around the nomu to wave at Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods both. The reporter tried to narrate what was happening, but it was clear she couldn't tell what he was planning any better than anyone watching at home. The audience wasn't who needed to know anyway, and those who did seemed to understand just fine.

Kamui Woods dashed toward Mt. Lady. The nomu crouched, preparing to spring, but then Mt. Lady nodded and her voice resounded like a gunshot.

"Got it!"

The nomu twisted and bolted her way instead.

Kamui Woods stopped halfway there, letting the nomu go. He didn't even try to catch up or trip it.

As the nomu neared her, Mt. Lady dropped to one knee and raised her left hand high. She wouldn't be fast enough to hit a target darting at her like that, but— it wasn't anymore. It collapsed, the red ribbon of Foldabody drilling a hole into the base of its neck. Before Shoto could blink, the nomu was restrained for the umpteenth time in a thicket of wooden bars. Though they'd secured it that way before, this was the first time they'd managed to get it, unmoving, right under Mt. Lady's waiting fist.

Her punch landed like an earthquake.

Her teammates stumbled, struggling to keep their footing. Mt. Lady didn't spare them a glance. She ground her knuckles into the grass and didn't stop even after she'd churned it into mud. All Shoto could see of the nomu now was its convulsing limbs as, roused with regeneration, it was smeared into the matchstick-strewn muck repeatedly. She didn't quit until Kamui Woods poked his way over and picked up a stake of his own quirk-begotten wood. He stepped up to the nomu, crouching down, and when he stood again, Shoto saw he'd wedged the stake in deep, right between its horns.

And as easy as that, just as the other had when Hawks had done the same, the nomu went inert.

It was over.

For real this time.

Kamui Woods patted Mt. Lady on her gargantuan thumb, as high up as he could reach. She finally retracted her fist from the crater she'd made. Her face contorted with disgust when she saw the bits of mire and nomu coating her knuckles and shook her hand like that'd actually get it off.

"Oh, gross," said Hagakure. "Do they have to show this part?"

Apparently not. The screen flashed and the footage shrank into a square hovering over the shoulder of one-horned Miyagi Daikaku seated behind a desk. Before he could speak, Bakugou hit mute and tossed the remote control aside. He had the decency, at least, to hand Jirou back her homework when he got to his feet.

"Hey, Ears."

"You could try using my name."

"Whatever. Fine. Jirou." He rolled his eyes and shoved the rumpled paper at her face. "...Redo number three. It's wrong."

He stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and stalked toward the door.

Midoriya called out after him. "Kacchan, where are you going?"

Shoto thought a better question would be when he'd had the chance to examine Jirou's homework closely enough to evaluate her mathematics. Bakugou was smart, but his ass wasn't that smart. Jirou was going to have to rewrite every problem unless she wanted to turn in something Bakugou's butt had touched. But, whatever. It wasn't Shoto’s business.

"Where do you think, shitty Deku? The gym. I'm not gonna end up like some dumb loser trash who can't even take on a threat like that."

Midoriya stood, face lighting up despite the insults. "I'll come too!"

"Stay out of my way!"

They bickered out the door. It served as some kind of signal for the rest of them to disperse and, slowly, they did, regrouping into homework huddles, heading upstairs to bedrooms, or trailing after Bakugou and Midoriya to the gym, Kirishima leading the way.

For his part, Shoto finally took a seat on the nearest couch and squashed a seed of jealousy. He wished throwing himself into training could help him forget his worries. Instead, he refocused on the television.

The live stream took up the whole screen again, but this time a red band of ticker tape text was scrolling underneath and the footage was from ground height. It showed half a dozen medical professionals crowding an odd purple shape oozing viscous liquids of red and white. It took Shoto a moment to realize it was Mt. Lady's bitten hand.

Yaoyorozu twisted her own hands in concern. "Do you think she'll be alright? She's still in that form and her wound, it's..."

"Poisoned," Asui croaked. "I wondered before, since she looked so ill. I think the nomu was venomous. If she shrinks now, she might die."

She said it with her usual bluntness. Only after it was out of her mouth did she wince like she wanted to take it back. "She'll be alright, though, I think. As long as she doesn't shrink."

Venomous nomu... God, if something like that had gotten loose... if they hadn't defeated it...

Shoto stared at the television for a long time, watching Mt. Lady receive treatment.

Another nomu. Another scar.

Aizawa-sensei had been right when he'd warned there might be more.

...Whatever.

Shoto didn't want to think about that.

He pulled out his phone, brought up the twitter app, and hit the magnifying glass. His hashtag hadn't received much action lately, but maybe the day's events would serve as a reminder. Shoto could use a distraction.

Except #fantheflames had dropped out of his search results, and there was a new hashtag Shoto had never seen before at the top of what was trending. Shoto tapped it and glared down at a statement that, even as he watched, was raking in retweets and favorites by the hundreds.

— GET GOT BY #MTWOODSHOT YOU NOMU SONS OF BITCHES

There was another, just as popular, a little farther down. Somehow they'd already managed to attach a video of Mt. Lady's earth shattering punch. It played over and over on a loop illustrating the caption:

— fucking OBLITERATED #mtwoodshot

...It was one thing to not want his dad to have to fight another nomu. It was another to imply anyone else could do it better.

Well. Of course they could. Shoto wouldn't argue with that. The team tonight had done fine in the scheme of things.

Eventually.

Just, if there were a third one out there, Endeavor was the obvious choice to tackle it. Since no hero seemed capable of handling a nomu alone, he'd have call on Hawks. He was the only person who'd ever proved they had the maneuverability and wits to team up with Endeavor as more than a sidekick. Sure, Hawks might get dad all riled up, but the Wing Hero had still survived working with him – twice. That was really saying something. It was common sense then that they'd be the best. At fighting nomu. Or any threat. Strategically speaking. It wasn't like this meant war or anything. It wasn't even the burn of rivalry or whatever. Shoto didn't care about that other hashtag.

Really.

He'd already learned this – the internet moved on.

He got to his feet, sparing the television one last, lingering glance. A bandage had somehow been wound around Mt. Lady's palm and a diminutive woman wielding a snickers like a sword was poking younger healers out of the way. Nothing to worry about there then. Guilt free, Shoto collected his things. He shoved the papers he'd left scattered on the table into his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.

He took the steps up to his room two at a time.

He had work to do and it wasn't for class. He was sure he had some dumb photos of Endeavor lying around somewhere that wouldn't implicate him. He'd post those up online. He'd had a taste of his own medicine getting his face splashed around twitter and talked about, but, Shoto decided, it wasn't half as bad as getting called five peepee man by a bunch of kids, and that had only been mildly annoying at best.

He dumped his backpack by the door and sunk into the cushion of the chair at his low-built desk.

It was different when it came to the pros, anyway. When it came to Endeavor. He deserved everything he got and Shoto deserved to laugh at him getting forced to cooperate with a guy who drove him up the wall unless they were actively fighting crime. As he turned his laptop on, Shoto figured it'd be in everyone's best interest if he killed two birds with one stone this way. He wouldn't even consider this if he thought it'd make Japan any less safe.

So – he'd let this serve as an official notice.

He hadn't stopped watching.

Not yet.

It turned out Shoto had a thing or two to learn about throwing stones.

Getting two targets with just one was harder than he'd expected because, he found, he wasn't the only one concerned with team ups. Overnight it became not just the talk of U.A, not just the talk of the town, but the talk of the whole country. And it wasn't just talk – it was an obsession. The word dominated every conversation. Shoto heard it whispered in the corners of class, in the hallways, in the roar of the lunchroom, in the dorms: team, team, team. If the nomu threat could return at any moment, didn't all the pro heroes have to be prepared? They couldn't just be strong on their own. They had to have someone they trusted always at their six. The topic churned through the headlines too, serving up a constant stream of new content, new perspectives, and new things to worry about.

Are We Safe?

What You Need to Know about Nomu

How Many More Are Out There?

The End of Lone Wolf Heroics

YAP! News had illustrated that last article with a close up of Rabbit Hero Miruko. They'd put her statement from the Billboard Rankings underneath it.

"Joining a team is for weaklings!"

The piece wasn't just about her, though, but heroes like her, of which she was the most prominent example. Still, a good chunk of the speculation was about if she'd condescend to double up with anyone and who it would be if she did. Shoto didn't like what the editorial had to say. He didn't like it at all. Because Miruko was from Kyushu. She patrolled often in Fukuoka. And she'd already gone on record praising the author's choice for speaking his mind.

This stupid column wanted her to team up with Hawks.

Shoto had been prepared to wax nostalgic so no one would forget about who else had brought down one of the League of Villains' beasts with no casualties unless infrastructure counted. He hadn't been prepared to ward off a whole other contender threatening to shake up the status quo.

Honestly, it was preposterous. Just because they operated in the same area and got along alright – maybe – it didn't mean Hawks and Miruko would make a good team. They didn't even have as much going for them as other potential partnerships with a proven track record. Shoto had moogle'd it. They'd never fought side-by-side even though their agencies were quite close. Sure, he and Endeavor would have to overcome some kind of distance logistics being based in different cities, but they'd done it successfully enough already.

Why couldn't everyone see that?

Why, Shoto wondered, peeking at twitter under his desk while Ectoplasm lectured at the chalkboard, was everyone posting all these screenshots of a grey cartoon rabbit and a duck? Shoto really hadn't wanted to do this, but, struggling to ignore Yaoyorozu's palpable disappointment at fiddling with his phone during lessons, he gave in. He swiped into his profile, hit the edit button, and typed the phrase 'retweets are not endorsements' into his bio. Only then did he slide his phone into his desk and mouth an apology his neighbor's way.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

Really?

Fine.

He did still owe her a lot for crushing her hand. This alone wouldn't even make up for it.

When Ectoplasm turned around, Shoto volunteered to solve the equation he'd painstakingly mapped out. He got it right, but it was a near thing.

It'd be the last question he got correct in class or on his homework for a while.

That Friday, the Japanese Hero Association finally got involved. They issued a statement designed to give Shoto insomnia. To defend against the threat of nomu possessing multiple quirks, the JHA henceforth officially recommended all active-duty pro heroes pick a partner. They claimed it wasn't mandatory, but the paycheck bump and offer to pair up heroes who couldn't manage to form at least a duo on their own told a different story.

Suddenly, the flourishing #birdandbunny hashtag seemed a real threat. #kyushuconnection was even worse. If it went through... If Hawks were lassoed into handling Miruko... who would end up handling dad? Endeavor didn't have a great history of playing well with others, but he would if he had to. And oh, this time, he'd have to. If the new number one didn't fall into line with this – didn't set the example – no one else would want to either.

Shoto almost couldn't deal with the rampant speculation that ignited.

On Tuesday, he abandoned the cafeteria.

He liked Midoriya, really, he did. The guy was basically the first friend Shoto had ever had. That didn't mean he wanted to sit there and listen to him give a rundown of how every single hero would stack up fighting back-to-back with Endeavor. It wasn't his fault. Midoriya was just doing what Midoriya did: taking the time to give a solid, well-argued answer to anyone throwing a name his way. Shoto had even contemplated for a hot second offering up Hawks for analysis, but the reality of what that'd entail had left him cold. Everyone might remember whose son and intern he was and think he had access to anything other than dad's fan mail.

Much better to escape to his desk instead.

Shoto opened the classroom door to a snort of laughter. Jirou was here, then, with Kaminari. Only he could get her to lose it like that. Shoto got one step inside—

"No, I'm serious! Endeavor's a fire hero. Wash is a water hero. They'd be perfect for each other!"

—pivoted and walked right back out.

Who needed to eat anyway? If this was what Shoto was up against – and there would be hell to pay if Endeavor got stuck with a walking, talking washing machine when Hawks was right there – he couldn't afford wasting his time.

He spent the rest of lunch bent over his phone in an empty stairwell, retweeting content from the enemy and offering what rebuttals he could. It was hard coming up with arguments that weren't just one word denials. For every tweet he dealt with, two more seemed to spring up in its place. Taking them on one by one clearly wasn't effective, but what else could he do? He couldn’t stoke the fire he wanted to ignite without something new and he didn't have that – not with both Endeavor and Hawks in it. Neither of them were being obliging either, no matter how many times Shoto refreshed their social media accounts.

A lot of heroes had been doing that lately – going on an unannounced hiatus to hide from the press of questions. Shoto assumed it was because no one wanted their own version of Ryukyu posting a photograph of a flowing purple and white hanfu and having to fend off the whole internet demanding to know if she were relocating to China to avoid teaming up with anyone. She wasn't, according to Uraraka and Asui. They'd both had a lot to say about the incident in remedial lessons the other day. Shoto wouldn't have even known about it otherwise, as preoccupied as he'd been at the time – and still was – with his own endeavors.

...Damn it.

It really was bad if he was thinking that word in any other context. Shoto set his phone down on the step beside him and rubbed at his mismatched eyes. God, he was so tired. It was all that shitty old man's fault. Shoto honestly didn't care what happened to him. He was just stressed out. That's why he kept waking up drenched in sweat, blinking away images of what could've been if the Fukuoka nomu had got in the punch it had wanted to when dad was on the ground. If it had—

Shoto jumped as the chime of the bell rang and echoed up and down the concrete stairwell.

Lunch was over.

He'd accomplished pretty much nothing.

He sighed, stuffed one onigiri in his mouth, and escorted himself back to class.

Chapter Text

Dark and early at not yet six the next morning found Shoto wedged into the corner of a couch in the common room with a blanket draped around his shoulders. He'd somehow managed to get a cup of tea into his hand, but he couldn't remember how it'd got there. He'd left his room in a hurry, futon a mess, and the red side of his hair sticking up in unruly spikes he'd never thank his father for. He hadn't wanted to risk falling asleep again and falling back into his stupid subconscious.

It seemed to have a thing for nomu-related dismemberment lately.

Shoto didn't even know if limbs tourniqueted against poison could actually fall off.

Maybe he'd stop by the Lifestyle Guidance Counselor's office before homeroom, if only to make off with some stress reduction pamphlets. Or mindfulness? He'd heard howls about that recently. He'd have to sneak in, though. Hound Dog was a licensed therapy dog on top of a being a licensed pro hero, but it was somehow less than relaxing getting snarled at to pet his head.

On the other hand, Shoto decided, brandishing the remote control and pressing the ON button, he could take the less dangerous route and simply watch TV instead. He just needed something different, that was all. Something colorful. Something brainless.

"—speculation about you fighting alongside Wing Hero Hawks?"

Something like Rabbit Hero Miruko dressed like she'd walked straight off a runway despite it being godawful o'clock and chatting it up with a news anchor just as coifed to perfection as she was.

Shoto dropped his teacup.

The liquid splashed down the front of his blanket and started to seep through to his pajama bottoms, but he hardly felt it. He slid off the sofa to sit in front of the television, gazing up at the screen as if in a trance.

Was this real? Was he still dreaming? Sure, heroes kept odd hours, but was the number five hero seriously, right now, on a before-breakfast morning show? When 95% of all other heroes weren't even showing their faces on the internet?

Miruko wasn't just there, she was laughing: head thrown back, long ears flopping down, hand at her heart, and one foot thumping a rhythm into the lifeless beige carpet of the studio. It took several agonizing seconds for her to rein it in.

C'mon, Shoto thought as the secret light of hope began to engulf his whole chest. Sink it. Sink #birdandbunny. Please.

With one last whooping gasp, Miruko put him out of his misery.

"What?! That guy? Seriously?" She paused to wipe a tear from one eye and Shoto rocked to his feet to jab a finger at the television in victory. He knew it! He'd known it all along! That team up was so stupid even a rabbit could see it!

But then one of those rabbit ears twitched back to alertness and Shoto held his breath.

"Sure, kid's got a mouth on him. I can admire that," Miruko conceded before wrinkling her nose. "But can he even jump?"

Shoto blinked in unified confusion with the news anchor as she clenched her interview cards tighter. "Well..."

Miruko didn't let her get in an evaluation of Hawks' leg strength before continuing her shut down. "I don't know what everyone's trying to pull out of their hats with that one, to be honest, but I'm not interested. I stand by what I said at the rankings. The only pair up I'm interested in is a pair of heels planted up in a villain where the sun don't shine!"

She thrust both oversized feet out in front of her. Even without standing, Shoto thought the height of her pumps was staggering enough to be a wicked threat.

"Hey, you hear that, all you nomu out there?! You won't be catching me on the hop! You want a taste of these kicks? I'll stomp you right through into next week!"

To punctuate her warning, she slammed her shoes to the floor, slapping her thighs for emphasis. The footage shook. The news anchor grabbed the armrests of her chair.

"Ah, Miruko-san! That's a little—!"

Miruko guffawed in lieu of an apology as the anchor unclawed the fabric of her seat and patted at her updo to make sure no strands had fallen out of place.

"...Emphatic," she finally said. "So. No teaming up for Miruko: the Pro Hop Hero. You plan to go it entirely alone, then?"

She'd just said that, but Shoto could appreciate taking the time to confirm it again, for the record. It'd give him more to shove in everyone's faces on twitter later. It didn't seem like Miruko minded anyway.

"On that you can bet your bun, hon! Well, unless I forced to. But even then," she turned to smirk right into the camera, so direct Shoto felt like he'd entered a sudden staring contest, "I'd definitely want someone with a lot of firepower."

Firepower...?

That was just what Uraraka had said last Sunday when she was talking about—

"Endeavor? You're saying you'd team up with—?"

A phone rang.

Miruko and the news anchor looked at each other.

It rang again.

"...That's me," said Miruko.

She dragged her phone out of her front jeans pocket, glanced at the screen, and grinned wide, tongue peeking through her teeth.

"I am so sorry," she said, awfully triumphant for an offer of remorse. "I've gotta take this. But hey! Don't show off how to make that sesame carrot salad before I get back!"

She didn't wait for an answer, simply stood from her seat, and raised the phone to a fuzzy, white ear. As she walked off screen, Shoto heard her cackling.

He hit the OFF switch on the remote. The silence descended on him like cloying hands.

That could've also been the damp, clinging fabric of his soaked pajamas which he was finally noticing. Shoto grimaced. He... he needed to change. Not just clothes, either, but strategies. Miruko had simultaneously killed the opposition to his one true pair up and then proposed more. There would be a small window, though. A power vacuum of an opportunity. Shoto would seize it. He'd do it now!

He tightened his grip on his blanket cape and marched straight to the door leading upstairs. It swung open before he could grab the doorknob. There was no one there. Hagakure—? But no. Someone coughed and Shoto looked down to see Mineta Minoru looking not up at him, but just below his waist.

"Well, well, well," Mineta leered. "I never would've expected it of you, Todoroki."

What? That he'd accidentally splash tea on his lap? He wasn't infallible. Everyone should know that by now. He pushed past Mineta without dignifying him with a response.

"Did you at least clean up after yourself?" Mineta said after him.

Shoto thought of the teacup he'd abandoned to wherever it had rolled away, but he didn't stop his ascent, slow down, or even look back. "No."

He'd already forgotten about the run-in by the time he got back to his room. He tossed the blanket into his dirty laundry basket then did the same with his wet clothes, swapping them out for dry things. Then he was free to boot up his computer.

Out of reflex, he navigated to twitter first. There wasn't much new on his timeline, but that was because he'd only risked following the Japanese Hero Association. It was a hassle manually finding everything he retweeted, but Shoto hadn't joined twitter to make friends. He had those irl already, somehow. No, this whole project was to provide a service. Besides, like hell he'd give Endeavor another follower even if only his sidekicks accessed that account.

He did a cursory scroll down the page anyway, but it was still the same as it had been last night. The JHA posted a shout out every time heroes registered their new teams, but there hadn't been any announcements yet today. It wasn't even six in the morning, though. No one decent should be awake right now. It'd be an exercise in futility to check Hawks' profile since he obviously—

Had tweeted.

Just a few minutes ago.

It's Hawks!
@hawksymoxie: Who jumps when they can fly???

...!

Shoto couldn't believe his luck. Hawks had been up and he'd been watching Miruko too! There was no other explanation for a tweet like that. Now the dumbass team up Shoto hated was dead in the water and both sides had pulled the trigger! He clicked into Hawks' tweet. What was the mood of the news? He had to know. There were only a few replies so far, but he hoped they were celebratory.

— @takahi_420: @hawksymoxie: dude don't u like,, jump OFF buildings tho??? Has mirko ever?

Shoto felt an abrupt and acute sense of camaraderie with takahi_420. 'What the fuck' matched his own thoughts exactly. He hadn't even expected to see Miruko in the mentions. Wasn't she supposed to be on the phone? Her urgent call must've ended quick. Why she'd decided to check Hawks' twitter immediately after or take the time to type out whatever that was before going back on air was anyone's guess.

Shoto skimmed over the colorful tweet again, trying to pick out the meaning Hawks seemed to have found so easy to interpret. He'd never claim to be fluent in emoji, but some of the little pictures looked like letters. So, she was spelling out words – halfway at least. It didn't take a genius to figure out what with the directions, skyscrapers, and the eye rolling, Miruko was annoyed at the implication she'd never leapt off a building before. Coupled with Hawks' reply, it was a pretty solid defense against the possibility of them partnering up.

Excellent.

Shoto took a second to shoot off his own quick tweet.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: Jumping & flying: confirmed incompatible

It wouldn't be enough to push his other agenda on its own, though. Shoto would need something even more convincing. Something impenetrable. Something more analytical than 'Hawks and Endeavor are good together' which was all it should've taken in Shoto's opinion, even if he could acknowledge only the shippers would've gotten off on that.

Dammit.

Why hadn't he stuck around the cafeteria yesterday, sucked it up, and asked Midoriya for a full rundown of a Hawks and Endeavor team up? So what if people would've peppered him with questions? That didn't mean he had to answer. They would've just been left thinking about it or maybe a rumor would spread. Rumors were just like getting a hashtag trending. Once it got going, the momentum would make it true, and that was what he had to do now – right now! – without the benefit of any of Midoriya's words.

Shoto hovered his mouse over the tweet field and clicked it. He rested his fingers over his keyboard. He knew how to do this. It should be easy. The text cursor blinked at him. A minute passed, then two. Shoto's gaze slid from the screen to his potted bamboo in the corner. It wasn't real, but it still calmed him down, the repeating pattern of stem and node and stem. He shook himself when he found he was counting leaves. Ten minutes had gone by and the blank box on twitter remained empty.

What's happening? Fuck all.

Actually, that was a lie.

The side panel of Japan trends had updated and #mtwoodshot had moved up two spaces. Shoto felt a rage fill him, one that no amount of artificial horticulture could quench. Screw this. And screw trying to make a convincing case about anything related to Endeavor on his own! He shouldn't even have to be thinking about him this much! He'd get someone else to do it!

He opened a new tab and went hunting.

Newspapers weren't much help, too unwilling to engage in unfounded guess work, and Shoto didn't trust think pieces anymore. They were all written by weird old people too disconnected from the reality of the hero world.

The keyboard clattered as he battered in various search terms. No good, nothing, he really didn't care about premium quality rubber washers named the same thing as his dad. Whatever some historical American pro skateboarder had been up to On This Day mattered even less. Shoto refined his keywords again and at last got something relevant. He opened the link in a third tab, switched to it, and found himself smack dab in the middle of forum fight.

Hawks got the "killing blow." He'll be number one by the next hero rankings, mark my words.

Yeah, he did a lot more of the work in that fight. Statistically, most of the credit should be his. He's more popular too and doesn't look like his head got put through a meat grinder lol

Are you on something? Hawks only took the nomu down because Endeavor made an opening for him.

>implying Endeavor wouldn't be dead without Hawks
We don’t need Endeavor. He's a bogus number one.

lmao two can play at that
>implying Hawks could survive fighting off a nomu alone let alone without incuring a single casualty

Why are you even posting in this thread if you hate Endeavor so much???

Good question.

Except Shoto already knew the answer.

He skipped through the next few pages, hardly reading the text as the argument went back and forth. He wasn't a stranger to Endeavor haters, not by a long shot. They never knew how to shut up. They weren't usually so cavalier about him kicking the bucket, though. The idea that Hawks could overtake dad's spot wasn't something he'd seen before either.

Shoto took a deep breath and forced himself to ease up on his mouse. He'd never live it down if anyone found out he'd destroyed it, especially not over something like this. He gave the page one last scroll, on the brink of backbuttoning out of the tab entirely, then had to keep scrolling because the response he'd landed on didn't stop.

Hawks and Endeavor defeated the nomu as a team. Neither of them could've done it alone. The nomu was faster and stronger than Endeavor. That's why he got injured. Without Hawks, that would be it. Hawks was faster than the nomu, but he wasn't stronger. His feathers did pretty much no damage and the nomu just shook them off. The nomu probably could've shaken Hawks off too, eventually. His endurance is good, but he's built for speed and he can't fly forever. He'd get tired after a while, but the nomu probably could've just kept going. It hardly even slowed down even when a wall fell on it. So evasion by itself couldn't work. But Hawks gave Endeavor enough time to recover so he could distract it with that Prominence Burn. Maybe he could've stopped it with just fire, but not under the circumstances as they were, since Endeavor would be too slow to immobilize it AND get it with something powerful enough to disable its regeneration. Plus, he doesn't carry weapons and it seems like they needed to take out the brain, so he would've had to melt it??? But its regeneration was good enough to heal from beheading, so would Endeavor have had enough heat to hit it with at that point? No, because as it happened, he was totally out of it after just blinding it. Someone else had to finish the fight. But then, why didn't Hawks contain it if all it took was a feather blade in the head?? He could've manipulated one to do that at any time... except he didn't. So he couldn't have known to do that until Endeavor shouted at him at the end. He was the one who figured that out. Without that information, without Endeavor, the nomu would've recovered and then they'd still have to keep fighting and who knows what would've happened. So you see, the only way was together. Even against a high level threat that came out of nowhere like that, even without ever having paired up before, they did it! No one hero could have ever done or done it alone! Except All Might.

Shoto stared at the giant paragraph open-mouthed.

He'd found it.

Everything he wanted to say and someone else had done it for him.

It was rambly and went on too long maybe, and Shoto would've replaced the questions with statements, but that was a small gripe when he'd just stumbled on something so perfect right when he was losing hope.

He just had to check if it was as convincing to the rest of the forum.

Well, guys, this is it. Everyone else go home, MightyBoy's done it again. +1000 to everything you've just said, but also –∞ because we've told you a million times to stop brining All Might into discussions not about him. You know it just devolves into power level wank.

Sorry, sorry! (He could though)

Wait a second...

MightyBoy?

Shoto glanced at the user's avatar. It was a close up of All Might making an ugly face with his eyes shut tight and grin in place, but all his features looked like they'd been molded out of hard wax by an amateur sculptor. Shoto's lips twitched. He was pretty sure he'd seen someone mimic that look once or twice before. Now he thought about it, there was a certain mumbly quality to MightyBoy's post. Shoto couldn't prove it and there was no way in hell he'd actually ask for confirmation, but it seemed like he'd be getting the benefit of a patented Midoriya Analysis after all.

It was Shoto's duty, then, to do Midoriya a favor. Only a few people at – he double-checked the site's URL – My Hero List were complimenting him on his rundown. The rest had lived up to the prediction of taking the bait and were spitting fire all down the thread about All Might's chances against a nomu. Too bad he'd already bested one and their opinions were irrelevant.

Shoto scrolled back to the original response and opened up Snipping Tool to cut out and save the whole, glorious paragraph.

He'd share it on twitter where he could get people to really appreciate it.

But how to frame it?

Shoto didn't have anything else to add, he just needed a good rallying point to go with it. #fantheflames was his hashtag, but would it do the job? Shoto suspected the shippers could be a powerful force, but they'd already dropped the ball. If they still cared, they wouldn't have let the usage dwindle so low it'd damped the fire.

...He'd craft something new then, something just for this, to serve its purpose then go away. Maybe if he put "teamup" in the tag. Once dad and Hawks' got together, they wouldn't need to team up anymore, so everyone would stop using it. It was just basic logic. As for the other part... Edgeshot, Kamui Woods, and Mt. Lady's had bits from all their names smashed together. Shoto would do that too.

Let's see...

#endhawksteamup?

He tested it out in the tweet field, but shook his head almost before he'd finished typing. That just sounded like he were arguing for Hawks to go solo, didn't it? Shoto highlighted the text and backspaced it out of existence. Better to flip it. Endeavor would be furious not to receive top billing in his own team up name. Plus, #mtwoodshot had already set the precedent by listing their members in reverse ranking order. Shoto was honor bound to do the same. It would be a little long, but Shoto would make it work along with everyone else.

Decided, he finished up his post, attached his snipping, and sent it out.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: Make it work #hawksdeavorteamup https://bit.ly/2UyGZJo

Shoto sat back in his chair, satisfied, and admired the tweet sitting now so neatly at the top of his timeline. The stress seemed to seep out of him too, replaced with the weariness of the early hour and the chunk of rest he'd missed this morning. Maybe now this was done, his sleep schedule would stop resembling swiss cheese. He could test it even now. He had enough time for a quick nap before he had to get ready for the day's classes.

He shut down his laptop and slid it away into one of the front drawers of his desk. He stretched and gratefully crawled back into the burrito of blankets on his futon, still sprawled out on the tatami. He hit something hard as he smoothed down his quilts with his left hand, pumping in the heat to make up for the tea-damp blanket he'd have to do without. He reached under the covers and came back with his phone.

He already had a notif.

— ...i thought this was obvious? i swear they were already officialized. did i fall into a parallel world or?

Not the first reaction Shoto had been expecting. Was that why nobody had been jumping to endorse Hawks pairing up with dad? Because everyone thought it'd already happened? ...That actually made him feel a bit more charitable to the general public, even if they should've been keeping up with the news.

He yawned, trying to keep away the weary warmth overtaking him long enough to type up a response.

Just Watching
@no1tryhard: @hooen112 No. They're not official. #fantheflames stopped trending a while ago. Retweet and support the #hawksdeavorteamup.

Good! Good. They should do that. Except it wasn't both hashtags, it was just one hashtag. Just one new hashtag. The other wasn't any good anymore. He had to let them know before he slept on it... Shoto tapped at the reply button, missed it, tapped again, missed again, and his phone slipped from his hand as he drifted into darkness.

There were bees in his chest.

Shoto threw up a wall of ice to block his father burning them, burning him, but instead of frozen spikes flying out at his command, it was a rubber disc with a hole punched in the center. It sailed through the air, expanding as it went over Endeavor's head and constricted, lassoing his arms to his side as he thrashed. Hawks shook his head at Shoto as he kicked by on his skateboard. His red wings flapped and Yoarashi's Whirlwind came out, but instead of blowing the bees away, the buzzing only got more insistent, vibrating an angry tattoo into Shoto's breast bone until he flailed up out of a sea of blankets and his phone slipped down over his ribs.

He picked it up and dismissed his alarm.

Ugh.

He had to remember not to go back to bed after he’d woken up in the morning if he didn't want weird dreams. Better these, though, than nightmares. Why had he even—?

Shoto's hand clenched around his phone and he tore through the pass code to get into it. What were they saying, was his hashtag trending yet, it—

Shoto remembered all at once the @ reply he'd fallen asleep over.

He'd never corrected that person about the hashtags. It would be too late now. They wouldn't be the only tweeting, though, surely. If they tried to push #fantheflames, those tweets would just be lost to the ether, he guessed. As long as they were using the other one and that one caught fire, it would be okay.

He took a deep breath, looked down, and it all gushed out again at the number hanging over the bell of his mentions. It wasn't enough to be trending yet, but it was a good start.

Time to face the music.

The first thing Shoto saw was a quote retweet.

— guys let's get this going! everyone retweet and tag @HeroAssociation_JP and let them know what we want! #hawksdeavorteamup

It was perfect. Better yet, whoever this was must've been someone connected since they'd racked up a substantial number of likes too. Shoto hadn't even thought to lay siege to the Hero Association by clogging up their mentions. A solid plan. If anyone could force an issue, it'd be them. Then Shoto glanced through the rest of his feed – at the same repeated disbelief, the countless claims of how they'd all been living under a mass hallucination, the promises that they would make it work, just watch them!

Big words, but could they live up to it?

Shoto switched into the hashtag itself to see the latest new tweets and decided maybe he could forgive the internet.

— Hey @HeroAssociation_JP name a more iconic duo than the #hawksdeavorteamup. I'll wait.

— honestly #hawksdeavorteamup is the most ambitious crossover event in history @HeroAssociation_JP

— FUND IT @HeroAssociation_JP #hawksdeavorteamup

— @hooen112: yo #mtwoodshot: i'm really happy for you, imma let you finish, but #hawksdeavorteamup is gonna be the best team up of all time... OF ALL TIME! #fantheflames

Oh.

Shoto felt his heart jump as he caught sight of the familiar name.

Hooen112 had kept their word.

They'd used both hashtags after all. More than that, they'd gone on the offensive. Shoto hadn't thought it would work, just flat out stating the reality of things so simply. Then again, if he'd known this was the kind of phrasing it would take, it was probably for the best someone else had handled it. He knew his own limitations. Shoto could accept he simply didn't have the experience necessary for a high level tweet like this one.

Instead, he'd take support.

Shoto hesitated, one finger over the retweet button. If he did this, it'd be another number for #mtwoodshot. He was happy for them and he would let them finish in first place – as soon as #hawksdeavorteamup had done its job – but negative attention was still attention. Although, if Shoto changed his mind... if it turned out #fantheflames was still viable after all... It wasn't like he were in a position to eschew free real estate. Why not get two hashtags in the top ten #fantheflames had trended before – it'd trended for days. Nothing bad had happened. Only good things. Only Endeavor getting more positive press than ever, more fan mail than ever, more smiles than he'd probably ever seen in the whole rest of his stupid life. All of which were hard to handle in their own ways, but if Shoto got to control this, if even just a little...

It'd be worth the sacrifice. That's what being a hero was all about anyway.

Shoto had already weathered getting promoted by All Might. What was the worst that could happen after that? All dad had done when All Might retired was throw a tantrum then work harder. If #fantheflames ever even registered on his radar, it'd probably just fuel him to get better again, as if he could punch his way away from the prank of a fictional romance. Then, if another nomu did attack, dad would—

Retweet pressed and confirmed.

The meticulous dull tapping of fingertip on glass blocked those thoughts quite nicely.

When Shoto ran the gamut of as many mentions of #hawksdeavorteamup as he could handle, he switched to #fantheflames. Not as many there, but enough to keep his doubts at bay for several long minutes until, between one tweet and the next, it hit Shoto that he was supposed to be getting ready for school.

He lunged out of his futon toward his chair and shoved his phone onto the seat where it'd be safe. He grabbed up as much bedding as possible and stuffed it onto its shelf in the closet without folding anything. He punched the blankets in as they threatened to burst out and forced the doors closed. He kicked his pillow out of the way as he darted across to his wardrobe for a fresh uniform. He struggled into it, draped the tie around his neck and his backpack over one shoulder, and bolted out the door.

Stairs, elevator, stairs...?

Elevator was faster.

He lived on the fifth floor and a little frantic exercise wouldn't do him any good pressed for time like this. He did up his tie while the lift descended, cinching it closed – tight, ack, too tight! – just as the doors opened. He tugged at it, power walking to the communal bathrooms. He couldn't hear anything from the common room and when he slipped through the door it was abandoned in here too, which, thank god.

Shoto stared at his reflection in the mirror with horror.

His hair.

His fucking, traitorous hair.

The white side – mom's side – was fine. The red side – that damned, fucking bastard's side – was still sticking straight up. He knew it was a bit wild when he'd woken up the first time this morning, it did that sometimes, but he hadn't thought it was this egregious.

Shoto ran a hand over it, smoothing the locks down. That usually solved it.

They sprang back up.

He smoothed them down again.

They sprang back up.

Cursing, Shoto reached for his comb. He ran it all through his hair, the tines digging into his scalp. It didn't make one lick of difference. Desperate now, he turned the faucet, gathered a puddle of water in his palm, and brought it up to slick back the red. It stayed, finally, but even as Shoto began brushing his teeth at lightning speed, he could tell the damp wouldn't be enough. The spikes were already defying gravity and dammit, he didn’t have time to deal with this… Did he? Have time? He patted at his pockets then brought a fist to his forehead in frustration.

He'd left his phone up in his room.

There'd be no checking the clock now and no checking twitter in between classes today, either.

He finished up with his toothbrush, scrubbed his face, and gave the crimson peaks in the mirror a last baleful glare. Maybe it was just because his body temperature ran warmer on that side they'd bounced back so fast. Besides some undeserved sense of karmic retribution, it was the only explanation.

Shoto slammed his way out of the bathroom and stalked into the common room. A quick sweeping glance told him he was still alone.

"Todoroki-kun!"

Or nearly.

He whirled, throwing out his right hand, ice frosting over his fingers, and let it fall listless to his side when he spotted cuffed sleeves waving at him.

Hagakure – for real this time.

"Whoa, whoa!" She laughed. "It's just me, Todoroki-kun! I didn't mean to scare you."

She really didn't sound sorry, but that was okay because she hadn't frightened him. Just... concerned him. This was the third time this school year he'd accidentally succeeded in not freezing her solid. "I was just surprised."

"Uh-huh. Suuure."

"Really."

"I know! Todoroki-kun's too cool to be scared!" She laughed again and turned away, back to the dining area counter. Her skirt swayed as the sleeve of her blazer stretched up high, straining toward one of the shelves. "Hey, anyway, you're running late! Usually, it's just me."

That was true. She'd gotten in trouble for it more than once when she'd failed to beat Aizawa-sensei to homeroom. Shoto watched her for a second as she continued her futile quest to grab a plastic container stored far out of her reach. He sighed. He could be a good student and leave her to her fate and slip into school well before the bell and well before Iida would scold him, or he could be a good classmate.

There wasn't any question which he'd choose anymore.

Hagakure spun when he was right behind her and let out a muffled sound. Shoto ignored it and plucked down the dish she wanted, lifting it wide so he wouldn't bang her in the head with it. He couldn't tell where exactly he was supposed to aim to give it to her, so he just held it to chest height.

"Here," he said, staring at the collar of her shirt and hoping he was doing this right.

"That's," Hagakure replied, her voice going high as a squeaky mouse, "wow! Thanks, Todoroki-kun! I was just gonna get a chair, but your way was better!"

Shoto shrugged off the gratitude. "I'm just taller than you."

He gestured with the bit of Tupperware and finally it was pulled gently from his grasp. The lid was pried off, seeming to float in the air, and Shoto caught a glimpse of golden squares within. They looked like little cakes made of glazed oats. A brown sugar cinnamon-spiced apple scent wafted up. So, this was her breakfast. Since he was so far behind schedule, Shoto wouldn't get the chance to reheat some frozen rice for himself, let alone anything to go on top of it.

Nothing for it, though. That was just the way the cookie crumbled when you ate up your time running a mental cost-benefit analysis on how your dad might react to various hashtags. Shoto hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder and stepped back only to pause when he felt a touch on his arm.

"Wait, Todoroki-kun," said Hagakure, one of her breakfast bars dancing in the air toward him. "Do you want one? Just! Just as thanks for helping me out!"

Shoto shook his head. "I'm okay."

His stomach chose that second to growl in protest at his protest. Before Shoto could claim that was a fluke, a square was pressed into his hand and oh, god, it was sticky.

"No, it's fine, I already—" brushed my teeth, he didn't get to insist as thin, invisible fingers wrapped around his wrist, staying his attempt to give it back by shoving the snack at his face. He opened his mouth on reflex and, well – it was food. Sugary sweet, bitterly disgusting food against the leftover clean mint of his toothpaste, and chewy enough to undo whatever protection that morning ritual had afforded him.

Sorry, Iida...

"What is this?" he managed after swallowing the force-fed bite with difficulty. Hagakure giggled as she popped the lid back on her container and slid it onto a shelf at a height she could easily reach.

"Caramel apple breakfast bar! 'Cause we gotta eat on the go, and we should go, go, go or we won't make it!"

A chunk of Hagakure's hovering to-go meal vanished as she bustled around him. Shoto shook off the oddness of the imagery and paced after her.

"Say, Todoroki-kun," she ventured, right when his mouth was full again. "I noticed, uh, it's different today... your hair—"

She stopped there, to Shoto's immense relief.

Until he saw why.

It was the couches.

They'd been cordoned off with white. Tape zigzagged down, around, and across the seat cushions, preventing anyone from getting close, let alone sitting. It was like they'd suddenly wandered into the ghost of a crime scene. Shoto passed Hagakure to get a better look and saw 'DO NOT REMOVE!!' written thickly in black block kanji in strategically visible locations.

"Maybe Sero-kun had an accident?"

It seemed deliberate to Shoto, but since he couldn't guess at the purpose, he just nodded. He was sure they'd hear all about it after first period English... if they ever actually got to class.

No more delays!

He turned his back on the ivory-webbed sofas and led the way out the door, out onto the grounds, and into the main school building, accompanied, in between bites, by Hagakure's bubbly chit chat which was blessedly devoid of all references to his misbehaving hair. She only fell silent when they entered the corridor where class A was located and locked eyes with Aizawa-sensei inching along the base of the wall in his usual yellow cocoon.

"Hagakure," their teacher said, intimidation thick on his tongue. His dark bangs frizzed up and out of his tired eyes. Shoto would've sworn he saw them gleam red – if only for an instant. The sound of a zipper slowly unfurling seemed to echo in the emptiness of the hallway before two arms were birthed from the insides of Aizawa-sensei's sleeping bag. He smacked his palms on the linoleum and began dragging himself toward them moving... marginally faster than he'd been going before.

"If I catch you, this will be the last time."

If he'd bothered to actually stand up, Shoto might've almost believed him. As it was, they were heroes in training. Sprinting toward danger would one day be their bread and butter or caramel apple breakfast bar, although Shoto hoped his would be zaru soba flavored.

"We can make it," Shoto told Hagakure. The door was equidistant from them and Aizawa-sensei, but he wasn't exactly pulling a Hawks with the speed over there.

They ran for it.

It wasn't even a contest.

They had the door rolled open and shut before Aizawa-sensei got anywhere near them.

Hagakure bound to her seat and Shoto would've done the same if he hadn't been confronted with every single other member of class 1-A staring at him.

Or glaring.

Midoriya looked betrayed and Iida shook his head in disappointment. Kaminari and Mineta were smirking but several of the other guys seemed... disgusted? Meanwhile, all the girls except Asui and maybe Hagakure had at least one hand over their mouths in either shock or, Shoto guessed, hilarity.

Shoto felt a hot, embarrassed wave of shame flow over him. He dug both hands into the front pockets of his uniform trousers to avoid clenching his fists or making another vain attempt to tame his uncharacteristically disobedient hair. The door rattled behind him signaling Aizawa-sensei's imminent arrival and Shoto squared his shoulders.

Time seemed to ooze into infinity as he slunk to his desk. Shoto felt like a bug trapped under a score of microscopes. Even reaching his destination didn't make that go away. He made eye contact only with the notebook he set down for their upcoming English lesson, flipping it open to a verb formation chart.

Past perfect.

Perfect.

Shoto hadn't thought hair was such a big deal – to anyone but himself But he'd had his reasons. No one else should care!

At least not this much.

Except they did.

All through homeroom and all through English, he was the subject of snuck glances. It didn't help when Present Mic called out "NICE STYLE!" with double finger guns to him specifically at the start of the lesson.

Shoto sat, stewing, wondering if he claimed he had to pee right at the end of lecture, he could leave the room then only return just before second period, offering no time for an inquisition. It would've even worked, probably, if Present Mic hadn't gotten so in the zone he spent the last fifteen minutes shouting at the board instead of his students. He never saw Shoto's raised hand.

Lucky for Shoto, an invisible power had his back this morning.

As soon as Present Mic ducked out the door, Hagakure's uniform jumped out of her seat.

"Okay, spill! Why's there tape all over the couches?!"

"That," Jirou said, standing to confront Sero with her hands on her hips, "is what I'd also like to know."

One seat up and to the left of Shoto, Mineta snorted. "That's because Tod—"

"WELL," Sero spoke over him, "you see! Funny story! I'm not sure."

Jirou was unimpressed and unconvinced. "Are you trying to tell me that that was an accident?"

Sero sighed. He leaned back, tilting his chair so it balanced on just two legs as he weighed what to say. He threaded his fingers together behind his head, his elbows sticking out, sleeves bunching around the bulky joints of his tape dispensers.

"...Yep. That's it. That's exactly what happened. You can't remove them either. They have to fall off naturally or, uh, uh, they'll damage the fabric! Trust me. You've seen my room. I know what I'm talking about."

Shoto couldn't see all of her around the barrier that was Kouda and Kirishima, but he caught the pink palm Ashido waved in the air. It began to drip a thick liquid. "I could get it off!"

Iida put his foot down at that, gripping the bridge of his glasses tightly with one hand, the other slicing through the air with the finality of a director's clapperboard. "No. Destruction of school property is strictly prohibited!"

"Awww..." Ashido's palm disappeared but Shoto heard it when she snapped her fingers. "Wait! Yaomomo could just make a new one!"

"Don't take advantage of Yaomomo's quirk!" This, from several people at once.

Yaoyorozu made a thoughtful sound. "Well, I could probably—"

"This is so goddamn, fucking stupid!" Bakugou exploded out of his seat, shot Shoto a look of pure loathing, and stomped out of the room.

What?

What the hell had he done?

There was no answer for Shoto then and no answer for him for the rest of the day as he was subject to investigative gaping at the left side of his head, whispers, giggles, gossip, and, worst of all, his friends immediately clamming up as soon as he approached.

Shoto had gotten used to being surrounded by chatter at lunch. The awkward silence that only Uraraka and Yaoyorozu attempted to break was new, unwanted, and especially confusing since Sero wasn't being ostracized for the sudden and strange loss of control of his quirk like Shoto was being for his bad hair day.

Well, Shoto thought, walking back to the dorms alone after the end of seventh period, maybe things would start looking up tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The only thing that did anything in a skyward direction the next day or the day after that was half of Shoto's hair.

Again.

He'd tried everything he could think of to fix it. Not even repeated attempts to wash the stubbornness away helped. Maybe Shoto should change his shampoo. For all he knew, that was the true culprit.

Things only seemed to be getting tenser with his classmates too. It didn't help that Sero's tape showed no signs of losing any adhesiveness. If things continued on like this, Shoto was sure there'd be some kind of riot. Ashido had already led the girls in an attempted intervention last night, tired of being consigned to backless poufs or the tables, but their efforts had been blocked. When Yaoyorozu suggested a compromise and getting Aizawa-sensei involved, all of the boys except Shoto had vetoed with vehemence.

Things had only settled when Sero, one of class A's better voices of reason for all he was the center of the controversy this time, had said, "Just... just trust us, okay? We'll deal with it soon."

For some reason, his gaze seemed to linger longer on Shoto than anyone else at that, but maybe he was just seeing things. Or maybe there was some kind of secret going on here. A secret only Shoto and the girls weren't in on.

Unless his hair disqualified him from being included. Shoto was starting to think that might actually be it.

Well.

Whatever.

They could keep their dumb secrets. And Shoto would keep his dumb, doomed-to-be-more-asymmetrical-than-he'd-ever-imagined hair, maybe for the rest of his misbegotten life.

Shoto clicked his phone on. It was his best source of solace these days. It had the one thing going well for him right now. Shoto had no clue what he'd actually expected from twitter, but they were getting the words around that he wanted them to. Both #hawksdeavorteamup and #fantheflames had finally entered the top ten trending and it was all thanks to this:

— this is our most desperate hour,,,, help us @hawksymoxie & @Endeavor ur our only hope #hawksdeavorteamup

— if it's wrong to #fantheflames i will face god and walk backwards into hell #hawksdeavorteamup

— not doin nothin just endorsing #hawksdeavorteamup with @Endeavor and @hawksymoxie... *LOWERS SHADES TO LOOK YOU DEAD IN THE EYE* who's a Model by the way,

— did you ever see a potential team up so beautiful you started crying? #hawksdeavorteamup #fantheflames

— Un-Follow Me Now, #HawksdeavorTeamup Is Gonna Be the Only Thing I Tweet About For The Next Week.

Shoto supposed he was getting used to the internet. This level of melodrama hardly made him blink anymore. He dutifully accrued instances of his hashtags onto his timeline until he was interrupted by a different kind of buzz. He swiped over to the correct app to read the incoming message.

Shoto-kun! We're here!

Oh. They'd arrived quicker than he thought they would. Shoto scooted his chair back, stood, turned, and nearly smacked into Midoriya.

"Ah! Sorry, Todoroki-kun!" He took a hasty step away, addressing the apology at his shoes. When Shoto bent to haul up the case containing his hero costume, he couldn't see anything different about the bulky sneakers. He cocked an ear, listening as Midoriya went on but broke off into a jumble of disjointed phrases after Shoto straightened, case in hand. "Uh, anyway, do you think you have a minute, maybe, there was... something... important I needed to— Actually, no! That's—! Costume case! Internship! You're going to your internship now! We can— later. Talk later!"

He sounded immensely relieved Shoto was on his way out and beat his own hasty retreat, arms twisted around his reddening face. Was his hair really that bad Midoriya couldn't even stand to talk to him in normal sentences anymore? Even after Shoto had got his forum post to go slightly viral?!

...But Midoriya wasn't supposed to know that.

Shoto shoved his chair back toward the table because he had manners and scowled all the way out the door. He only brightened when he was immediately greeted with twin cries of "Shoto-kun!" as he got in the back seat of the agency car dad's sidekicks drove when they picked him up. ...Even if neither sidekick looked up from their phones. Shoto wouldn't hold it against them since they sounded happy to have him around, and, on the plus side, this meant they hadn't noticed Shoto's hair and wouldn't comment on it.

Shoto buckled his seat belt and waited.

The car idled.

Shoto coughed.

The sidekick in the driver's seat jumped.

"Right!" he said, stuffing his phone into the cup holder. "Let's go!"

As the car pulled away from U.A., Shoto shook his head. Adults with their phones these days... Honestly. The passenger-side sidekick hadn't even put his away. As the car sped up, he let out a choking sound.

"Oh my god," he said, and again, "oh my god."

"What?" his colleague demanded. "What's happening?"

"Eyes on the road, man. I'll show you at the next light."

He kept true to his promise. At the next intersection, the car stalled on red, he held out his phone. Driving Sidekick peered at it from behind his bandages, narrow white eyes going round in astonishment.

"Oh my god..." He reached out a wistful hand, fingers just shy of the glass of the screen like it were a sacred relic he couldn't bear to touch. "He could... He definitely could. ...Do you think? Just this once we could retweet? Please. It’s so good."

"Are you—? No! You and I both know what'd happen if we did." Passenger Sidekick sounded more mournful about that than anything, almost as if he were trying to convince himself rather than his colleague. He drew his pone back. "Just... just like it on your personal."

Shoto glanced between them, his own device starting to burn in his pocket. They'd hardly paid him any mind at all yet tonight. He could take it out... They wouldn't even notice. But first—

"The light's green," Shoto announced from the back seat.

"Oh, fu— I mean. Thanks, Shoto-kun."

The car drove on, fighting the last dregs of rush hour, and Shoto checked on his hashtags again to make sure they were okay.

— sorry #mountwoodshot but when it comes to #hawksdeavorteamup....... you can't touch this

Huh.

Something about the sequence of the tweets pinged Shoto as oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place why. He was sure, however, this must've been what the sidekicks had been looking at. He could see why they'd like it so much – it was kind of neat, total strangers building off each other's support to create strings of comments that were almost poetic.

Shoto slid the search results down to find more threads to thumb through.

— thriller night & the only ones gonna save u from the nomu bout to strike: #hawksdeavorteamup

— when hawks walks on by endeavor be lookin like damn he fly #hawksdeavorteamup #fantheflames

So.

Here it was at last.

Explicit shipping.

Shoto was surprised it'd taken this long to reappear. He hadn't thought he'd ever be happy to see that weird symbol face again, but it was nice knowing his regulars were still around – even if they had to wield imagery that made him want to hurl something in the air. They'd just had to @ reply Endeavor and Hawks both, too, hadn't they? Dad's sidekicks were quiet now, focused on their own tasks – phone and navigating city streets – but there was no telling how they'd react if they actually saw that in the mentions of dad's account. He probably got so many, though. Shoto doubted they – or Hawks – would really notice.

Anyway, the important thing was for the hashtags to – wait, what was that phrase someone had just used? – burn the charts legit. Shoto wouldn't care if the actual tweets involved looked like they'd come from those monkeys they had locked away somewhere trying to mash out Shakespeare. Just get no. 1 and no. 2 teamed up. That was the end game and until it happened, nothing else mattered.

Shoto spent the rest of the ride retweeting tweets. Even the ones that blegh went on about how sexy Endeavor was. Shoto did not know it, he didn't care to know it, and the only passion anywhere near dad's pants was his goddamn belt buckle. He sure wasn't afraid to show that off and it was fucking embarrassing as far as Shoto was concerned. At least all this was just a joke. As if anyone could ever seriously find Endeavor attractive... Ha!

When they finally pulled into the employee garage under the Endeavor Hero Agency, Shoto put his phone away, ready to get down to business. He couldn't say the same for the sidekicks.

They nearly fell out of the car, unwilling to unglue their eyes from their screens. They were like zombies almost and, actually, Shoto decided, observing them from behind as they crowded into the elevator, if this was what they were like looking up his hashtags – and that had to be what they were doing! – it meant they were allies, right? They were on his side. So why not use all his resources...

Sidekicks had their hero's ear. If the call to team up with Hawks was coming from inside his own agency, dad couldn't just ignore it.

Shoto was about to introduce the topic when the elevator doors opened with a cheery ping! Except this wasn't the floor for dad's office, this was the floor for—

"Your stop, Shoto-kun!"

"But... this is records," he said, not moving.

"Yeah. You would not believe the amount of fan mail that's been pouring in since the team up mandate!"

Shoto was well aware how big that mountain was getting. They'd been forcing him to wrestle it into submission every day he'd been here since the second nomu attack. But no longer! He had more important things to do! He had to get them to agree to tell dad to—

The door was closing. Good. Shoto would just not get off. Except one of the sidekicks absently stuck his hand out, catching the motion sensor to send the doors crawling back into the walls.

"We really need you here," he said, leaning in so close to the other sidekick they almost bumped heads, horned helmet to bandages. They were comparing phones, both engrossed in whatever they were reading. "We've been, uh... we've been way too swamped with our own work to tackle any of it."

...Sure they had.

Shoto let out an annoyed huff which they didn't even notice and got off the elevator. What other choice did he have? He left the box containing his hero costume behind. There'd be no point lugging it all the way to the workroom where he sorted fan mail. He didn't need a special outfit for that. As he watched the doors roll closed on the sidekicks, he was hit with the image of them forgetting the case after they stumbled to their little cubicles, causing it to just ride the elevator up and down unaccompanied, forever.

He supposed he'd find out if they'd let him down that far later. But if they really were that obsessed with Endeavor's social media account, it was just as likely they could already be dropping hints about Hawks to dad, right? Or maybe dad would pick it up via osmosis! Shoto doubted he actually had the brain cells for that, but he'd been trying to acquire some lately, so anything could happen.

Shoto wandered through the shelves of the archives to the workroom, resigned again to this assignment, took in the heaping mound of mail he had to get through today, and sighed. Best to make as big a dent in it as he could.

Lately, he'd been divvying up the letters based on who the writers had been petitioning Endeavor to end up with. Shoto had even run into a couple real petitions! Both for Hawks too! Actually, after the echo chamber of the internet and the Miruko scare, it was nice to see the physical evidence in Hawks' favor. The hoard of letters about him dwarfed the few jumbled stacks suggesting anyone else, although both were small in comparison to the staggering collection of unopened probably-handkerchiefs Endeavor was still receiving. So much of the fan mail was just that, it'd begun to acquire its own geography, overflowing the work table and piling up along the far wall.

For the next hour and a half, Shoto added to the letter landscape. He organized and cataloged, taking tallies of what was what, who from where demanded which team up with what degree of assertiveness, and set aside the most convincing pro-Hawks manifestos as ones requiring Endeavor's personal and immediate attention. He supposed it was good he was the one down here after all. It let him control the narrative, but that didn't mean it wasn't boring as hell. These messages weren't an ounce as interesting as anything anyone was saying on twitter, and Shoto was getting tired.

He slit open the next envelope without looking at it, tipped it to shake the letter out, and something slithered over his hand instead.

Shoto looked down.

There was something black and stringy coiling around his fingers. He set the envelope aside and picked the mystery object up, holding it out in front of him. Why would anyone send Endeavor something like this? Shoto stretched it experimentally, the elastic of the spindly strands springy as a waistband, connected underneath by a strip of corded fabric and one small gauzy triangle of... coverage...

Shoto stopped breathing.

His heart stopped beating.

His throat closed up and with a spasm of violent motion he hurled the thing away with all his strength. It shot into the air, flaring up from a terror- and panic-induced lapse of quirk control, the burning lines searing a glowing pretzel into his retinas. It hit the ceiling with a soft sound and fell straight down, landing among the pile of letters pleading Endeavor to team up with anyone besides Hawks.

The paper went up like dry tinder.

Shoto lunged for it, right hand out, pulse jack-rabbit fast and ice gathering in his palm to smother the flames, to rescue the mail, but... but...

The conflagration blazed like a flash fire.

Like the fuel wasn't made up of irritating missives to a celebrity pro-hero but rain-starved, sun-scorched desert grass.

Wouldn't it actually just be convenient, Shoto realized through a haze of heaving hysteria, if these particular letters... disappeared?

He took a gulp of air, coughed a little from the smoke – guess Endeavor really hadn't equipped this place with fire alarms – and hurried to scoot all the pro-Hawks letters far, far out of range of the danger. When he turned back to the lively little bonfire, he couldn't make out the source anymore among the curling and charring remains of burnt paper.

The source...

It had been... it had been a... Shoto slapped a hand over his mouth and with great effort fought down a wave of nausea. Why would anyone ever send Endeavor something like that?! How could they?! Who would even...?

His eyes strayed to the back wall.

To the dipping valleys and drifting dunes where Shoto had been tossing all those letters he'd been instructed not to open because... because...

But they couldn't.

They couldn't be!

Those were just!

The fabric he'd felt through those envelopes was just handkerchiefs! Towels! Small scraps of cloth all mysteriously fated to be incinerated by a sidekick-set lime green inferno whenever they got around to it.

Shoto's brain warped. A cold sweat broke out at his temples as reality sucker punched him right in the gut. Hundreds upon hundreds of otherwise good, upstanding Japanese citizens thought Endeavor – thought dad! – was enough of a – Shoto struggled not to gag again even as his stomach felt weighed down with river rocks – of a ...sex symbol that they'd mailed him their undergarments.

This was on a whole different level than seeing a comic tweet gone viral about passion in dad's pants.

This was serious.

This was... unacceptable.

This... couldn't be allowed to exist any longer.

And it wouldn't.

Shoto felt a thick wave of calm flow over him like a cake being iced.

Dad didn't approve of this message. He couldn't. Because of the procedure. The sidekicks had demonstrated it.

Except they were so very busy these days, weren't they.

Only Shoto was here now.

So why wait.

Why not do them a little favor.

Just for his own peace of mind.

Shoto scooped up a fistful of embers from his accidental fire and scattered them.

Shoto stumbled out of the elevator coughing and smoking slightly.

Turned out, managing a raging fire in a small, closed space full of the perfect fuel source and preventing it from burning down the entire building was not only difficult but also, perhaps, an ill-advised impulse decision.

Who knew?

But the Endeavor Hero Agency was still standing. The archive workroom was still intact – although it would definitely need to be aired out, swept, scrubbed, repainted, and just a little repurposed to be completely fit for human use again. Endeavor even still had fan mail to read! He might not actually look at any of it himself, but Shoto was sure he'd enjoy the data analytics painting the irrefutable picture that 100% of people writing to him thought the only valid future for Japan's no. 1 hero was for him to issue villain smack downs alongside Japan's no. 2 hero.

But that wasn't what he'd come all the way up here to say.

Not mostly, anyway.

Dad owed him for this. Shoto's mental health had suffered and he was here to collect on the damages.

Thankfully, Shoto didn't have to go too far to find him. Endeavor was at the end of the corridor surrounded by a gaggle of gabbling employees and sneering at the ceiling like if he tried hard enough he could scorch a hole through it and ascend away from every gesticulating accountant, PR rep, and lawyer.

"You don't understand! The payroll issues associated with a quasi-independent two-agency merger will—!"

"Public perception's good right now, but the fluctuations in sentiment if we don't choose—!"

"Well, actually, if you want to get technical, the wording on the contracts clearly implies—!"

Shoto's arrival didn't slow them down at all. As he watched, several of them started pulling at their hair or waving reams of research in the air, circling dad as if he were a lighthouse and if they caught him at the right angle they could navigate their point past the rocky silence and anchor it safely at the harbor of Endeavor's approval.

Ugh. And Shoto had thought fan mail was tedious.

He really couldn't blame dad for visibly perking up to see someone new arrive who wasn't going to hit him with a harangue. At least not this time.

"SHOTOOOOO!" he roared, because of course he did. "What have you done to your hair?!"

...Was this old man fucking serious?! Shoto was standing here reeking of smoke, his U.A. uniform charred at the edges and pockmarked with ember-sized burn holes, the whole right sleeve missing up to the elbow, and dad chose to focus on his hair?! Like, that was what was wrong in this picture?

Fuck.

He kept his shaking fists at his sides when dad strode over, ignoring a chorus of "Endeavor! Endeavor-san, wait! Come back, Endeavor!" and glared up at him through only the white half of his bangs.

C'mon, old man, Shoto thought. You wanna say something? Say it. I look like a dumbass now and once again, it's all thanks to you.

But dad didn't say anything.

He looked down at Shoto, taking in the silky smoothness on the right and the craze of spikes on the left. Then, before Shoto could blink, he thrust out a hand and it was hot – blisteringly hot.

Shoto couldn't help it.

Even if he'd just committed and corralled his first major arson, he screwed his eyes shut and flinched.

He felt the air cool around him.

Shoto waited a beat, allowed himself to breathe, but just as he began to relax, it was back.

It was the kind of sweltering heat Shoto imagined made the air ripple, and it was touching him. With rough and heavy strokes, dad swiped a giant palm along Shoto's head. Sweat burst forth from his pores, and it— it didn't hurt. The realization came with one final pat and then it was gone.

All of it.

Not just the hand and the heat but dad's whole hulking presence.

When Shoto finally opened his eyes, all he saw was his father's retreating back. He was nearly ensconced among his staff again. All of them were politely looking the other way like none of them had noticed Endeavor pawing at his son like a mother lion bathing a cub. Shoto ran trembling fingers through his red hair. They slid through easily with no resistance. The strands fell flat again, as smooth and symmetrical as the ones on the right.

Dad...

He'd... he'd fixed it.

He'd unilaterally decided it'd needed fixing without warning or without asking Shoto's permission first, but... it had been something Shoto had wanted. And dad had done it. He'd used his trash can lid hand to straighten Shoto's hair, and... and this was the guy people thought was sexy?

What the actual fuck.

Delusional. All of them.

And that just reminded Shoto why he'd made this trek in the first place.

Endeavor's employees hadn't yet regained their previous frenzy. Dad was there, pretending to pay attention to their subdued murmuring, but Shoto knew him. He'd blow this popsicle stand if given a choice.

"Hey," Shoto called. As the crowd of adults turned to face him, he weighed his options. For the favor, Shoto could refrain this once from calling him old man, but it'd take more than averting a single hair crisis – a lot more – for Shoto to deign to use dad out loud. "Endeavor. When are we going patrolling?"

Shoto could stand to punch the lights out of some scum right about now. Maybe it wasn't healthy to handle frustration by beating the crap out of idiot villains terrorizing innocents and maybe it made him more like someone than he'd ever willingly admit, but how else was he supposed to deal with this? When the paper had burned off the envelopes, Shoto had seen fabric in all colors of the rainbow. Worse, he'd seen words on those letters. Words and phrases. There was no way even a nice guy like Midoriya could just accept it and move on if he'd been forced to confront All Might's panty-by-post collection, which ugh. Did all heroes have to face that? Was it just a thing? Or was Endeavor's bigger than average?

No... No...! Don't think about it!!

He forced himself to focus instead on how dad looked like a drowning man for whom Shoto had appeared from nowhere and tossed a life preserver.

"Yes," he said like a revelation, scar twisting with a triumphant grin. He was already turning toward his office. "Shotooo! Suit up!"

His subordinates weren't as on board with that decision.

"Endeavor, no! We really need to finalize—!"

"You're not slated for patrol right now, and we need your input here!"

"The JHA is waiting on your decision!"

But being the Big Boss came with its own perks.

"I'm going patrolling," Endeavor overruled, loudly and with ease, "with my son!"

He even somehow managed to slam a sliding door as he left them all behind.

As hot as his curiosity was to know who they were pushing dad to confirm, Shoto could admit, when it happened at his own suggestion and by his own choice, it wasn't entirely off-putting being the no. 1 hero's no. 1 priority. Maybe dad had a brain cell after all. He was also pleased to spot the sidekicks at the back of the reluctantly dispersing circle of employees. They were still on their phones, but the one with the helmet was holding Shoto's hero costume case. Phew. He wouldn't have to embarrass himself by not knowing where it was when he reported for duty.

"Oh, Shoto-kun," the sidekick said when Shoto approached. He sounded surprised. The other one twisted his head like an owl, searching for colleagues who'd already returned without victory to their cubicles. Had they not noticed anything that had just happened? "Shouldn't you be...?"

"I need this," Shoto didn’t let him finish. He relieved him of the costume case.

"But— the fan mail—"

"Don't worry," Shoto said, summoning up the face he'd used back in the USJ incident when he'd assured a sea of frozen villains that a hero wouldn't let their skin rot away from frost bite – as long as they gave him the information he wanted. Really, such a coincidence it had the same energy as an expression that screamed out 'I just unwrapped and touched a g-string a total stranger sent my (less of a) bastard (than usual) dad and it's your fault.' "It's been dealt with."

The sidekicks stared at him. As he hefted his case higher, they stared too at the long stretch of skin visible on his arm where blazer and dress shirt sleeves should've been if they hadn't burned away. They shared a quick glance that seemed to communicate every swear word in existence in the span of a single second and booked it together toward the elevators.

When Shoto got back to the dorms later that night, he didn't expect anyone to be up. He didn't expect the lights to be on either. Most of all, he didn't expect for the lights to be on but for the common room to be void of people.

He took his time exchanging his shoes for house slippers, scanning the open space for any overlooked friends who might pop out, but no one appeared. Odd, but not by itself suspicious. Lucky, though. He didn't particularly want to explain why he'd left wearing the standard winter U.A. uniform and come back in a spare turtleneck dad had somehow had the foresight to stock for him in the agency changing room.

"Fire is dangerous, Shoto! You need to be more careful! But accidents happen."

In the end, dad had waved it off as if he had less than zero curiosity in the circumstances that had led his son to burn away part of his clothes which raised way more questions than it answered. Just when the hell had Endeavor had a costume malfunction to leave him with such a blasé attitude about them now?

Shoto knew what he'd be moogling when he got back up to his room. Or messaging Fuyumi about. She'd been alive way longer than him, so she might remember it. If she did, it'd probably even beat the time she'd dropped the bomb that dad had his favorite carpenter on speed dial.

As he ventured that way, he spotted the remote control on the table nearest the television. Half the poufs were clustered around it too. Another day gone with the sofas on lockdown, wrapped up in Sero-made CAUTION! tape. Iida must not have been down yet to do his self-assigned as-your-president last sweep of nightly tidying, either. Normally, unless he were in a hurry, Shoto wouldn't have minded pitching in and doing it for him, but normally his classmates weren't refusing to talk to him. Except— Now that his hair was back to its usual state, they might accept him again.

And he had dad to thank for that.

...He'd wait until tomorrow to see how things played out before he was too altruistic. Maybe that wasn't as heroic as a hero-in-training was supposed to be, but Shoto wasn't going to buy goodwill by doing extra chores.

It wasn't until he neared the stairwell that he encountered something strange - the sound of voices. Shoto paused, but they didn't get louder. Judging by the volume, they were lurking near the door. It was propped ajar just the barest amount. Shoto crept closer, keeping quiet, pressed right up against the wall.

"—oroki-kun has been a bit weird lately, but... his dad almost died not that long ago, not to mention all the stuff online..."

That was Midoriya.

And he was talking about Shoto.

"So, what?" asked Kaminari. He sounded so annoyed, Shoto could almost imagine it was sparking off him. Shoto would do that too if he anyone said to his face he were acting weird because of Endeavor. "He's trying to live in the moment or something? Are we supposed to give him a free pass for that?"

No! He fucking didn't need one!! He'd been acting totally, absolutely normal!!! What did they even think he'd done? Shoto swore to god, if they thought he'd styled half his hair up in spikes on purpose, he'd—

Ah. But Kirishima was talking now.

"I'm not sure, guys... I'm not convinced he actually did it. It's not like we have much to go off of..."

"Yeah," chimed in Sero. "Plus, this is a school. He may have the skill to rig up his room in traditional style, but there's no way he managed to get pay-per-view por—"

Shoto heard Iida harrumph loudly.

"We don't have any evidence," he admitted stiffly, "the television was involved when Todoroki-kun... prepared the carrot on one of the couches. But loathe as I am to believe it, we do have a testimonial that it did occur."

There was a beat of silence.

Shoto hoped all the other boys behind the door were mentally asking what the fuck? because that was what was reverberating through his own skull. If he listened closely enough, he almost thought he could make out faint choking...

Kaminari often seemed to be the one to rally fastest in situations like these and he found his voice first again now. "...Prepare the carrot...? Iida, buddy. Who calls it preparing the carrot?!"

"...Many... Many people!" Iida defended himself. "Many people do! And to get back to the topic in hand— I mean! At hand! How! If certain assistive materials were used, how do we know it wasn't the manga he's been sharing lately?"

"No," Sero said and his tone brooked no argument. "No way. That's not what that manga is about. I swear!"

Except Sero was lying and Shoto knew it.

The series he'd been following and lending out these days was about fantasy adventurers cooking monsters in dungeons. Shoto was positive they'd used carrots once. Hadn't they? Or maybe that was mandrakes... Anyway, Shoto remembered wondering whether they'd be like carrots when he'd read that chapter. Honestly, for all he knew they'd taste the same as a daikon radish or a potato.

Which just went to show, whatever they were discussing, it was ridiculous. Why the fuck would Shoto cook carrots on the couch? He didn’t even think he’d eaten many lately. Except maybe he had? Unconsciously? Lunch Rush made a mean sesame carrot soba noodle salad and something about that did seem familiar... Plus carrots were good for the eyes. Everyone knew that. So forget these guys who said they were his friends if they were judging him for liking carrots.

Shoto had better things to do than stand here listening in on their paranoia about it.

Like brush his teeth.

Shoto abandoned the door and the ongoing conversation behind it in favor of sneaking by tiptoe into the bathroom.

But even with them out of earshot, he couldn't stop thinking about carrots and their alleged vision-enhancing powers. Really, who was anyone to say he didn't need that more than most people? Shoto had heterochromia of the eyes as well as the hair, and his hair had just demonstrated an uncanny ability to go on strike. What if just one of his eyes did it too?

Shoto nearly choked on a mouthful of sudsy mint foam as it hit him. If that happened, he'd be forced to wear a monocle like some kind of eccentric billionaire who collected children for a living. Since the only person in his family he knew who wore glasses – oh god, there was a history of it, shit – was Fuyumi and her eyes were turquoise just like one of his own which he'd gotten from just one of his parents...

It'd be all dad's fault.

Again.

God, fuck that guy. Every time he did something good, something even worse came along to cancel it out. Could Shoto not escape from his awful everything?

...Unless.

Shoto took a deep breath through his nose and bit down on his toothbrush, leaving it to hang in his mouth as he fumbled for his phone and sent out a frantic text.

do you wear glasses?

He didn't even have time to set it aside on the little shelf below the mirror above the sink before it vibrated in reply and then a second time and a third. Whoa... He really hadn't expected Natsu to get back to him so quickly or to have that much to say.

what no

how long has it been since i've seen you that you're asking me that????

wait don't answer that. we'll hang out soon i promise

Shoto fought not to roll his eyes then figured no one was watching and let himself do it anyway. He knew Natsu didn't wear glasses glasses. He'd meant did he wear secret glasses Shoto didn't know about. Probably if he'd wanted that answered properly he should've specified. Too late now and too bad. As far as Shoto knew, neither mom or dad wore glasses, but he couldn't exactly just interrogate either of them to confirm. Mom hardly ever got to take calls in the hospital. Dad was Endeavor. And Endeavor had a scarred up eye of his own now that probably made asking pointed questions about his vision the equivalent of slamming a berserk button. The only other person left was Touya, and he—

He wasn't around to talk.

Shoto rinsed out his mouth wishing he could rinse out the sudden flood of bad feelings too. At least Natsu had said they'd see each other soon. As demanding as school was for both of them, Shoto suspected that'd only happen at New Year's when they had time off, but it was on the books. He could guilt trip Natsu with it if he needed to now. Before he could warn him he'd hold him to his pledge, thumbs about to descend on the touchscreen keyboard, another message popped up.

oh and hey congrats on getting your trainee license! sucks they're making you intern with him tho 🤮

Oh, brother...

Should Shoto tell him?

Shoto wasn't going to tell him.

He didn't want Natsu to feel bad either. Or angry. Or to grill Shoto about choosing to spend time with dad of his own free will. He wouldn't understand.

Shoto sent him a grand total of three barf emojis in reply, left it at that, and left the bathroom. Too late he remembered about staying silent. The door closed behind him with an audible thump! and drew the attention of Watchman Iida standing guard by the front door.

"Todoroki-kun!" Shoto had never heard Iida wield his name like an accusation. He didn't like it. "Where did you come from?!"

"...The bathroom."

"And what were you doing in there?!"

That was an unexpectedly inappropriate question to hit anyone with, and Shoto wasn't about to admit that was where he'd chosen to quiz his older brother about eyewear. The lenses of Iida's glasses were already exuding a menacing sheen. If Shoto implied there was anything wrong with requiring vision correction, they might turn as red as Iida's face was getting.

"Brushing my teeth," Shoto finally said. Sticking to a half truth was probably the best way to go here. "I just got back from my internship."

"I see. That's... very exemplary of you." He didn't sound convincing, but maybe he was too focused on getting his next words in order. When he continued, his speech was stilted with the strain of someone trying to recite a barely memorized monologue. "Todoroki-kun. I need to speak with you, on a matter of grave importance. I have been selected, as your class president, to have this conversation, with you. I approach you as your friend, classmate, and student representative – without judgment."

Shoto wasn't really feeling that, mostly because there was already a fundamental untruth in it. Iida's arms sprang up and sliced down diagonal, pointing right at the cloistered couches. He didn't take a single step in any direction. Shoto would be doing the approaching here and with engines for legs, Iida would definitely catch him if he chose to run instead.

Shoto did not run.

He came to stand beside Iida behind the couches. With a pang, he remembered the last time they'd stood together like this. Shoto had been relieved to have Iida with him then. It hadn't even been that long ago. Iida may still be saying they were friends but would a real friend think Shoto had become some kind of carrot criminal? He almost didn't want to listen when Iida started talking again but found, with growing dismay, that he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried.

"We haven't told any of the girls about this. And we won't. The men of class A have taken an honor-bound oath of silence. But we do need to do something soon or there will be... trouble. All we need from you, Todoroki-kun, is a promise not to do it again and to tell us which couch you did it on. We'll get rid of it. We can make it look like an accident."

"Iida..."

Shoto didn't know what else to say.

How could Iida Tenya – Iida Tenya! – of all people be advocating for the willful destruction of U.A. property?! He'd scolded their classmates about it two days ago! And for what?! For something Shoto had done?

The last time he'd even sat on one had been the morning he'd caught Miruko's interview on TV. She'd blown the idea of teaming up to smithereens, hopped away to take a quick call, and she'd said... she'd said! – Oh my god, this is it! – for the host to wait for her when they got to the segment on making sesame carrot salad! Then! Shoto had passed Mineta as he charged upstairs. Shoto had exchanged one word with him. One! That stupid purple gremlin must've turned the TV back on, seen them cooking, and then for some fucked up reason spread a rumor that Shoto had been doing something weird on the couch with carrots instead of that he'd just—

Shoto smacked his fist into the palm of his hand, pleased to have the mystery solved at last.

"You're talking," he said, "about where I spilled the tea."

Iida spluttered. His glasses slipped down his nose and he jammed them back up. He turned to stare up at the ceiling like only gravity now was capable of keeping them in place as spots of red blossomed high on his cheekbones for the second time that night.

"Todoroki-kun, that's! That is not what that means!"

Shoto shook his head, ignoring Iida's disavowal at the cold, hard truth. He circled around to the front of the couches and ducked underneath the restrictive tape, squatting so he could peer into the dark gap between the sofa bottoms, where the carpet ended and the hardwood began.

Now, which one had he been sitting on that day...?

"What, what are you doing? Just... please, Todoroki-kun, no one is angry – well, Bakugou-kun is always angry, but we have not allowed him to—"

Shoto pocketed a stray 100 yen coin, scanned further along, and there! He sprawled forward, pressed flush to the floor so he could get the necessary leverage to snake an arm under the couch. He fished the cup out by his fingertips, wincing as his hand brushed along a gross patch of dried tea. He'd thought it'd all got absorbed in his blanket and pajamas, but apparently not. He'd have to clean that up. There'd been no sweetener in his drink and it was winter, but Shoto was still pretty sure that was how you got ants.

Retrieval complete, he pushed himself up to sit back on his heels. He raised the cup as high as he could so Iida could see it. Shoto heard his mouth snap shut with a click. When he got to his feet, brushing off his trousers, Iida was staring at nothing again, though this time it was the middle distance, not the ceiling. His arms hung still at his sides, but as Shoto passed him, Iida held out a hand. Shoto wordlessly put the cup into it and Iida transferred his thousand-yard stare to the little bit of porcelain instead.

Shoto allowed it with a shrug and went to get paper towels from the kitchen. Iida hadn't moved when he returned. He was still doing his best impression of a statue even after Shoto had cleaned up the old spill and thrown away the towels.

"Iida... are you okay?"

Iida didn't blink. "I'm never listening to Mineta-kun again."

Not what Shoto had asked about, but that sounded solid, more or less. Shoto had spent the whole school year pretending he hadn't heard most anything that came out of Mineta's mouth. He'd nearly screwed himself with that approach in this instance, but all was well that ended well, as Uraraka liked to say.

"Alright. I'm going to bed then."

"...Don't forget to brush your teeth."

Shoto had already told Iida he'd done that, but he decided not to correct him. The big conspiracy he'd built up about Shoto had turned out to be completely unfounded. Shoto knew how shocking that could be. It was like being convinced you'd finally figured out exactly how someone was pulling the wool over your eyes then getting trampled by the sheep which hadn't even been shorn in the first place.

Probably, Iida and everyone else would be fine by tomorrow.

Shoto was pleased to see this time he was right.

Better yet, by morning the tape blockading the couches had vanished as if it had never existed.

Chapter Text

What's Setting the Internet on Fire this Week and How You Too Can #FantheFlames

. . .

"Did you see it?"

"No, what? Where?"

"On twitter. Here, this hashtag – don't you know? #hawksdeavorteamup—"

Shoto's head didn't whip around, but it definitely inclined in that direction. From the corner of his eye, he spotted two second year boys with slicked back hair and the triple-button shoulder strap of the management department. He changed his trajectory. When he passed them by, he'd hear every word. Just a few steps more and he'd—

A pressure at his elbow tugged him in the opposite direction.

Shoto looked down in surprise at the arm linked securely around his and then at Yaoyorozu. She was smiling yet there was an edge of stiffness around her eyes that almost looked like... nerves?

What.

"Todoroki-san," she said, her voice gentle, upbeat, and completely at odds with her apparent anxiety. "Come with me to the classroom? I wanted to ask you about the art history assignment we have for Midnight-sensei."

But... Shoto wanted to hear what those guys had to say about his viral campaign! If he didn't move fast, they'd go to their own homeroom or start talking about some money making scheme or something! On the other hand, if Yaoyorozu, the top student in 1-A, was stressed about their homework and actually touching him out of the blue to get his attention, it must be important. No one at school did that. Ever. Not since the last time she'd done it and that was... that was special circumstances.

Shoto's mind raced. Before the calculations could settle and long before he could've hoped to solve them, Yaoyorozu tugged at him again and all coherent thought flew away. Shoto went pliant in her grip, weak as a two week old kitten under the force of his knee-jerk Fuyumi-instinct.

Yaoyorozu dragged him arm-in-arm all the way to their seats.

. . .

These Twitter Users Want You to #FantheFlames for a Spicy #HawksdeavorTeamup

. . .

"Tokage! Put your face back on and look! They're mushrooming! There musht be at least four spore new tweets just since last break!"

That was the short fungus girl from class 1-B. Komori, wasn't it? She whacked her companion on the arm repeatedly, waving her phone where her eyes should've been. For real? Quirk use should really be banned from the mess hall, Shoto decided right then. He didn't need to see half a head giving such a wicked grin.

"Oho! I love #fantheflames! Our 'common sense guys' do too. They try to deny it, but," Tokage tapped her temple next to the empty space above her nose, "I've got my eyes on 'em."

Komori cackled. "Should I read them to you, then?"

Tokage rubbed her hands together and bit her lip like she was about to dig into a feast. On second thought, Shoto could live with self-inflicted quasi-decapitation if Komori spoke loudly enough. "Please! But prioritize the good ones. I wanna hear more about Endeavor's plush bu—"

Glitz and glamour and a chiding tsk! tsk! overrode whatever she said next as Aoyama twirled into view with a wink.

"Todoroki-kun~! ☆ In the soba line again? You know, it's really unhealthy to eat the same thing every day!"

Was that so? Aoyama would surely know all about it, eating in the cafeteria as rarely as he did. Shoto gave him a nod in thanks for the tip. "I'll try the mushroom rice bowl instead."

He wouldn't be that many people behind the class B girls if he switched now. Before he got farther than a step on his way, Aoyama tittered. He reached out and grabbed Shoto's nearest hand in his, entwining their fingers together. His palm was warm and only a little damp.

Shoto froze.

But only for a second. He tried to pull away because what the fuck, but only succeeded in getting his other hand captured.

"Don't you want to hear what I have to say?" Aoyama didn't wait for Shoto to manage a strongly worded and reflexive negative. "It's an invitation. Share lunch with moi! I have a full spread of fine cheese and crackers, imported directly from France! Midoriya-kun, Iida-kun, and mademoiselle Uraraka will be enjoying it too!" His smile was tight and close-mouthed, but a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. He gave a toss of his hair, and Shoto tracked the gleam it left in the air to a table set with a white cloth, a platter, and—

"...Is that wine?"

"Non, don't be silly! It's sparkling grape juice. ☆"

Of course it was. And of course Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka were all looking right at him. Dammit. A single glimpse of Midoriya's wide, pleading eyes – even from this distance – and Shoto's resolve melted. What was that kid's deal, honestly? One day he was relieved Shoto was leaving for his internship, later he was claiming Shoto was being weird, now he had the audacity to wear an expression like if they didn't all get to eat cheese together, he'd roll over and die.

"Fine."

Aoyama only released one of his hands on the walk over. Shoto could've pulled the other away whenever he chose. Really. He just had a bad track record with those sorts of things and had to be careful.

The hand crushing curse could strike at any time.

. . .

Too Hot to Handle: The Secret Truth behind #FantheFlames that Will Shock You

. . .

Someone annoying was laughing.

The sound penetrated, boring right into Shoto's skull. He pivoted to locate the perpetrator and felt his eyebrows crease in a frown. Monoma from class 1-B was bent near double with hilarity, and he wasn't alone. That American student was with him, beaming bright like she'd hit some kind of jackpot. As Shoto watched, Monoma's guffaws slowed, he took a deep breath, and pulled himself together.

"Excellent, Tsunotori," he said, wiping at his eyes and proffering his phone at the puppy-eyed girl beside him. He tapped at something on the screen. "Now this one. Say this one next."

Could it be...?

Shoto's stare intensified as Tsunotori grinned at the praise and leaned in obligingly to read, "'We need the hawksdeavor team up so every day hawksymoxie can see in person the... the...' next kanji are...? I don't know it. But it's an adjective?"

"That's right. It says—" Monoma mouth twisted. If Shoto had to guess, he'd say he was struggling not to laugh again, but after another calming breath, he managed to pronounce, "'Juicy contours.'"

"Juicy contours?"

Juicy contours...?

"You know." Monoma waved his arm in front of them, drawing a slow, well-endowed half-circle in the air. "Round. A good shape."

Tsunotori blinked like she were trying to get an afterimage to fade away until understanding dawned all at once. She tapped her nose like she'd just been entrusted with something top secret and finished reading what Shoto now knew was a tweet. Which was great for her, but Shoto himself couldn't fathom what 'juicy contours' was supposed to mean in the context of his hashtags. He edged closer to hear better—

"'...see in person the juicy contours of Endeavor's plus ultra—'"

"Monoma!"

—and startled along with the blondes when Kendou Itsuka descended on them without warning.

At least Shoto could say he didn't duck around to hide behind a diminutive friend to get out of her way, though he supposed an angry Kendou did make a fearsome sight even without her quirk activated.

"I leave you two for five minutes—" She held up a black can of what Shoto was surprised to see was a can of dad's Burning black coffee. The vending machines here really sold that gross stuff? "—and this is what I come back to?"

"Now, Kendou," Monoma said, already on the defensive but willing to negotiate. "We're just expanding her vocabulary—"

"'We'?"

"...Yes."

"Don't worry, Kendou-san!" Tsunotori chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the thickening tension. She brought her fisted hands to her head, one finger from each extended to illustrate her next point. "Monoma-kun's just teaching me how to have horns on my primary account in Japanese!"

Something had to have been lost in translation about that, because that made about zero sense.

Tsunotori already had horns and twitter had nothing to do with getting more. Unless she meant foreign language acquisition which Shoto had, in fact, witnessed Monoma do. Something about it still didn't sit quite right to Shoto, and Kendou – who doubtless had way more experience in dealing with Tsunotori's idiosyncratic code switching – must've agreed because her face contorted with fury after only a few heartbeat's worth of bewilderment. She raised her free hand high. It was already quadruple the size of Monoma's body.

Tsunotori looked up at it, looked behind her at Monoma, and prudently do-si-do'd around him, out of the way.

He was on his own now and clearly knew it, though it didn't seem to dissuade him as much as it would a normal person. He was still trying to bargain his way out of a beating even as Kendou marched toward him with the intent to destroy.

"Kendou, I'm hurt. Would punishing me even be fair? I'm merely trying to strengthen the bonds in our beloved class B! Shouldn't Tsunotori be able to read tweets our dear president herself has liked?"

That stopped Kendou in her tracks as her face went a blotchy red. "That's! That's not relevant!"

"No?!" Monoma's grin went almost feral. "You're right, of course. Why'd anyone ever think to look there?! That'd be weird! So how about we do just the ones you've retweeted? I think it'd be my heroic duty to offer a recitation of those, right?!"

He flung an arm out like the whole world was a stage. Glancing up and down the corridor, Shoto realized it pretty much was. Monoma's spectacle had drawn a crowd.

That meant Shoto wouldn't stand out in it.

Who could rightly say, then, if Kendou slipped before she landed a silencing wallop that it was because of ice? Just the barest patch, invisible to the naked eye. Would that be so wrong? Shoto just wanted to know what kind of affect his hashtags had on a living, breathing audience for once, and if Monoma would be this accommodating...

Monoma mouthed a syllable. Kendou yelped, darting forward, and Shoto staggered, forced nearly off his feet, as nothing but a paltry burst of powdered snow fell from his palm.

"Go!" Bakugou growled in his ear, both hands digging into the middle of Shoto's back because surprise tackling him just wasn't enough. "Go, go, go, you goddamn moron! Move!"

The commands were peppered with shoves as Bakugou drove Shoto through the sea of people. He jerked away as soon as they broke free, did an about face, and thudded into an arm extended like a gate.

"No way, you bastard. You, me, gym, now! You used your fire on shitty Deku at the Sports Festival! I'm tired of waiting! C'mon and fight me! For real this time!"

Was this guy serious? He was bringing that up again? Now?

Shoto pointedly didn't glance at Bakugou as he went up on his toes, trying to see through both crowd and distance what had happened to class B's own disturber of the peace. He could make out, just barely, Monoma guarding his phone with one arm as Kendou batted at him. Shoto could still hear his shrill laughter. Even when it stopped, his mouth kept moving. He was probably carrying out his threat despite the onslaught, but Bakugou had got them so far away it wasn't audible. Kendou wasn't pounding on him as hard as she usually did, but she was supposed to be the big sister of class B, right? Maybe she didn't really mind so much. Shoto only had limited experience with his own siblings, but even he knew this rule. Getting mad about being teased was part pretend.

He didn't get the chance to ponder their dynamic more deeply. Bakugou's fury blotted out his view.

"Hey, asshole! Are you ignoring me?!" Quicker than Shoto could react, the atomic blond had a hand fisted in his tie, yanking him nose-to-nose to snarl in his face. "Don't look back there! I issued you a challenge, dammit! Answer me!"

Annoying...

Shoto really wasn't enjoying being manhandled like this. He pried his tie free without saying anything and examined it. It was full of wrinkles. He'd have to iron it now to fix it. He hated using the iron in the laundry room. It never worked right for him.

God damn it.

Why the fuck did Bakugou always have to be like this?

Shoto side-eyed him. He looked about three seconds away from an apoplectic fit. Shoto would bet his whole internship stipend Bakugou was an only child. Although, actually... he'd learned something pretty useful there just the other day, hadn't he?

Shoto made sure to stare Bakugou dead in the eye as he ran his hot left hand down his tie, leaving it pressed and pristine. How was that for an answer? He felt disinclined to give any other, and so turned away from one spiky haired classmate and right into a second.

Kirishima took him by both shoulders and offered him a toothy grin.

"Todoroki!" he acknowledged with his usual good cheer, and then around him said, "Bakugou! You found him!"

'Found' me?

"I wasn't lost," Shoto said as Bakugou scoffed.

"Well, no," Kirishima hastened to say. "I just meant! Why not hit the gym with Bakugou and me?! Nothing serious, just some friendly spars. You know! Seek some manliness, train, and fight!"

So, the same basic premise as Bakugou's demand. Shoto could hear him grumbling about it behind him. What he couldn't hear anymore, was the sound of anyone from class B laughing or spectators milling around. And why should he? It was the end of the day. Everyone had places to be. Shoto had missed his chance. He might as well get some training in instead, then. With the wrapping on Kirishima's invitation so much nicer, he wouldn't even feel bad about it.

"Sure," he answered easily, receiving Bakugou's verbal outrage and a warm squeeze from Kirishima.

In the gym, once they'd gotten outfitted in P.E. gear, Shoto faced Kirishima first. He used both fire and ice freely, the match ending in his favor. He took on Bakugou next and fought him to a draw. Kirishima called time without Shoto releasing a single exothermic reaction.

"It didn't come up," Shoto explained through Bakugou's spew of incensed vitriol, hiding his amusement behind a shrug and a yawn.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'it didn't come up'?! Are you mocking me?! Get back here! Fucking face me again...!"

. . .

Fact or Fiction? Is #FantheFlames for Real?

. . .

"Look!"

"He's on his phone again!"

"Quick!"

"Do something!"

Shoto filtered out the chatting in the common room and opened the YAP! News app. He'd been so busy lately with everything – classes, internship, remedial classes, homework, and being social – he hadn't had a chance to do more than read headlines, let alone log on to twitter. That would end right now, though. His completed schoolwork was in a neat stack beside him. He was relaxed and at ease in his favorite seat at his favorite table and no one was coming to interrupt him this time.

Good.

He needed to root out just how and why the media had thrown their hats in the ring with his campaign. Probably it was just for clicks and views. Shoto could believe that of an industry which thought mass trespassing on private school grounds just to get a byline was acceptable behavior. Conveniently enough, there were two recent articles on the From the Web section, though Shoto had had to check they hadn't just been crossposted from Buzzfeed Japan. Ten Tweets that Will Convince You the #HawksdeavorTeamup is Inevitable and its twin Ten Tweets that Will Convince You Endeavor and Hawks are Soul—

"Todoroki!"

Shoto glanced up from his phone with irritation. Jirou was holding up a video game controller. She shook it at him. "Come play with us. We have an empty spot."

Was that supposed to be tempting? Shoto had never played any of the video games in the dorm before. He'd be awful at all of them. "I'm busy."

"Too busy for your friends?" Ashido challenged, hands at her hips.

What a low blow.

It wasn't Shoto who'd blacklisted someone for carrot caper confusion or for having a few terrible, horrible, no good, very bad hair days. Even if it was mostly the guys doing the first one and the girls had just been more distant. Maybe it wouldn't have ever happened if Shoto spent more time with everyone. It wasn't like they weren't all trying to make up for it now, either. Everyone was being really... really affectionate lately. Which meant...

Shoto set his phone down on top of his homework pile with a small sigh.

He'd have to play – he looked at the screen and saw a bunch of cartoon characters zooming down a rainbow road – whatever this was.

Ashido whooped when he accepted the controller from Jirou. He sat between them pretending he had any idea what he was supposed to do with it. How hard could it really be? Even if it was on a different console, he'd observed Natsuo play one of these things a few times before. You just smashed the buttons and hoped for the best.

At the screen to choose their racers, Shoto picked a boy with a blue ponytail. Ashido snappily navigated to the character one over – a girl with giant headphones like Hawks. Jirou selected a man whose moustache and grimacing grin reminded Shoto of Endeavor, though dad would probably rig his corpse up with traps before he was caught dead in either overalls or the color purple. Shoto wouldn't blame him, honestly. He wasn't incredibly fond of that shade these days, either.

"So... Todoroki," Ashido began once they'd gotten well into the race and after Shoto realized Natsuo sucked at video games. "You got any inside gossip about Endeavor and Hawks?"

Jirou snaked an ear around Shoto and cracked it like a whip against Ashido's cheek.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"He's right here!"

"I knoooow" Ashido whined, rubbing at her face without letting go of her controller. She leaned into the movement, mimicking the turns and twists of the road on screen. "But you wanna know too, Jirou! And I wanna know if they're in lo—!"

"LOVE how great you're doing at this game, Todoroki!"

Shoto didn't think he was supposed to be falling off the side of the track this many times, actually.

Jirou was obviously just trying to distract them both away from the Hawks and Endeavor subject, though he couldn't guess why if she were interested in it too. He really was the most likely person to have any insight. He was surprised it'd taken this long for someone to remember. He'd started to wonder if everyone in class A was disinterested in the whole subject. He'd say he was impressed with the refinement of their taste, but Shoto remembered with a sudden sharp clarity that Jirou sure had laughed about the idea of Endeavor teaming up with Wash.

He frowned and accelerated angrily into a banana.

"Endeavor will pick a teammate soon," he said on a whim and also to cover the slip. It wasn't a total lie. Shoto had seen his support team hounding him about it. Now he felt more than saw the girls' interest divert from the game to him. "It'll probably be Hawks." Also not a total lie since he'd only framed it as a possibility. And the possibility to win the race was back on as Jirou and Ashido both crashed simultaneously from his announcement.

As they struggled to regain their momentum, Shoto's racer whooshed past the finish line in a respectable second place. He allowed himself a brief smile. He left the controller on the seat when he stood and evaded the reaching hands attempting to jerk him back down.

"Just keep watching," he advised against their pleas to stick around for another loop of the track.

Old man, you better not make me a liar...

Shoto took his phone out again as soon as he'd returned to his room, the door shut tight behind him. In truth, it was hard to imagine dad signing the papers to bind his life's work with Hawks. The last time they'd been in the same vicinity, he'd nearly blown his top. But if the other papers had anything to say, soul mates should always fight side by side.

Dad would know that by now. He read the newspaper over his tea every morning. Picturing what his face must've done if he shook out that headline in his daily edition...

Shoto gave in to the absurd urge to laugh.

Just a little.

He pressed his hand to his lips to muffle the sound as he finally scrolled through the soul mate article. They were all tweets he'd seen before – all one's he’d retweeted. The article was just spinning non-existent nonsense out of older nonsense. Shoto was vaguely disappointed. He'd thought maybe... maybe there would've been a tweet from Hawks.

It wasn't that Shoto thought Hawks deserved the public perpetuating that he and Endeavor were destined for one another, but surely he must know that was who his optimal partner would be. Together they had range, synergy, power, speed, finesse... Why would the guy with the fastest upward momentum of any hero in history not want to cash in on the hero with the most endurance? Plus, Hawks had said it himself at the billboard ranking ceremony. Popularity should count the most these days. It wasn't as if #fantheflames topping trending was causing him collateral damage. Yet all he'd posted since he'd @'d Miruko were a few articles about the villains he'd stopped recently. Going farther back, he hadn't even retweeted that awful photo they'd taken together that'd done the rounds. His likes were devoid of any mentions of Endeavor too.

What was he thinking...?

At least Shoto wasn't alone in wondering that.

— i support the #hawksdeavorteamup but what does hawks say???? @hawksymoxie

Back before this whole mess – back before the second nomu – Hawks had told All Might he was trying to get on well with Endeavor. So why now when the perfect opportunity had presented itself was he so silent?

Was it Hawks who was the liar here?

For the first time since he'd created a second hashtag, Shoto didn't sleep well that night.

He should've known better.

Silence didn't mean someone had nothing to say. Silence didn't mean a condemnation. Silence could mean many things – like lying in wait, circling from above, and choosing the right time to strike.

And that strike didn't have to happen on twitter.

Shoto was in his room, at his desk, and mostly minding his own business. At his right, he was working through grammar exercises. At his left was his laptop. Every few minutes, he gave up trying to parse through English modal verbs and F5'd the YAP! News homepage.

Nothing.

...could not have won...

Nothing.

...would have invited...

Nothing.

...must be patient...

"Ah."

Shoto's hand fell to his mouse. He maneuvered the pointer to the headline of the latest Hero Newsflash as if in a dream and clicked the link.

Relationship Status: It's Complicated?
No. 2 hero Hawks’ personal and professional connection to No. 1 hero Endeavor remains unknown after he answers journalists’ questions with song lyrics...

There was a video.

The camera crew had evidently caught Hawks during a mid-patrol break. The footage started as he exited a konbini, bopping to a beat only he could hear and stuffing fried chicken in his mouth from a clear plastic cup. He swept past a pair of sentry-stiff reporters guarding the entrance. They came to life as he sashayed by, their eyes popping like stress relief dolls being squeezed.

"Hawks! Hawks!" shouted the one in the leopard print blazer, waving his microphone like an SOS beacon. "Share a little gossip with The Fukuoka Sun?"

His rival, a woman in a severe black suit and a sharper black bob, jabbed her way in front of him with an elbow. "Hawks-san, The Fukuoka Times, a reputable news source, would greatly appreciate a statement!"

Hawks stopped. His head inclined like he might've heard something.

He turned.

The journalists erupted with a barrage of questions so rapid Shoto couldn't make out the words. Hawks held up his chicken cup as if in toast and pointed at his mouth. They fell into an embarrassed, impatient silence and let Japan's second best hero finish chewing. He took his dear, sweet time, masticating like it were a dance move. At long last, he reached up to press something on his headphones and his shoulders fell still. Hawks swallowed and uttered his first recorded words in what felt like weeks.

"What's up?"

The reporters fumbled over themselves to speak first.

"Hawks—!"

"—what do you say to rumors—"

"—you're having a dangerous liaison—"

"—with Endeavor?!"

Hawks tapped his chin in contemplation like all of that made complete sense and he didn't need a moment to puzzle it together. Maybe it was even true. He gave a decisive nod and bowed his head as he addressed the Very Professional Woman.

"Endeavor-san knows the rules and so do I."

She beamed a waxy grin of triumph and barked out a follow-up as she thrust out her mic. But a smile was tugging at Hawks' lips too, Shoto saw. When he leaned in close to the screen, he could just make out that his eyes were on the drooping Tabloid Man when he said, "A full commitment's what I'm thinking of."

The man revived like a parasite unspooling from its host. The woman squawked, trying to shove him aside again as she demanded clarification.

"Please!" she begged, barely audible over a comeback screech of "Tell me!"

Despite the force of them both, Hawks stood calm as the center of a storm, undeterred, unruffled, and unmoving – save for his wings. Neither journalist noticed the glorious red feathers flexing and stretching. No, they surged forward oblivious, intent on wringing out a real answer.

They never touched him.

One down stroke and he was already well away and laughing as they braced themselves against the wind of it. But Hawks didn't leave them with nothing. He spoke unto them from on high one last ambiguous gift.

"He wouldn't get this from any other guy!"

It should've ended there with Hawks soaring back to work and the journalists left earthbound and flabbergasted. Instead, the camera did a slow-mo zoom in on the smug delight on Hawks' face and froze. When nothing else happened, Shoto hovered his cursor over the player. There were three minutes and thirty two seconds left. Why were there—?

A drum track kicked in.

The music blared through the laptop speakers, flinchingly loud. Shoto scrambled out of his chair, heart pounding.

Where the hell were his headphones?! ...All the way over by his temari ball?! Why?!

Screw it.

He whirled back to his laptop to see a red-haired man in a trench coat jazz his hands and begin to sing.

We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do—

Shoto slapped the mute button and caught his breath.

What even was that archival footage? Why would anyone sane put that at the end of a news broadcast?! ...Except...

Except if that was the song Hawks had been referencing.

Shoto retrieved his headphones. He plugged them in, turned the volume down low, and rewound the video to the start. He read the article as he listened and learned that, oh, actually, all those strings of tweets he'd found so clever and so creative? Songs. All of them referencing classic songs. Well. He'd! He'd thought they sounded familiar! How was he supposed to know! With the words all rearranged! And the songs so old! Even Hawks' was some ancient internet meme from before the onset of quirks.

Shoto opened up twitter in another tab and clicked #fantheflames, sitting steady at the top of trending.

It was keysmashing all the way down.

He sat back in his chair.

So, this was... a big deal. It meant Hawks didn't just know of or about the movement. He'd displayed a deeper familiarity with the internal workings of it than even Shoto had. Hawks had to have been following it. Keeping up with it. And then without using a single hashtag, he'd fanned the flames so hard, he'd topped them all. He couldn't have even planned it in advance – he'd literally done it on the fly, so this whole time... this whole time! He must've been thinking about it! So when opportunity knocked, he'd seized it. More than that, this confirmed that he liked it. That he wanted to team up with dad. And he'd be willing to ship tease to do it.

Hawks really was Shoto's favorite hero.

Dad couldn't say no in the face of this. It'd been popular before, but with Hawks' confirming he was up for it, there'd be no other option. All of Japan would be gunning for this match up and #hawksdeavorteamup would be an unequivocal success.

Maybe with time, Hawks might even work enough magic to get dad flashing peace signs with him again.

Shoto could only hope.

Best of all, these modal verb worksheets suddenly seemed to make a helluva lot more sense.

Shoto set his lunch tray on the table but didn't sit down. Across from him, Iida, Midoriya, and Uraraka were huddled together, transfixed with Midoriya's phone.

"Hey," he greeted. Not a twitch from Iida or Uraraka, but Midoriya made a small noise. Unfortunately, it was the one Shoto had learned foreshadowed descent into muttering. He'd have to try again.

"What's that you've got, Midoriya?"

That did the trick. All three of them balked like he'd just caught them with illicit materials.

"Todoroki-kun!" Midoriya yelped.

"It's..." Iida trailed off.

"Nothing?" Uraraka offered.

Right.

There was a whole table between them, but Shoto had the height advantage and Midoriya couldn't seem to figure out if he should be hiding his phone or not. Shoto braced himself, palms flat on either side of his bowl of soba, and leaned forward to solve this himself. He was aided by Midoriya's guilty conscience. He held the phone out obligingly.

Laid forth now so everyone on both sides of the table could see, Hawks was dancing alone with his konbini chicken again and again in a continuous loop.

"Ah," Shoto said, satisfied, and sat. "It's that."

"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya broached, voice as gentle as if he were talking to a wild animal. "You... you know?"

Shoto looked at him. Then at Iida, then Uraraka. All three wore matching expressions of concern. Were they serious? How could Shoto not know? He was pretty sure there wasn't a person left alive in Japan who hadn't seen the video. Even now from somewhere on the fringes of the cafeteria he could hear the muffled rickroll playing in the distance.

Shoto tore off the wrapping of his disposable chopsticks. He pried them apart clean, the snap sharp. His friends flinched.

"I know what it is, Midoriya," he confirmed.

"Oh."

"It's one of those moving pictures."

There was a pause, so Shoto shrugged and prepared a bite of ice cold noodles to dunk in savory, sea-rich sauce. Sometimes, you had to act a little dumb so people would stop being idiots. Besides, he was way more interested in why they were looking up Hawks than why they thought he wouldn't. Just because the video was related to his dad, it didn't mean it was taboo. Even if he hated his dad. Even if Midoriya knew why. Whatever. Shoto didn't want to get into that. He was gonna sit here, slurp up his soba, and pretend he didn't notice their silent eye-contact-only conversation about whether he really were so oblivious he didn't know what the type of file on Midoriya's phone was called.

He did.

Theoretically.

Shoto had once witnessed an intense argument about it. Fuyumi vs. Natsuo on: was it pronounced like gin or like gift? Maybe it was wrong of him, but Shoto hadn't wanted to risk his health by taking a side. The route guaranteeing the highest likelihood of self-preservation then was acting totally ignorant of the word's entire existence. Fuyumi had despaired. Natsu had cursed dad's teaching regimen. In the end, they'd been too distracted to realize Shoto had gotten away without committing to anything.

Here today, it'd successfully wiped the worry right off his friends' faces.

"Todoroki-kun," Iida and Uraraka said together, not unkindly, "these are called—"

"—gifs."

"—Gifs."

A chilly pall swept over the table. Shoto would say it wasn't his fault. He hadn't used his quirk at all, but...

Oops.

Iida's glasses went dark. "Gif as in engine."

Uraraka's chopsticks fractured in her fist. "Gif as in girl."

Kaminari wasn't seated anywhere nearby, but the air seemed to thicken with unreleased static electricity. Shoto would've testified in court that at that moment, both students began to emit a dark aura.

And trapped between them was Midoriya.

Uraraka and Iida realized it at the same time.

"Ne, Deku-kun," Uraraka said, twitching toward him like a clockwork marionette. "How do you say it?"

"It doesn't matter how Midoriya-kun says it," countered Iida, growling like a V8 Interceptor. "According to the originator of the term—"

"Midoriya," Shoto interrupted because he was a hero-in-training and he'd seen a good handful of people in need in his short life but none who could've matched his friend right then. "What's so important about this moving picture anyway?"

Shoto expected gratitude for the rescue. He expected Iida and Uraraka to maybe back off a bit. He didn't expect all three of them to laugh.

"T-Todoroki-kun," Midoriya managed to say around actual tears. "Did you just? Make a joke?"

Iida fucking applauded. "Your sense of humor continues to develop, Todoroki-kun! You almost had me there! Bravo!"

"No," Shoto denied and decided to tell the truth before Uraraka got in on this too. "It's just a compromise."

That just set them off again.

"I mean," Shoto explained as they struggled to get a hold of themselves and he struggled to understand why this was funny, "you can't call it an image either... That's too dangerous."

"Image!" Uraraka giggled, jabbing a finger in his general direction, accuracy currently beyond her. "Dangerous!"

Shoto huffed and went back to his lunch. He'd just have to wait until they got this out of their system, wouldn't he? He was halfway through his noodles before Midoriya finally dabbed at his eyes with a spare napkin and slid Uraraka a spare pair of disposable chopsticks. His phone had gone dormant in the middle of the table. He brought it back to life so everyone could watch again as Hawks shimmied out of a konbini over and over.

"Heroes' costumes always serve a specific purpose," Midoriya began. "Aesthetic and theme play a huge part of what a hero wears – just look at Edgeshot! And of course, there's the general vibe they're going for and how they want to be perceived by civilians or when a villain sees them or even, I suppose, they could dress a certain way to serve as a deterrent – Endeavor's flames are a show of power, really, but—"

"Deku-kun," Uraraka interceded.

"What?"

"You're getting off track."

"...Right, sorry." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Hawks' headphones. I always wondered what they could be for, what function. Here—" He tapped his phone and paused as the gif completed another circuit. "—it really appears like he's listening to something..."

Appears...?

"But?" Shoto prompted. Where was Midoriya going with this?

"Look," he said and gestured to Iida.

Iida lined up his own phone parallel to Midoriya's. When he turned it on, the screen showed a YouTube video. It was the song Hawks had quoted at the journalists. He pressed play.

"What exactly—?"

"Look," Midoriya repeated, eyes intent on the gif. Shoto looked. He didn't know what was supposed to be different with music on top of it. This was starting to get a bit weird.

"Midori—"

"He's moving perfectly in time with the beat of the song."

Shoto looked again.

It was true.

Iida switched to a different video. Hawks danced to that one too. He swiped to a third song. Still rocking out. He tapped on a fourth, and they collectively sat back as an ad for Snake Hero Uwabami's UNERI hairspray started up instead – until Uraraka pointed out Hawks was even in sync with Yaoyorozu and Kendou for the product jingle.

"So..." Shoto ventured. "He is listening to music."

"No," said Midoriya, both hands fisted deep in his evergreen curls. "The results... inconclusive. They're inconclusive. Sure, he could've actually been listening to that song, but then again, since he dances in time to everything else that could just as easily mean he was listening to nothing at all and only going through the motions. I mean, in the video he heard the reporters calling out to him because he stopped to talk to them, so his headphones, maybe the volume was down low? And obviously there could be other reasons to have them, but for this – it's Hawks. You know what Hawks is like, so—"

His voice got fainter and fainter as his muttering spiraled out of control.

Shoto lowered his chopsticks alongside Iida and Uraraka. They had to snap him out of this.

Uraraka tried consolation. "It's okay, Deku-kun. Hawks works in mysterious ways. We can't know everything."

Iida tried reason. "What purpose could it serve to pretend to listen to music?"

Shoto went with common sense. "Midoriya... can't you just ask him?"

That did the trick. It got Iida and Uraraka lifting eyebrows at him too.

"Just ask...?"

"On twitter. He answers fan questions there sometimes."

Sometimes meaning almost constantly since his stunt with the press down south. Hawks had been tweeting like he had ground to regain. Interesting stuff, sure, but most of it wasn't about anything important as far as Shoto was concerned. For the stuff that was, Hawks seemed incapable of giving a straight answer.

— @tottoutori88: @hawksymoxie so are you partnering up with And ever or not?!?!1

Since the headphones had nothing to do with dad, putting it to him on twitter seemed the obvious solution to Shoto, but across from him he received nothing but horror filled out in triplicate.

"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya said with wide, beseeching eyes, "you haven't been looking at twitter recently, have you? Do you... do you have a twitter?"

Oh. Shit.

Had Shoto just given himself away? He'd have to lie. How did you lie again?!

"..."

Thankfully, Midoriya took his silence for a negative and shook his head. "No, sorry. Of course you don't. That'd be ridiculous."

...Rude, but sure. Let's go with that.

"..."

"But then," Midoriya continued, bangs falling forward to shadow his eyes, "why would you assume I have one?"

Crap.

"..."

"Oh, wait, it's because it's obvious, isn't it?" He sat back whooshing out a breath that was half laugh, half relief and Shoto did too, except without any of that.

"...You mentioned a hashtag once," he said at last because they'd been sitting right here all those weeks ago when Midoriya had told the whole table #fantheflames meant the same thing as #hawksdeavorteamup did now. Shoto had held his tongue on correcting him then and he'd do it again. It'd probably be a good idea to cement his supposed ignorance of current twitter trends to throw them off. There was no such thing as being too safe with a secret identity, right? He'd go with sounding completely outdated.

"Hawks did an AMA a couple years ago. Someone asked how he puts his coat on with the wings."

Shoto had stumbled on that by accident two days ago browsing Hawks' twitter using advanced search. It should be enough to satisfy his friends. He stuffed his final bite of noodles into his mouth, so of course that was when Uraraka hit him with, "Well?"

Well, what?

"What'd he say?" she clarified, her own noodles dangling forgotten in her chopsticks.

Oh. Shoto chewed fast, wondering how Hawks had pulled off making people wait on him this way with such ease. Now, how had his tweet gone...? "He does it the same way as everyone else. One arm at a time."

"...That doesn't tell us anything," Iida complained, unimpressed. Uraraka nodded, stuffing her food in her mouth and pouting around it.

"I guess not." Shoto hadn't thought about it so deeply before. "You could still try, Midoriya, with your question."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," Midoriya mused and picked up his phone to tap away at it. "How does this sound: 'Sorry to bother you, but my friends and I were wondering if your headphones actually play music?'"

Shoto nodded along with the others and Midoriya sent it out. They just had to wait for a response now.

Shoto cleared away his lunch tray as his friends finished their own food. He made a pit stop on the way back to acquire a hot cup of tea. By the time he rejoined the table, he'd chilled it quite nicely. He got two minutes to savor it before the phone in the All Might case on the table gave a mighty vibration.

Midoriya snatched it. "It's him! He replied!"

He didn't leave them in suspense, but launched straight into the tweet. "'Of course they do. Why else would I wear them? But don't—'" He broke off, wilting like a flower. He finished reading, each word like a death sentence. "'—don't beat yourself up about asking.'"

Despite the general noisiness of the cafeteria, at their table you could've heard a pin drop.

"Midoriya-kun." Iida dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You were unnecessarily apologetic."

"Iida-kun?! You couldn't have said so before?!"

"It's only upon reflection that I've come to this conclusion!"

On his other side, Uraraka hit him a sunshine smile made of pure optimism. "Hey, but we solved it, though, Deku-kun! The headphones do play music! And the other thing... Just think of it this way: it means Hawks was watching you at the sports festival! He knows who you are! And after all this time, he remembered you!"

Shoto felt a twinge of something twisting and dark at her words. He didn't like it. He liked it even less when Midoriya turned to her with wobbly eyes, thick with tears of gratitude. "Uraraka-san... You're right. Even if it also means the pros still just think of me as the kid who destroyed his own body for a fight..."

Shoto's hand tightened around his teacup.

No... this isn't right.

He swallowed down whatever dumb feeling he was feeling. He'd been the opponent in that match and it'd been so much more than just a regular tournament brawl. Shoto had won their round, but he'd always be grateful for getting what Sero had once called the 'Earlyroki' beaten out of him.

So.

It was up to him to say it.

"Midoriya, I think you did alright at the sports festival, but..." Shoto shrugged, turning aside to take a sip of his tea, "that's just my opinion."

Midoriya regarded him open-mouthed. "Todoroki-kun..."

It was an usually heartfelt thing to have said. Shoto hoped he wasn't about to cry.

"I can't believe..."

He needn't have worried.

"You know that meme!"

Midoriya burst out laughing for the second time this lunch period.

To his right, Iida chuckled too. "Slightly modified from the classic format, but a worthy innovation! I'd wondered before if you were aware of this one, the other day with the— Well. N-Never mind."

What?

No.

No!

Why did they keep thinking he was making jokes?!

"I don’t know what you mean," he said, but Uraraka cheered over him, “We haven't even got Tsuyu-chan to do that one yet!" and Shoto gave up.

He wasn't sure how he'd done it, but he'd made his friends laugh. It was... nice.

Midoriya's phone buzzed again in the midst of their fit. He checked it, breath hitching, then exhaled all at once.

"It's! Hawks! It's him! He sent me another tweet?!" He began to rattle it off. "'By the way, say hi to Sho—' oh. It's for you." He held it out to Shoto, rubbing at his neck. "I'd just read it, but I didn't want to assume..."

Shoto glanced at it, confused but eager despite himself. What could Hawks have to say to him that Midoriya couldn't say?

Oh.

"It's okay," he said, making sure to look Midoriya in the eye as he did, then to Iida and Uraraka so it'd be inclusive. Somehow, he already knew it wouldn't change anything. He read the tweet again to distract himself from it.

It's Hawks!
@hawksymoxie: @themightyDEKU btw say hi to Shoto-kun for me ଘ(੭˘▽˘)੭

The vestiges of the stupid cloying thing inside him that'd reared its ugly head when Uraraka went on about Hawks recognizing Midoriya evaporated. After a moment of drinking in the words with the cute kaomoji tacked on at the end, Shoto leaned away to show Midoriya he was done and so Iida and Uraraka could have their turn, as they seemed about to demand it.

"Oh, that's right," Uraraka said when she saw it. "You've met Hawks, haven't you, Todoroki-kun?"

And there it was, even though he'd just told them it was okay... Maybe another time he'd try again, because that other thing? He hadn't. Shoto had never told anyone about the time he'd found Hawks in his house. He'd never told anyone about the grandma-requested picture he'd endured at Hawks' side either. Shoto had wanted that to pass everyone by without fanfare since it was indelibly attached to twitter people making fun of his chosen hero moniker.

But who was he kidding?

Everyone in Class A knew if there was something out there to know about heroes, Midoriya Izuku always found out. The speed at which he suddenly began to wolf down his katsudon – shoving the whole bowl right up into his face making eye contact impossible – displayed his culpability well enough.

Maybe that was why Shoto felt compelled to do it.

"Yeah, I have," he said, foregoing a perfectly adequate one word affirmative like it was no big deal. "A couple of times."

The awe that got him was worth it.

Chapter Text

After Hawks' big stunt, things happened fast.

He'd finally set the pace and while he may claim to take things easy, that pace was breakneck.

Shoto got to enjoy hearing his hashtags on the lips of every single student he passed in the halls of U.A. for only a few days. Even his classmates had finally started whispering them here and there. Whenever he edged closer to listen in, they'd always already changed the subject, but Shoto knew what he'd heard.

When the news finally broke the Hawks-Endeavor merger was a go, Shoto heard that too.

Loud and clear and with his headphones on.

"Japan can rest easy after today knowing the viral campaign for heroes Hawks and Endeavor to join forces has been a success! With a press conference forthcoming early this afternoon, the big question is—"

"ARE YOU REEEEEEAAAADYY???? The show's gonna get LIT 'cuz the #hawksdeavorteamup is IT! Let's start out with their song!!!!! Everybody put your hands up and saaaaay—"

"Never gonna give us up, never gonna let us down! That's right, Japan! Hawks and Endeavor are now officially... a team up! Hahaha, almost fooled you all there, didn't I? But—"

"Reports of a romantic relationship between Japan's two strongest heroes are, of course, nothing more than baseless rumors running rampant on the internet. Not even enough to warrant a libel or defamation lawsuit, I'd say."

...L-Lawsuit?

Why wasn't Legal Issues in Heroics a first year class again?!

Shoto thought he'd only ever have to worry about dad and maybe Hawks finding out he was the one originally behind #fantheflames, not the law... That aspect of the hashtag was just a joke anyway. A giant in-joke. What harm could it even do? He was saving Japan's butt here getting the two best heroes together! They should be applauding him not apprehending him!

But wait.

Hold on.

Shoto was jumping the gun.

They'd said not enough for a lawsuit. He was still okay. He'd just have to be extra careful from now on. Easy. It wasn't like he was the one generating anything new these days. He just collected it, and, well... if they ever did come for him, Shoto wasn't afraid of even the chief of police, and they'd certainly never take him alive. He'd make sure to burn the evidence before he went down, too. As an accomplished arsonist, he knew how to make it happen. He'd even freeze the remains this time so they couldn't get to them. There was no telling what could be done with science these days, after all, with that Hatsume Mei pushing the envelope over in the support course.

And oh god, no, it was still too soon. He didn't want to remember about what eldritch horrors could be lurking inside envelopes...

Shoto shuddered.

The whole point of this campaign was so he could relax knowing dad had decent backup against the greatest threats villains would throw at him – and laugh at him in the meantime.

He'd succeeded, and no one was going to jail.

There was no need to get all worked up.

Except the universe had more in store for him, and it let him know before Shoto even made it downstairs. He'd just wanted to see if dad and Hawks had anything to say for themselves yet:

Endeavor
@Endeavor: As of today, Endeavor will conduct regular patrols with Hawks (@hawksymoxie).

It's Hawks!
@hawksymoxie: 1 + 2 = #hawksdeavorteamup!! let's #fantheflames🔥 @Endeavor-san!

Endeavor's sidekicks had employed their usual blunt style making dad look like he talked about himself in the third person and Hawks' tweet displayed an actual personality. Seeing the hashtags on his account had been jarring. Shoto knew he knew about them, but imagining Hawks physically typing them out was surreal. He was pettily happy dad hadn't warranted an angel, though the little blaze of color after #fantheflames was a nice touch. It almost looked—

Shoto jabbed the hashtag link with his thumb.

It was attached.

On every single tweet.

The JHA hadn't just officiated this team up.

They'd officialized the hashtag.

But #fantheflames was the wrong one. Didn't they know the connotation it had? It'd been there since day fucking one! And they'd paid cash money to brand it?! Endeavor was gonna Prominence Burn the hero association headquarters to the ground when he saw this. And oh god. The poor soul who'd have to tell him about it since he didn't use twitter himself...

Shoto just hoped they'd manage to film it before they went up in smoke – dad's moment of realization that this hashtag was now an undeniable part of his legacy. And to think, at one point Shoto almost retired it. Instead, he got to pull up his calendar app and mark today as a repeating event to celebrate annually.

The only criticism Shoto had was how unfair it was to Hawks. Fire was only indicative of Endeavor. Where was Hawks' emoji? Why should dad get everything? But if Shoto wanted breakfast before English, that cross examination would have to wait. He stored his phone away in a spare backpack pocket and got going.

First period dragged on like torture. Shoto was so antsy even Present Mic's voice became a drone. If he'd thrown a pop quiz at them today, Shoto would've failed. U.A. not being a villain school and their sensei a hero, he just wrapped class up, slid out the door, and their ten minutes of freedom began.

Shoto sprang out of his seat like oil on a griddle. He didn't have anywhere to go, but if he sat there for one more second, he was sure something dire would've happened. For the first time in forever, his friends didn't bug him about being on his own phone in public. They were too busy doing... whatever. Shoto didn't care.

New tweets were pouring in on the hashtag front hot and fast. No one seemed pressed at only getting one emoji, or if they were, the discourse had been well-buried under wall-to-wall euphoria, and Shoto wasn't just pulling that from nowhere.

— euPHOOOORia!! #fantheflames🔥 until it's done! From now on only #2 and #1! They're teaming up, up, up, up, up, up!

Shoto couldn't begrudge them a good time. These online strangers across Japan had been the buoys keeping the hashtags afloat. For their part in making all this a reality, they could post dancing kaomoji if they wanted to.

— villains behave, #hawksdeavorteamup says together ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

Shoto had cobbled together half a face of his own to post when Aizawa-sensei shuffled into the classroom like a dead man. They still had T minus five minutes until math. This wasn't right. The scattered students fell silent to hear what their sleepy sensei had to say.

"Change of plans," he announced, revolving on the spot to make sure they were all paying attention. "Today we're doing extended battle training, so go suit up."

Half the class whooped and was out the door as soon as they'd got their marching orders. Shoto milled behind, trying to catch sensei's eye. He was steadfastly ignored. He supposed it didn't matter.

Shoto knew what this was.

If even Present Mic couldn't rouse up a bunch of restless teenagers to pay attention, the teachers had gone full throttle to prevent them from getting too fidgety about today's news. Battle training meant absolutely no phones because they'd all be too busy whaling on each other or watching each other whale on each other to try to figure out how to get whaled on less next time to access the internet.

This was containment.

It worked until half past noon when Iida's hand rocketed into the air. Without lowering it and without being called on, he informed Aizawa-sensei at volume that according to school rules, they were required a fifty minute lunch break. A timer went off as soon as he finished speaking. Aizawa-sensei waved them off with a yawn as Iida had an existential crisis about trusting his superiors.

Class A left him to it, as usual, and went to eat.

When Shoto stepped into the cafeteria, he was almost bowled over by a barrage of sound. That wasn't abnormal, but usually it was caused by everyday chatter, not hordes racing up and down the shrubbery-lined aisles chanting indistinct litanies of "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," and shoving their phones in each other's faces.

The press conference hadn't even started yet.

Shoto skirted the edge of the mess hall toward the food counter. Every lunch line was abandoned, and well, far be it from him not to get the day's first helping of nutty handmade buckwheat noodles if no one else was taking it. Shoto was pretty sure if he'd set a few tables alight on the way over, no one would've noticed. This wasn't a riot, though. The room might be bubbling over like it'd got carbonated, but fizziness wasn't fear. And as long as no one's life was on the line, then no matter what had invigorated the student body, Endeavor wasn't going to get between Shoto and soba – ever.

That was why he sank weak-kneed into the closest empty chair when he finally succeeded in unlocking his phone (one handed, the other pulling full duty balancing his lunch tray) and saw who'd really incited the frenzy.

It was All Might.

On twitter.

With an ultimate two-tweet smash.

NEVER FEAR FOR...!
@ALLMIGHTISHERE: It takes a big man to come out like this, especially as the no. 1 hero! #PROUD to see @Endeavor and @hawksymoxie come out today together! #fantheflames🔥 #hawksdeavorteamup

NEVER FEAR FOR...!
@ALLMIGHTISHERE: I never could!

Shoto read the messages. Then, he read them again to make sure he hadn't hallucinated.

He scanned the chaotic cafeteria. He spotted a knot of class A kids at the far end of the room. Midoriya was in the center, so nose-to-nose with his phone he was almost inhaling it. Shoto spied zero hats. That meant Shiketsu High hadn't infiltrated and Utsushimi Camie wasn't casting Glamour.

The tweets were not, indeed, fake.

Shoto took a screenshot anyway, just so if something happened he could prove to himself again later this wasn't some grand illusion.

So... should I...?

The retweet button was right there. He could do it. Thousands of others already had. All Might robbing dad of the headlines like this on today of all days was just hilarious poetic justice. It would be so easy.

But something about this wasn't quite right.

#fantheflames was a joke, not a ship anyone was supposed to think could ever be plausible. Maybe it was just that one news report Shoto had heard earlier that had put the wariness of the law in him, but wasn't there a big difference between nobodies on the internet affirming it versus someone this famous? Sure, All Might was older than even dad, and this was the guy who hadn't grasped the implication of "budding relationship." He'd wrapped up the sports festival trying to get a full stadium to shout "thanks for your hard work" instead of "Plus Ultra."

So... so, yeah! This was probably just another accident! Obviously, no one would believe him for real this time.

Except if they did.

'No one' did sound an awful lot like an entire cafeteria's worth of people screaming.

All Might was going to get in so much trouble for this.

How much depended on the response, and the first place to check for heroes laughing through some damage control would be there.

Navigation was simple. Hawks' account was saved in Shoto's frequent searches. One tap, a quick scroll down, and he saw it. All Might's first tweet. Hawks had retweeted it almost as soon as the original had been posted.

There was no additional commentary added.

...Okay.

Dad then. He’d check dad's account.

Shoto tapped the link that was his father's username and immediately felt like he was about to pass out. The time stamp was different. It had happened hours after Hawks had done it. Shoto had enough wits left to notice it'd been done just a few minutes ago.

But here again.

All Might's tweet.

Retweeted.

Without a single caveat clarifying anything.

...Those poor, poor sidekicks.

They were going to get slaughtered.

They might even be roasting right this second.

It was a shame. They weren't perfect, but outside of the underwear stuff, they'd been pretty okay. They hadn't even meant for Shoto to find out about that. But they should've known the cardinal rule for anything Endeavor-related was to put a giant X over everything All Might. Shoto supposed he'd have to dip into his allowance so he'd have condolence money for their funerals. Dad probably wouldn't let him use his internship fund for it. Not that it would matter, since he'd be in prison, but...

Shoto gave himself a hard, mental shake.

He dug his chopsticks into his untouched lunch and slurped down a silken mouthful of soba noodles. Reality was clearer after that.

Shoto had promised himself already no one was going to jail today. Not even his shitty father. Dad was growing as a person lately. He'd hung out beside All Might at Shoto's provisional hero training without exploding that one time. He could weather this tweet with only minimal shouting. He'd understand there had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. He must have already found it. Shoto would find it too. In All Migh's @ replies.

From right on Endeavor's profile, Shoto touched to expand the tweet.

— WAS
    WAS ALL MIGHT GAY

— remember that time all might outed the number one & two heroes and then himself

— uhhh #allmightisallright but is all might alright?????

— by the word of the almighty all might i now christen thee man and hawk

— why he do that

— suddenly my skin is clear, my crops are watered, I have 20/20 vision, perfect grades, the sun is shining and world order has been restored #myhero

— Guys, he means come out as in appear together. Endaevor and Hawks officially partnered up today.

The thing about All Might, Shoto remembered as he swiped through the unceasing stream of comments, relief bolstered the farther down he got, was that he had his own gravity. He was a vortex. Pretty much anything in his vicinity revolved around him, even when his whole intention was to shine the spotlight on someone else. And where All Might went, people smiled, had fun, and felt better. Everyone really was just having a good time with this, exactly like they had last time. By the end of his grand tour, with the syntax itself explained away, Shoto had finally decided it'd be fine to retweet All Might too.

He tapped at the back button and missed. The slider edged down, revealing the next tweet. And once he'd read that one, Shoto had to read the next – and the next and the next and the next...

— Endeavor is NOT GAY!!!!!!! Not everything has to fucking "fan the flames"!!!!

It just kept going.

Endlessly.

On and on and on.

Shoto had thought the names these people had come up for him had been rough?

That'd been nothing.

Shoto had never seen so many re-interpretations of 'Endeavor' before. He couldn't even pick a favorite. Endadroar was pretty good. But then again, Endadsnore was entirely accurate. Based on the logic and parallel structure, the 'vore' of Endadvore had to be a word too, but Shoto didn't know that one. He made a mental note to do a comprehensive search for that online later.

On the subject of dads though, not that this trueflamebro jerk the shippers were tearing apart was right, but didn't he kind of have a point? Could someone with biological children be gay? Wouldn't that technically make dad bisexual? Not that. N-Not that someone couldn't... you know... with someone they wouldn't with normally when the whole purpose of an arranged quirk marriage was the children. The act itself could've just been... could've... been...

Shit.

Shoto's face crumpled as he desperately tried to apply the brain bleach. Ugh, he did not want to contemplate dad's sexuality. Ever. Especially since, with three siblings, that meant dad and mom had to have done it at least four times, and – NO!

He dropped his phone on his lunch tray – blessedly not on top of his nest of noodles – and shoved the whole thing an arm's length away. The dark glass of the screen, spotty with fingerprints, was spinning down the tweet thread. Shoto's thumb must've brushed it. Even from this distance, he could read them – all the ways that man's name had been mangled.

en-du-jour

Enheater

endive

endorser

Endelver

Endeavor
@Endeavor: @trueflamebro Son, just don't.

Shoto choked on his own spit.

Yeah, no.

Dead.

The sidekicks were dead.

At least they'd have gone down making dad sound like an advocate.

Shoto lurched into the 1-A dorm with limbs like jelly.

Battle training had resumed after lunch. Despite how many in the class had begged, Aizawa-sensei was immune. He hadn't allowed any breaks to watch the press conference. In fact, he'd hardly allowed breaks for water either. When Ashido and Kaminari had begun to whine, he'd taken everyone aback with the vehemence with which he'd admonished them.

"Remember why it is heroes are teaming up today. A nomu won't let you take a break."

They all fought hard after that.

Aizawa-sensei wasn't heartless, though.

"Check NHA," he said as he sent them packing toward the locker rooms. "There'll be a re-run around five thirty tonight."

Even better, when Shoto left the boy's bathroom, damp and refreshed, hair carefully flattened with a fire-heated hand and dressed in his coziest sweater and sweatpants, he could smell a pot of hearty beef stew bubbling away in the kitchen.

Iida took charge from there, herding everyone into a line with the dexterity of an earnest sheepdog. He ladled up the bowls with a scoop of steaming white rice on one side, the other packed with thin strips of beef braised tender and brown, orange-bright carrots shiny with glaze, and thick chunks of potato already crumbling away.

It was a happy and well-fed class A, curled up and content, that flipped on the television at the assigned time.

The press conference was largely underwhelming.

There was dad, jaw clenched as tight as his arms were crossed, tattered face awhirl with flames. It was the only part of him that moved. He didn't look like he'd murdered anyone earlier or that his day had been anything beyond average. He was presumably listening to the Hero Public Safety Commission President's speech, but it was so boring, Shoto almost fell asleep.

The only saving grace was Hawks. In contrast to Endeavor, he couldn't seem to keep still. His hair was wild, more windswept than Shoto had ever seen it. He swayed from side to side, bouncing on the balls of his feet. At his back, his wings fluttered out, then razored in, tucked neatly behind him. Every so often, the plumage fluffed up, then went abruptly sleek.

And he kept smiling.

It wasn't that Hawks didn't usually smile, except he didn't really. Not like All Might. Not to ward away evil. Every time Shoto had seen Hawks smile up to now, he'd done it like he had a trick up his sleeve. Like he was waiting for you to catch up. You never would, but it'd be passing amusing watching you try.

Today, he smiled with his whole body.

Occasionally, he'd catch himself doing it and wipe it away, but it wouldn't be long before his lips quirked again as he scanned the off-camera crowd. Every time his panning glance hit dad, his grin would break out again. At one point, to the appreciation of most of Shoto's surrounding classmates, Hawks glowered and crossed his arms in clear imitation of Endeavor. He managed to hold it for about three seconds before he laughed, head thrown back to the sky. He jammed his hands in the front pockets of his tan uniform trousers with a happy shrug of the shoulders as if to say, Hey, I tried!

At long last, the President wrapped up her monologue and yielded the podium to the stars of the hour. Shoto leaned forward, waiting for a twist that never came. Endeavor and Hawks gave about the dullest prepared statements he'd ever heard ("We regret the long wait for this announcement," they'd "root out this nomu business, rest assured," because "under our watch, there'll be no more uncertainty!") before taking questions from the assembled journalists. They must've been vetted in advance, because not a single one mentioned hashtags, hinted at romantic chemistry, or breathed the name All Might.

But it wasn't a total wash out.

Shoto learned yes, as they said before, they, like many other hero teams throughout Japan, newly minted and old, would be investigating the nomu threat. No, it would not be an impediment their agencies being separated by half the country. Yes, they would be splitting their time between Musutafu, Fukuoka, and wherever else need took them. No, they weren't going to give out a schedule in advance. Yes, no, yes, no, blah blah blah until finally it was done.

Or near enough.

Madame President stepped up to read off her closing statement as she, unbelievably, had more to say. Behind her, Hawks did a quick two-step shuffle and slapped Endeavor on the upper arm.

Dad ignored him.

Hawks did it again, tapping at Endeavor's biceps the same way you'd knock at a door.

Dad looked to the heavens, probably asking for strength, but found none. The angel was already at his shoulder and demanding attention. He gave up with a close-mouthed sigh, the flames of his facial hair straining toward earth. He tipped his head, offering Hawks his ear.

Hawks still had to go up on his toes to reach. His wings flared out for balance as he cupped his hand around his mouth like a schoolgirl imparting a secret. Whatever he was saying seemed to be causing dad physical pain. He asked something, his good eyebrow going up. Hawks replied. Dad was clearly unhappy, his scowl running deep, but after a long moment, he rolled his eyes and nodded his assent.

When Hawks fell back on his heels, the smirk on his face was his usual sort. Shoto would've said he looked like the cat that got the canary, but he figured that might be a little insensitive. He wasn't the only one who'd picked up that something was about to happen. On screen, Madame President offered her final bow and exited stage left accompanied by the excited whispers of Shoto's classmates.

From somewhere unseen, a voice shouted. "Photo! Please, Endeavor! Hawks! A photo!"

The call was taken up by the whole press corps, all of them appealing for visual accompaniment to their work-in-progress articles.

Endeavor was not in the business of appeasing anyone. He held up a finger and the footage fell quiet. He turned sidelong, placed one arm atop the other, finger still up, and granted the camera a furious glare, benevolent only because he'd been generous enough to angle the scar mostly out of view.

He held it long enough for the air in the common room to grow heavy with unease, until Hawks took a knee at his feet, Mighty Wings spread wide and feathers ascendant in a scarlet crescent. No trace of a smile could be found in his face now. His eyes were fierce and piercing as a predator's.

He flashed a peace sign. ...That wasn't a peace sign anymore than Endeavor was shushing the crowd.

They were each of them holding up the number of their rank.

Shoto hated it instantly.

There was no way with their already significant height difference magnified that he could use any of the resulting photos as a header on his twitter profile and make it actually look good.

The photographers in attendance, though, loved it. Shoto could hear it – the whirring of their camera shutters sounded like someone flipping through a never-ending deck of cards.

And that was it.

Press conference: over.

Shoto's mission: accomplished.

Channel: switched by Kaminari to the weather.

Shoto stood, ready to head upstairs for a super early night and just chill in his room with his success, but Uraraka had hopped to her feet too. She let out a prolonged guttural battle cry that would've done Bakugou justice.

"Deku-kun! Iida-kun!" she snarled, uppercutting the air and holding it, "what would our pose be?!"

"A question worthy of any hero!" Iida sprang forward in a lunge at her left, both arms flung back like a skier about to plummet down an icy precipice.

Midoriya took up position at her right shoulder, face set and determined, fists clenched and elbows bent at ninety degrees.

"Although..." He paused in thought. "I'm switching to kicks now, so I suppose..." He shifted all his weight to one foot and stuck his leg out really far.

"Ehhh, nice!" someone shouted as others whistled in appreciation. Aoyama snuck up behind them and began to princess wave, alternating his left hand, now his right, and fluttered his eyelashes like an opera star being lauded on the completion of an aria.

That was the breaking point.

"BAKUGOU!" Kirishima howled. "Come do a manly pose with me! I wanna do this!" He sank into a horse stance, thighs parallel to the ground, and began punching at the air.

Bakugou wasn't having it.

"Oi, oi, oi! I'm not doing a shitty pose like that!" He stormed over, back hunched, fingers curled into monster claws, and teeth bared to contain a hyper beam that would blast Kirishima off the map. Despite his denial, once he reached him, Bakugou seemed to be trying to outdo him by going lower.

"Pfft," Ashido scoffed at them from her seat on the carpet. "That's so uncool!" She spun into a modeling pose: one leg straight, the other across. She cast a coy kissy face over one shoulder.

"No, that's so girly," Kaminari complained.

"I like it!" said Hagakure and pulled Ojiro's tail over her shoulders like a feather boa, ignoring his half-hearted, flushed protest.

One by one, around the room, everyone offered up a move: Satoh thrust out both palms with a qualification that, ideally, he'd be offering up platters of cake slices. Tokoyami gave a simple bow of the head. Shouji, beside him, decided to go with that too, shrugging off calls of "copy cat!" Asui smacked Mineta to the ground with her tongue when he ogled her and suggested they [REDACTED], and Kouda won everyone's hearts lifting his pet rabbit high like the baboon did the cub in that ancient animated movie about the lions.

Then, almost in unison, they turned to Shoto.

"What would Todoroki-kun's pose be?"

"Yeah, yeah! I wanna see!"

"Do something, Todoroki!"

What? That was... ridiculous. Shoto didn't pose. He crossed his arms, purely in defense, and side-eyed his friends.

Asui tapped her chin with one long finger, cocked her head, and said, "Standing like that, Todoroki-chan looks a lot like Endeavor."

Shoto went rigid.

No, this...

"Oh, yeah!"

"Actually, you know what? He does!"

"Like father, like son!"

"Too bad his hair isn't sticking up anymore, or they'd be almost identical!"

...This couldn't be happening.

Shoto forced his hands to his sides. "I'm nothing like my old man. Our similarities are different."

"That so?" asked Sero, interlocking both elbows with Kaminari. He crouched forward, lifting Kaminari off his feet. "You know, it's too bad your Shiketsu friends aren't here. You'd pose with them, right? Even that molester."

Damn it.

Shoto had thought maybe everyone had forgotten about his faux pas with instagram by now.

"No. It wasn't like that..."

But his protest only opened up a whole round of condemnations ten times worse than anything Shoto had experienced with his hair or the mishap with the couches.

Kaminari led the way, slipping from Sero's hold. "You'd rather take selfies with that gross meat kid than us!"

"Shishikura is—"

"Oh, so you know his name?!"

"If that wind guy was here you'd be all buddy buddy with him, Todoroki-kun, wouldn't you?!"

"I didn't even know you had an instagram!"

"You like them better than us!"

"Are you gonna transfer to Shiketsu now?"

Shoto glanced from accuser to accuser, too flustered to reply. He didn't think silence could save him this time, but he had no clue what to say.

Behind him, though, was a savior.

Yaoyorozu had watched the press conference seated at the nearest table, schoolwork in front of her, tea in hand. Now, she cleared her throat, squared up her finished assignments, and rose. She passed Shoto a pair of aviator sunglasses she must have just made with Creation and slipped a second pair over her eyes.

"Actually," she said, "I think it would be something like this."

She crossed her arms and turned sideways.

Ah.

Shoto put the shades on, re-crossed his arms, and stood with her back-to-back as they stared down their now-appreciative classmates.

"To be expected from the recommended kids!"

"So cool! Yaomomo-chan must've learned that at her field work! She's such a pro already...!"

"They look like they could be double agents."

"Yeah, about to infiltrate the League of Villains!"

"Too bad they can't do that in costume," Kaminari snorted, wiggling his eyebrows. "The butt of Yaomomo's would get in the way."

"No!" Yaoyorozu gasped, scandalized. She broke formation, clutching an offended hand at her chest. "That's—! That wouldn't happen, and that's so crude!"

Shoto intervened before she could get too disheartened.

"Thanks," he said, pulling the sunglasses off. "Yaoyorozu."

One of these days he'd rack up the nerve to ask if he could call her Yaomomo too. He didn't think anyone else had discussed it with her first. They'd just done it. She seemed to enjoy it, but every time Shoto considered using it without explicit permission, a block lodged in his throat.

She gave him a shy smile hearing her full surname anyway. "Anytime, Todoroki-san."

One day, too, he'd request she call him Shoto.

He'd hoped when Midnight had led them in choosing their hero names that his classmates would've understood his choice as the invitation it was, but no one had changed their habits. Maybe it was asking too much or maybe he hadn't been clear enough. So far, there was only one person who'd taken him up on the extended offer. Only one person outside of his family who called him Shoto just to call him Shoto and not because there was someone better addressed as Todoroki around.

"Oh, hey, look. It's Shoto-kun."

"He's Shoto-kun!"

btw say hi to Shoto-kun for me

Hawks.

And well.

Fine, maybe dad's sidekicks counted too. They didn't have to keep calling him Shoto away from the agency like when they picked him up from and drove him back to U.A., but – and Shoto felt guilty about this – he'd forgotten their own names almost instantly and it was at the point now where it was way too awkward to ask for a reminder. But did it even matter anymore since they were either fired or possibly dead? Probably not.

"So," he said, warding off the intrusive thoughts by holding up the shades. "Can I keep these?"

They reminded him of the pair Hawks had worn in dad's office. Yaoyorozu nodded.

"You know, you're lucky, Todoroki-san," she mused. "With this team up."

Sensing his confusion, she opened her mouth to explain, but Ashido beat her to the punch, throwing herself on the nearest couch like a woebegone maiden.

"You get to intern with the number one and number two heroes at once!"

"So unfair," someone else whined.

"I'm jealous~ ☆"

"We're never gonna catch up, huh?"

"Leave some heroes for us too, Todoroki!"

"It'll be hard since Hawks is so fast, but, buddy, can't you slow down a little?"

And to that, Shoto had nothing to say.

Since the second nomu had attacked, he'd been caught up entirely with just making this team up a reality. He'd never thought to stop to factor himself into the equation. But if he patrolled with Endeavor, and Endeavor patrolled with Hawks, that meant—

Shoto's internship was about to get interesting.

.

.

.

(As for All Might – Shoto had been right about him.

He did get in trouble.

The very next morning he uploaded a video not to twitter where he seemed to have a penchant for putting his foot in it, but to his official website. He began with a grim reminder not to believe everything one heard on the internet – even if it came from him. He apologized for the way his tweets had been misconstrued but claimed he hadn't considered the possibility they would ever be understood in such a way. He denied any knowledge about the intimacies of other heroes' personal lives. He'd merely been so overjoyed at the team up – this one, all of them – because he'd never been a member of a formalized team himself.

Not in the same way.

He'd only, for a while, had his former sidekick, Sir Nighteye.

Sir Nighteye, who... who had just so recently...

After that, the video became almost painful to watch. Shoto nearly turned it off. It was unreal seeing All Might so sad. It wasn't something that should be allowed. All Might pulled himself together, finally, with his trademark grin, but now Shoto knew what to look for, he could see the traces of regret etched into the wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his shadowed eyes. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he smiled even wider as he gifted the viewers a mighty thumbs up, encouraging all heroes, everywhere to do their best – together!

So ended the video, and so All Might had spoken, and so mote it be.

Almost overnight, the mainstream media's special interest in the shippiness of the #hawksdeavorteamup dried up, though they didn't leave behind a wasteland. For better or worse, Shoto's loyal twitter followers would hang on through it all...)