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Chapter Text

Touya’s bare feet pounded across asphalt and pavement, sharp rocks stabbing and slicing into his heels, leaving a blood spotted trail in his wake.

He needed to run, he needed to get away.

The building behind him was ablaze in blue and orange flames. Great plumes of smoke rose to choke out the sky, blocking out the stars. Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer and closer. 

Touya stumbled off the edge of the curb, twisting to look back. The darkened silhouettes of the other children were briefly visible against the roaring flames. He remembered the girl who first greeted him with a cheery, “Sleepyhead is awake!” He remembered hearing her screams as the fire began to claw at the walls. 

He hoped she was able to make it out, hoped most of them were able to.

He knew one that didn’t.

Touya ducked into an alleyway. He braced against the wall, heaving bile and hacking smoke until his throat was raw. His mouth still tasted like death.

The sunflower-headed man’s screams, the smell of his flesh burning, the crack of bone under the heat as the man’s skin bubbled and burst, echoed over and over in Touya’s head.

All that remained of the strange caretaker was a blackened husk, curled in on itself.

Touya crouched down, one hand braced on the wall, the other twisted into his hair, his head between his knees. He tried to steady his breaths, tried to fight back the nausea. 

The fire trucks sped past his alley, siren’s screeching their arrival. 

He had to keep going, he couldn’t stay here. They were too close, he was too close. He wasn’t gonna get caught by whoever dragged him there in the first place.

The voice, so cold from the computer, had told him how he had been asleep for three years, in a coma. They had rescued him from the ashes of Sekoto. They had put him back together piece by broken piece. That voice had told him how he would never be the same, how he had barely survived, how he had burned and damaged all of his organs. How his fire was weaker, how he was weaker. 

How they could train him, fix him. 

Touya snarled, tugging hard on his hair. 

The voice on the computer, the stranger who hid behind a screen, thought they could keep him there. That they could teach him. Thought they were better than the Number 2 Hero. Thought they were better than the one who had made him this way.

There was no one who could train him.

No one except Endeavor.

Touya stood in the dojo, panting, sweat trailing down his temples, his Endeavor shirt clinging to his back.

The room was hot and stuffy and Touya felt dizzy. His whole body was shaking after training for what felt like hours. His arms hurt, bruises blooming along with the burns. His hands curled and cramped, filled with pins and needles.

He just needed a minute and some water. He could see the bottle decorated with flame stickers set off to the side. He was pretty sure it had ice at one point. 

He looked up at his father, looming tall over him. Just a day ago, his dad had been so proud of him. 

Touya had been training as usual. It was his favorite time of the day. He got to spend it with just dad. Mom and Fuyumi didn’t like to train.

Besides, Fuyumi was a girl and had an ice quirk and didn’t want to be a hero.

Touya wanted to be a hero so badly, just like his dad. Endeavor was the coolest hero, or maybe hottest. Either way, Touya couldn’t wait til he was old enough, strong enough that he could stand up next to his dad on the Billboard Charts. Together, they would prove just how strong the Todorokis were. 

They would be better, greater, than All Might.

Touya had thought everything was going well, just like all the other days they spent in the dojo, until it wasn’t.

His dad had found a white spot in his hair. Which was weird. Touya wasn’t an old man yet. He was only almost 5. 

His dad had reached over, ruffling his hair, inspecting it. 

Touya had laughed, swatted at his hand, eyes shining, and begged to learn an ultimate move. 

Everything had been fine.

Until his fire burned him, until it hurt him.

He didn’t think it was possible. His dad’s fire didn’t burn him. He just overheated. Touya overheated too, but he never burned. 

Until now.

Touya stared up into blue eyes that were just like his own, and he didn’t see pride anymore. He saw frustration, anger, disappointment.

Touya didn’t understand why.

“Again, Touya.” 

Touya cast one last look towards his water bottle before obeying. He launched himself at his dad with kicks and punches. His dad blocked each one with ease, calling out instructions.

“With your fire.” His dad snapped.

Touya added his flames, trying to keep the temperature lower. If he didn’t make it so hot, maybe it wouldn’t hurt, and then he would be ok.

“Hotter. You aren’t going to get stronger if you act like a coward.”

Touya bit his lip and increased the heat, up and up and up until it burned. He tried not to make a sound, tried to continue fighting, tried not to cry as it hurt. He was a big boy, he was gonna be a hero, and heroes didn’t cry.

But it hurt so much.

“Enough.”

Touya let the flames go in an instant, swaying on his feet. He looked at his arms, his hands, where shiny red spots pockmarked his skin.

Burns.

His dad frowned down at him, sighing.

He watched as his dad turned away and walked out of the room.

Touya stood in the middle of the dojo days later, in one of his many Endeavor shirts. They were his favorite to train in. His dad had said he had the merch made just for him. So Touya tried to wear the shirts any time they were supposed to be together, just them.

He shifted on his feet, waiting in the empty room. The silence was heavy, weighing down on him. He knew something was wrong, he knew it was bad. His parents didn’t say anything though. His dad didn’t even look at him since they left Touya alone to talk to the doctor after all the tests.

Touya rubbed at the ache that formed in his chest.

What was wrong with him? Was it something so bad that they couldn’t tell him? Was he dying? He didn’t feel like he was dying.

Touya knew it was bad though, that his fire hurt him. His quirk shouldn’t hurt him.

Touya bit his lip, pressing his thumb against the burns that dotted his arms. He tried every day with his dad to train, to get better with his fire. It would be fine if he kept practicing. 

He would get used to it. He just needed to get stronger.

However, it felt like his fire just kept getting hotter and hotter. He could feel it now, the heat under his skin. It was like he turned his fire up, and now it wouldn’t go back down, no matter what he did. 

It would be fine though. His dad would show him what to do, and then everything would be ok.

Touya rocked back and forth on his heels, looking at the clock, watching it tick by. He was pretty sure he was on time. They always trained in the evenings, but it was getting late and his dad wasn’t still there. 

Maybe he got caught up in paperwork? 

Touya walked down the hall to his dad’s office. He could see the light peeking out from under the door. He pushed inside, looking in to see his dad on one of the couches in the sitting area. 

He looked tired as he drank from a tiny white cup, two white bottles sat on the table in front of him.

“Dad?”

His dad’s head shot up, blue eyes on him. His face was a bit red, almost as red as his hair. Almost like Touya’s, if it wasn’t for the strange white spot that wouldn’t go away. 

His dad’s eyes narrowed on him before he stood, swaying a bit as he walked over. “Touya.” He knelt down in front of Touya. Large hands dug into his shoulders, causing him to squirm a bit.

“D-Dad?” Touya looked closer at his father. His eyes looked glassy and red and his breath smelled sickly sweet. Touya wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“You were supposed to be the one. You were supposed to surpass All Might. You were to be my legacy.”

Touya frowned. He didn’t understand. Of course he was still going to be stronger than All Might. He was still going to be a hero. “I still will dad, you can count on me.” He tried to smile. His dad seemed sad lately, but Touya could cheer him up. He was always happy when Touya talked about all the things he was gonna do when he got to be a hero.

Those fingers dug in hard enough to hurt, hard enough to leave bruises. Touya winced. “D-Dad, that hurts.”

“You can’t. You won’t. Not when you’re broken. Not when you ended up a failure, after all my hard work.” His dad let go and Touya nearly fell over.

Broken. A failure. 

Touya looked up at his dad.

“You were supposed to be stronger, with my fire and Rei’s ice. It was already disappointing that you didn’t get her ice, but it was fine. I could work with what you had. Your quirk was stronger after all. Made up for it.” His father walked back to the table, snatching up one of the bottles to drink straight from it. “Should’ve known then. You did get her quirk, just wrong. Ice resistance.” His dad spat and flung the bottle at the wall, watching it shatter. 

“A fire hotter than mine and a body that can’t handle it. I married her, had you, raised you, and this is what I end up with for an heir.” His dad turned, raking his eyes over Touya.

Touya shrunk into himself, clutching at his shirt, Endeavor’s fire mask proudly displayed across the front. “I-I can do better! Dad please. I can be a hero, just like we dreamed.”

“Touya.”

Touya flinched. His dad’s voice was hard, harsh. He only ever heard it like that when he was facing villains on the TV. 

“You’re aren’t going to be a hero, I’m not going to train you. Not anymore.”

“No, please, dad! I’ll be good. I promise. I can fix it. We can fix it.” Touya felt the panic clawing at his chest. No no no. He had to train with his dad, it was their time. When he wasn’t busy. Dad always said he would be a great hero.

He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t a failure, he–

“Enough.”

Touya felt the hand crack against his cheek, careening him to the floor. He pushed himself up and pressed a hand to his face, looking up at the looming figure of Endeavor above him, flames roaring on his shoulders.

“D-dad?” Touya didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know why he was broken. He tried not to cry, even though he could feel the tears starting to spill. 

His father looked at him, looked through him. His blue eyes were cold and hard and unmoving before he turned and walked back to the couch, sitting with his face in his hands.

Touya trained every day he could, pushing through the pain, the burns. It hurt. It hurt a lot. He still didn’t understand why it hurt, just that something was wrong with him. 

He remembered before when he got too sore training that his dad told him he needed to work through the pain. That it was part of getting stronger. 

So Touya just had to work through it, and eventually it wouldn’t hurt anymore and his fire would be stronger. Then his dad would be happy again.

Touya sat on his bed, careful with the tube of aloe that he stole from the kitchen. He heard his mom once say that it was good for burns, and it made the ones on his arms hurt less. He bit his lip, holding back his tears as he applied the cream. He tried so hard not to cry. He was old enough now, he shouldn’t be crying anymore.

He had to be strong, had to be better.

Touya was certain that this would work. Certain that everything would go back to the way it was before.

Certain, until his parents brought home his baby brother. A wailing thing with a tuft of white hair.

Touya watched Fuyumi join their parents, cooing over their new brother. He watched as his dad looked down at the baby, watched as consideration replaced the distant expression that was so often on his face now.

Touya’s heart sank. This baby wasn’t just his brother.

It was his replacement.

Touya was broken, a failure, an experiment gone wrong. Just as his dad had said. Fuyumi was too, with just her ice. However, this new one, Natsuo, could be everything his father wanted, and could fulfill Endeavor’s ambition.

This one might be the one that suprasses All Might.

Touya couldn’t stand it. It was his place. He was the firstborn, the big brother, the shining light and pride of the Todorokis. He was the one burning himself to get better. He was supposed to be the hero. 

He could handle it, he could be his father’s heir. Despite his quirk’s failings, despite his body’s failings.

He would just have to prove it to his dad. He would prove to him that he didn’t need replacements. That Touya was enough.

He would get his father to see him again. He would get him to look at him with something other than disappointment.

Touya picked at the bandages on his arms as they chafed against the burns. The cooling cream barely put a dent on the burns on his skin. Barely held back the heat he could feel bubbling now, arching to be let free. 

Touya stood there as his cheek throbbed from the slap, letting his dad’s words wash over him. It was nothing new, after all these years.

It didn’t matter to Touya how many times his dad lectured him, saying ‘there are other things out there besides being a hero’ or ‘how one day he was going to seriously hurt himself’. It didn’t matter how many times his dad raised his hand against him, adding more bruises or red marks or burns. It didn’t matter how many times he was forced to listen to the screaming arguments between his parents as his sister and brother huddled together in his room, or when his mom came to him after, bruised and begging him to stop. It didn’t matter how many times Fuyumi scolded him while helping cool down the burns and bruises.

It wasn’t as if Touya was going to allow himself to be anything but Endeavor’s heir. He needed to keep training. He needed to get better. He would be a hero, just as he was made to be. That was his purpose, nothing else. 

Touya was supposed to surpass his father, surpass All Might. It had been his goal ever since he was old enough to understand who his dad was, to understand what his own role was to be.

His gaze slid past his father, beyond him to the baby held in his mother’s arms. 

His newest brother, his newest replacement now that Natsuo was also a failure, also abandoned.

Just like Fuyumi. Just like Touya. 

None of them were what his father had wanted, none of them were able to do what they were bred for. None of them were capable of being the perfect heir.

The baby stared back with wide eyes, one blue and one gray. He had red and white hair, perfectly split, perfectly even.

Perfect.

He knew it, looking at his littlest brother. He could see it just as his dad did, that this one was it.

The masterpiece.

Shouto was going to be able to use ice and fire. Shouto was going to be the one to learn from his dad, the one to train with him. Shouto wasn’t going to end up broken, a failure. He was going to be the one with their father’s love.

Touya stared at it, at this baby that was taking his place.

If it wasn’t here, his dad would have to look at him.

If it wasn’t here, his dad would have to train him again.

If it wasn’t here.

His dad would love him again.

Touya pushed himself harder than ever. He had to get better, had to get stronger with his fire. He knew he was running out of time. 

The masterpiece would have his quirk soon. Probably any day now. Natsuo got his ice around this age, even Touya and Fuyumi had developed their quirks early. Apparently the only thing special about them was how quickly their dad could tell when to write them off. 

As it was, the whole house had been on edge, waiting for the day that Shouto proved he was the one to succeed their father. Not that Touya had any doubt. He was just waiting for the moment it was confirmed. Once Shouto got both quirks then Touya really would be tossed aside. 

It wasn’t fair. Touya was the firstborn. He was the one that was supposed to follow in Endeavor’s footsteps. 

He was the one that was supposed to be a hero. 

Instead he was being pushed aside for a brat that was 8 years younger than him. A baby was taking his place. Touya threw out an armful of fire at the wooden board, watching it burn. 

He had to come up to Sekoto Peak just to train now. Ever since the incident with Shouto, the baby had been separated from them, from Touya. As if Touya was the dangerous one in the house. As if there wasn’t an interloper that was stealing everything.

Touya knew it wasn’t little Shouto’s fault, that Touya had reacted without thinking. He reached a hand up to twist a handful of white hair, eyes on the fire consuming the wooden target. 

He hated it. Hated it. How his hair turned into a reverse of Shouto’s. Yet even now he still couldn’t get his father to look at him. Not unless his dad saw the burns. Then he had his full attention. His rage and anger, harsh words and fists, rather than just his disappointment.

It was better than the distant look he usually got. Like his father was seeing through him. Like Touya wasn’t even there.

Touya let the fire crawl along the skin of his arm, letting the heat grow until he could feel it start to hurt. It hurt less and less, each time he did this. His body was finally getting used to his fire. It had to be progress, right? He was able to have it up longer and longer, hotter and hotter before he felt the pain. 

He remembered that flash of blue, when he burned himself the first time so many years ago. He was pretty sure he could get his fire up to that again.

If he could, he was sure of it, his dad would be proud.

Touya made his way back down from the mountain just in time to see his dad standing in the entrance way. He watched his father do a double take, zeroing in on the bright red burn, before stomping over, flames flaring on his shoulders.

His dad grabbed him by the arm, heated fingers digging into the fresh burn. Touya bit his lip, swallowing back the cry of pain as he stared up into blue eyes, filled with anger, rage. 

All of his attention was on Touya.

“Touya. What is this? How many times must I tell you? You are not allowed to train your quirk.”

“I have to, dad. If I want to be a hero.” Touya snapped back, an argument they’ve had a thousand times. One day, Touya would show him.

“You can’t be a hero, Touya. You’re too weak, too broken. You’ll end up hurting someone or getting yourself killed. You’re a liability. You need to stop this at once, do you hear me?” Enji squeezed his arm tighter when Touya didn’t answer quickly enough. His dad’s hand heated with his anger, searing against the fried nerves of the burn.

Touya bit harder on his lip, fighting back tears, tasting copper in his mouth. “Y-yes!” He managed when it got to be too much.

His dad let go of his arm. “I better not catch you training again.”

Touya stumbled back, watching him leave. A door slammed deeper in the house, rattling a few of the paintings. He looked over to see Fuyumi and Natsuo peeking around a corner, hidden from their father’s wrath, clutching onto each other, both of them sending worried looks. 

Fuyumi opened her mouth, probably to spout some nonsense about keeping the family together.Touya snarled and stomped up to his own room before Fuyumi could tell him off for training too, for setting off their dad, for not rolling over and playing dead like their father wanted.

They didn’t understand. None of them understood.

He had to be a hero. It was all he had. All he needed.

He twisted open the jar of burn cream, noting that it was getting low. He’d have to see if he could get his mom or the housekeeper to get some more next time. He spread the ointment over the burn, careful of the deeper impressions that now marred it.

Touya just needed to do something that would really impress his dad. Then he would forget all about the masterpiece, forget all about the training and the burns, the arguments.

His dad would see him again.

He'd lost his father's love as the Todoroki red was swallowed by Himura white.

Touya pulled and twisted and wished his scalp would bleed, would dye it red again. His dad would see him then. Wouldn't leave him, wouldn't abandon him.

Except now Touya finally had a way to get his attention. Not with burns and shouted words, but with his fire. His training had finally paid off. Every lonely night, every painful burn and blister, every lecture and grounding and beating. 

It was all worth it.

Touya had been able to turn his flames blue. Endeavor never produced blue fire. Never sustained it.

Touya could. His flames burned hotter than his dad’s, hotter than Shouto’s .

Touya had broken down, begged and pleaded and demanded his dad come and see him at Sekoto Peak on his day off. That his dad would finally be happy that he created Touya.

His dad would have to come right? Even if it was just to tell him off for training. As long as he was here, Touya could show him.

Now Touya waited on Sekoto Peak, loosening the grip on his hair. He was gonna prove it. He was gonna show his dad the blue fire. He was gonna show him that he was capable, that he was his heir, that he could surpass him and All Might.

That he was the one worth watching.

He sat against the tree trunk, arms wrapped around his knees. He watched the pinks and purples of the sunset behind the skyscrapers until night fell. 

His dad would be here soon, any minute now. He knew Touya would be training, he had to be mad. He would storm up here and then Touya could show him and everything would be right again. He wouldn’t be mad anymore. He would be proud again, like how he used to be.

He traced the constellations he could see, following the line of Orion's Belt.

His dad was coming. He had to, right?

Touya sniffled, fighting off the tears. 

Would his dad ever come for him?

The moon made its slow climb, rising higher in the sky. His breath puffed out in a cloud of fog.

He should have known. He wasn't anything. Not to any of them. 

Fuyumi barely talked to him these days, only threatening to tell on him for all his burns. Natsuo didn’t want to listen to him anymore, wanted him to be anywhere else. Mom, she was just as bad as dad. She created him too, made him the way he was.

And dad, he decided Touya wasn't worth the time to spare, wasn't worth the trek to the mountain.

Touya wasn't worth it.

Touya sobbed, curling tighter around himself.

He wasn't good enough. Not against the masterpiece.

Little Shouto who was five and could already use his fire and his ice. Shouto who trained all the time with their dad and was too good to be allowed to see them. Shouto, who was everything his dad wanted.

While Touya would never be good enough. 

A failed creation.

First born, first lost.

He yelled out in rage, in frustration, in hopelessness.

He screamed in fear, in pain, in agony, as blue fire lashed out.

He cried out for his father.

Unheard.

Touya braced himself against the wall, legs shaking, his lungs burning against the strain, his feet blistered and bleeding on the pavement. The copper taste in his mouth was worse now after walking for who knows how long. He was pretty sure there was actual blood.

He felt too cold, too hot. He felt too much and not enough. His arms and his face felt like they were on fire, but his bones ached like they were filled with ice.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He pushed off the wall, his head spinning. He was almost there.

Just a little bit further.

Touya trudged on, stumbling down the familiar suburban road. A quiet road, tucked away from the bustle of the city, the residents hidden behind their high walls as they prepared dinner. Touya made his way the last couple steps up to the gate as the street lights came on.

He stopped to stare at the nameplate, his eyes locked on the engraved wood. He reached out to trace over the familiar characters. Todoroki. 

Touya was home. He was finally home.

After apparently years, and miles. He was about to see his dad again, his mom, his sister, his brothers. He would see them all again. He wanted to apologize for all he had done. For all he had been. He wanted to reassure them that he was fine, alive. That he made it back, that he was sorry for worrying them, that he missed them. 

He hoped they missed him.

He pushed through the gate and on to the grounds beyond. He followed the steps towards the door. Everything still looked the same, unchanged from how he remembered. Traditional stone lanterns and wooden railings, a winding path that he knew led to a zen garden with a koi pond. 

Everything was the same. Would it be the same inside? Would he face his dad, would be he angry, would there be rage? 

Would he have even noticed Touya was gone?

The light of a nearby window drew him like a moth to a flame, his feet taking him to it before he realized. 

He spotted a familiar head of half red, half white hair. Shouto, his littlest brother. Touya was shocked to find the girl had been right, years must have passed, to find that Shouto had grown so much. Though he still seemed the same. Still so serious, so focused, as he carefully set five plates across the surface. 

Shouto turned to look to the right, somewhere beyond the dining room. Their dad walked in then. He was still just as tall, imposing, but he looked at Shouto. Not with anger or rage or disappointment, but with a smile. Touya watched as his dad reached over, his large hand ruffling that red and white hair.

Touya froze as Shouto swatted away the hand and laughed.

He had never seen his brother laugh.

Shouto was always so quiet, so solemn, when they were allowed to see him. Touya had hated looking at his brother then, seeing the evidence that Shouto was the masterpiece, was everything their father wanted. Even though he knew the fault was in his dad, in his mom, in how his body was a broken failure.

He couldn’t help but envy the perfect son with the perfect quirk.

Fuyumi and Natsuo were next. His sister had grown, her hair pulled up into a ponytail and glasses perched on her nose. She looked so much like their mom,except with red streaks in her hair. She bumped her shoulder against Natsuo before taking her seat opposite Shouto. 

Natsuo was taller, growing past Fuyumi’s height. Touya was pretty sure his little brother would be taller than him now. He looked a lot more like their dad with white hair, red at the temples. He gestured wildly as he took his seat beside Shouto, engrossed in his tale.

Their mother followed. She looked older, tired, but she smiled as she reached out, placing a hand on his dad’s arm. Together they laid out the meal.

Touya couldn’t remember the last time his mom had looked at him without fear in her eyes. 

Now she was able to reach out and touch dad. She was able to smile at Shouto and Natsuo and share a meal with them.

Touya couldn’t remember the last time the entire family shared a meal together. Yet here they were. All of them were sitting around the table, eating, talking, laughing.

Without him.

Touya reached out, fingertips brushing the cold glass when he saw his reflection.

Burn scars under his eyes, covering his jaw, neck, and his arms. Scars deeper than any he had ever given himself before. His white hair was dirty and unruly. Once light blue scrubs, now torn and smudged and burned.

He looked like a monster. Left for dead. Scarred and broken and—

Unwanted.

He looked at his family, unscarred and untouched by fire. They were happier than he had ever seen them.

Without him.

They had left him behind, forgotten. A nuisance they no longer had to deal with.

Fuyumi didn’t have to lecture him about his burns, about his sneaking out to train. Natsuo didn’t have to deal with him keeping him up all night to complain. Shouto didn’t have to worry about him trying to take his place.

His mom didn’t have to deal with his anger. 

His dad didn’t have to deal with his demands to train.

None of them had to deal with Touya anymore.

They were happy, without him. 

Better off, without him.

He was nothing more than a thorn in their side, easily plucked out and forgotten.

A jagged puzzle piece, never meant to fit.

The black sheep, gone to the slaughter.

They were happier, with him dead and gone.

Unneeded.

Unwanted.

First born.

First lost.

Chapter Text

In the Ashes

The Todoroki Manor was a grand estate, taking up almost an obscene amount of space in the wealthy neighborhood. A two story home with expansive grounds surrounded by a high wall, the Number Two Hero spared no expense for his living quarters. The home was filled with plentiful rooms; bedrooms for his children and more for guests, meeting rooms to entertain, a kitchen to prepare feasts, a dining room small enough to hold six and another large enough to host. Rich wooden panels across the walls, hardwood floors down long corridors. Paper screen doors that led out into a large yard with stone lanterns, a zen garden, and a koi pond.

The second story was dedicated to the office of the hero, where the Number Two hero held court. It was dominated by a massive, sturdy desk and surrounded by tomes of law and fire and anything else that might be deemed necessary. Down the hall was a private dojo, dedicated to keeping his body in shape and to training his heir.  

The house was built as a shrine to fire. A testament to the wealth and fame and prestige of his title.

It was the perfect home, expected of the Flame Hero: Endeavor.

Yet Touya remembered the oppressive silence that clung to the darkened hallways. He remembered which floorboards creaked under foot, which doors got stuck on their sliding tracks. How hard the wooden walls were, when he bounced off them. 

He remembered how the heat was ever present, suffocating and stifling. How it choked the air, and felt like a physical weight in the training dojo. The air rippled and hazy. He remembered the burns and scrapes from falling against the tatami mats. 

He remembered the shouting that clawed into the wood, that hung over their heads. That left him and siblings wide-eyed and waiting, watching for where the hand fell.

Touya stood in the cold, staring into a house that had been haunted by fire and screams and bruises. A house of tense silences and quick feet that hid from thundering steps and raised fists. 

A house that wasn’t there anymore. 

In front of him was a house filled with warmth and laughter and gentle words. His family didn’t shrink away from the towering figure of Enji Todoroki. They didn’t curl their shoulders in, eyes on their plates, hoping that their father wouldn’t notice them, this time. Hoping that this time his temper wouldn’t turn, hoping that All Might hadn’t had another accomplishment. They didn’t flinch when one of them raised their voice, didn’t glance to the head of the table first when they asked someone to pass the salt.

They didn’t beg or scream or cry for something, anything, but the distance.

At the table, Natsuo was waving his fork, speaking through a mouthful of rice. Fuyumi was doubled over, holding her stomach while she laughed, eyes bright and shiny. Shouto looked on, a small smile on his face. Even his parents were smiling.

None of them looked to their father out of the corner of their eye, none of them waited for the hit, none of them feared the fire.

They were…happy. Truly, happy. They were happy, without Touya. Better without his demanding presence, without the reminder of his failure. Better, without his anger and rage and hurt twisting their father from Enji to Endeavor.

He stumbled from the window, away from the light and into the shadows of the night.

It was him, wasn’t it? The cause, the problem. He was broken. He was the one that pushed and prodded his father. He was the one demanding to train, the one burning to be seen. The one that wanted whatever attention he could get, regardless of the cost.

He wasn’t good enough, he couldn’t be what they wanted, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he burned himself on Sekoto to be the perfect heir.

He walked and walked into the night on bloodied feet. Walked as the gravel dug into the bruises and blisters, walked as the houses around him grew smaller and smaller, the yards filled with weeds. 

His father had smiled. Touya couldn’t remember the last time his father had smiled. Couldn’t remember the last time his father had looked at any of them with joy, or pride. Not since before his fire burned too hot, not since before everything went wrong. In there though, his father had looked at Fuyumi, Natuso, and Shouto with pride. Pride like when Touya was small and treasured.

His mother had reached out to place her hand on his dad. No hesitation, no flinch. She just reached out and touched him, like it was easy, like it was simple. Even though she had been so afraid of everything before. The last time his mother had looked at him, her eyes had been filled with fear, with terror as she shrunk from their hands. She couldn’t look at any of her sons anymore, without seeing him.

Touya walked and walked until the houses became long abandoned businesses with boarded windows and broken glass, covered in layers of graffiti. The weeds hooked into the crumbling walls, slowly overtaking the buildings.

Shouto was finally able to see his siblings, to take part in family dinners, now that Touya wasn’t there. Now that Touya wasn’t a threat to the masterpiece. Now Shouto could be the perfect son, the favored brother. Father’s heir. He wouldn’t scream and blame his sister for his failings. Wouldn’t blame her for things she had no control over, things she couldn’t stop. Yelling and screaming vitriol even as her cold hands helped soothe the burns on his arms. 

Shouto wouldn’t keep Natsuo awake, whining about their father’s methods, how unfair it all was. How alone he felt. Shouto would be able to play with their siblings, now that his place in the family wasn’t threatened. He would be able to bask in the presence of their parents, where it was a given that he would be seen. 

The businesses gave away to abandoned lots, filled with trash and bushes and places to hide away for those on the streets. 

Touya’s family was better, without him. They didn’t need him, with his anger and his hurt and his raging fire. They didn’t need a broken failure of a firstborn. They didn’t want him.

His footsteps came to a stop, leaving him staring up at a warehouse, blackened with soot, the glass in the windows warped from a heat long gone. It stood empty, abandoned. A burned husk of its former self.

He walked through the opening, heavy metal doors creaking on their hinges. He walked past singed pillars, kicking up piles of dust and ash that clung to his tattered pants. He found an office, its four walls still standing. He slumped into the corner, curling his arms around his legs.

Touya burned, for them. He burned, because of them. He should have burned away completely. Should have let the fire consume him, left them truly free of him.

He closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion take him under, wondering if he would wake in the morning. 

Pain. His skin burned, his muscles screamed, his feet felt like they were torn to shreds. Touya woke to agony. Not as bad as Sekoto. He didn’t think anything could be that bad. He winced at the blinding light of the sun, shining mercilessly into the room he had claimed.

He was alive, still.

Or death sucked far more than he thought.

He leaned his head against the wall, causing a spike of pain to lance through his head, that shifted to a throbbing drumbeat. His back ached from its curled position overnight yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. Instead he turned enough to study his arm, seeing the pale skin dotted and pockmarked with old burns, long faded. 

He pressed his fingers against the burn on his wrist, tracing the pattern left by larger fingers. He could barely feel the pass of his hand over the scar. In fact…He trailed his hand further up his arm. The sensations were muted, the pressure felt off, dull. 

That voice on the computer, cold and empty. The memory alone sent chills down his spine. The voice had told him of the damage Touya had done to himself, when he burned himself alive. Nerves fried, organs damaged, put together piece by shattered piece.

He was weaker now. Broken. His body, his quirk, his mind. Broken far more than he had been before.

Touya knew he was broken, had known since he was a child and his dad told him. His quirk, his body, had never worked together. It was no secret, not to him. 

He looked to his hand again, remembering the flickering blue of his flames. How happy he had been, that he could finally prove himself. How he was so sure that his dad would finally be proud of him again. 

He reached inside, drawing on that kernel that always burned, the heat that was always under his skin.

Fire burst along his skin, dancing over too large burns and up pale skin. The fire burned along his arm. Blue flames. His fire was still there. Still burned bright, burned hot. He let the fire crawl along his skin until he could feel the heat seeping into his arm. Until his fire resistance gave way.

It took longer, now.

The fire fizzled away, leaving a line of shiny red burns over too pale skin. 

The burn was grounding, it was real. He was here, three years after Sekoto. Alive, alone. Away from home. What should he do? What could he do?

Did he find food? Water? Did he find better shelter than this? Should he let his fire loose, and burn in this wreckage around him?

Did he burn hotter until he proved to Endeavor that he was the heir that he should have watched, should have kept his eyes on?

Dust motes swirled in the air as the shaft of light moved across the floor, away from his corner, leaving him in the darkness, huddled in the cooler shade.

He needed water, needed food, needed…what did he need? Touya knocked his head back against the wall, gritting his teeth against another ripple of pain that added to his headache. The ceiling above was a mess of exposed metal and singed wiring. He would need supplies, need things to survive. But how? He didn’t have money or a job. 

He had barely ever left the Todoroki manor, and even then it was only to hike to Sekoto, or even rarer that he went on a trip with his father to run rampant through his agency. He missed his chance to learn all the things he was supposed to learn, in these three years he lost.

Stupid, he was so stupid. He should have just gone into that house, made them deal with his broken and burnt parts.

Should have made them see him.

He pushed to his feet, hissing at the pain, at the hard concrete on his abused feet.

No, they didn’t want him, they didn’t need him, and he didn’t need them. Didn’t want them, with their too bright smiles and false joy. He would find out what he needed. There were libraries, books, computers. He could…he could figure it out.

The tutors always said he was smart. He had a mind for patterns, for picking things up quickly. He could do this.  

Every step felt like glass shards were shearing through the soles of his feet. Walking to the warehouse doors left him breathless, gasping for air through burned lungs. Still, he pushed on.

He took note of his path. The burned out warehouse was his best bet for shelter, until he knew more. He needed to know how to get to it, where it was in the city. 

It was a long, long trek back into the populated parts of Musutafu. 

Even though he had never been in the city, not by himself, he still knew the paths, the major roads. He had spent hours, pouring over the map of the city, daydreaming about the patrol routes he would take, the paths he would need to know to take down villains quickly. He knew exactly where the Endeavor Agency was.

He knew how to avoid it. 

He followed the sidewalk down to the first large road he could find, orienting himself.  He knew this road, knew there was a library somewhere down this street. He just needed to know where he was on it. He chose left, and tried to ignore the other people on the street, walking to and from in the late afternoon. 

Tried to ignore the double-takes as people stopped in the middle of the way. Tried to ignore the way their eyes drifted from his dirtied clothes to the scars on his face. Touya tugged at the collar, wishing desperately that he could hide in it. Wished he had something else to wear, something that didn’t make him so out of place.

The stares however, weren’t the worst. It was the whispers. Touya could focus on the road, the sidewalk, the buildings and not meet their gaze. He couldn’t hide from their words. Whispered words of horror or pity, or sneers in judgement or disgust. Suited businessmen stepped into the road to go around him, mothers pulled their kids to the other side of the street. 

As if Touya could infect them with his brokenness. As if his failure was contagious.

“A hero will come,” he heard them say. “Someone will help,” they whispered in reassurance. 

Touya lifted his head then, meeting the gaze of those that spoke, those that offered someone else’s help. He would stare, unblinking, eyes burning, until they scurried along faster, until they were out of sight. They pleaded for a hero to rescue a child and fled when that child looked to them. They left it all to the heroes, not knowing what that really meant.

Touya kept walking. No hero came, no hero stopped him, as he finally made it to the library. He stood before the doors. His image was reflected in the glass, a transparent image of a teen with white hair, stuck in odd angles, singed light blue scrubs, and dirtied and bloodied feet.

It was no wonder, the looks everyone gave him, the disgust on their faces. Would the library even let him in, let him stay?

He pushed through, walking in to find a woman at the reception desk.

“Hello, welcome.” She smiled kindly at him, pushing up her glasses. She had one of those pairs, with a beaded necklace hanging off the sides to loop around her neck. He could see the way her eyes flicked to his burns, his torn clothes. Still, she kept on a pleasant smile, she didn't react like the people on the street. Didn’t wrinkle her nose in distaste, didn’t pretend he wasn’t there.

“I um, wanted to use a computer?” They had to still have those in libraries, right?

“Sure, honey, do you have a library card?”

“No…” Shoot, that was something he needed? He had never been to a library, only knew from something his siblings mentioned off hand, or he saw on TV, before. 

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen– Sorry, sixteen.” Touya answered, stumbling over the words. He had lost time, skipped ahead three years. He wondered how much had changed, after he burned. He would have been entering his second year of highschool, had this not happened. If his father had even let him go to school. 

The woman kept her gaze on him, lips pursed. “Very well, this time you can use a guest pass, but next time you’ll need to come in with a parent and sign up, ok?”

Touya nodded, letting the lady lead him to the computer stations. Thankfully, the library was quiet with only the two of them there. The only noise was the hum of the heater combating the winter chill.

The librarian set up one of the stations, logging into the computer. “There you go, hon. Just let me know if you need any help, ok?” 

Touya waited til she left before taking a seat at the computer, pulling up the basic internet browser. It wasn’t so hard, wasn’t so different from the last time he used a computer. It looked a little fancier but all the same. 

He navigated to the search engine, pouring over every website he could about resources in the area for assistance. If he could get a job, where he could find food, where there were shelters. The lady bustled around the room, putting books back on shelves. Touya’s back tensed each time she was near. He waited for her to get mad, to shoo him out. Instead at one point she left a notepad, a pencil, a pamphlet, and an apple. She smiled softly and continued on. 

Touya felt the heat rising in his cheeks, knowing the lady must have been looking over his shoulder. At least she seemed nice and the pamphlet looked like it had helpful details and numbers he could presumably call. How hard would it be to get a phone? 

He flipped open the notepad, jotting down next steps, notes for what to look for, where to go. He devoured the apple, realizing he was shaky and starving. He underlined “find food” on his list. He wasn’t going to be able to do much on his own if he was passing out from hunger.

He rubbed at his eyes, dry from staring at a screen for the last hour. He wasn’t sure why. He used to stare at the screen all night, back home, when he was doing homework or playing silly games with Natsu. He hissed, when his hands tugged on the scars.

His…scars. Could he do something there? Would burn creams help? Shouldn’t that weirdo doctor that put him back together, fixed this too? Touya had burned himself before, but nothing like this. But that fire…that night. It was hotter, hotter than it had even gotten. What had happened to him?

He hesitated, remembering his family, how carefree they were. Would he even find anything?

Carefully, one character at a time, he entered Touya Todoroki in the search bar.

Articles upon articles filled the webpage. Think pieces, commemorations, several different news stations, blog posts, and an Endeavor fansite, all about the great tragedy that befell Endeavor, the freak accident of his first born. The Flame Hero’s son lost to fire. Firefighters on scene and scientists and experts all stated the fire reached 2000 degrees Celsius, burning away the forests atop Sekoto Peak. Burning and burning until all that was left was the remnants of jaw bone.

Touya Todoroki was declared dead the next morning.

Blue fire, bursting out from under his eyes, clawing into his skin. Searing. He screamed and screamed, choking on smoke, crawling to the river. Where was his dad? He just wanted his dad, he was supposed to be here. He was a hero, he would save him.

Touya scrambled for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, clicking the lock. Flickers of blue on the edge of his vision. His eyes burned, his skin burned, it was hot, so hot. Too hot.

He stumbled to the sink, twisting the faucet and splashing the water in his eyes. The water hissed, dousing the flames. The water felt like heaven against his overheated skin.

He leaned on the sink, dripping water and waiting for his heart to slow, waiting for the sobs racking his body to calm, waiting to be able to breathe past the lump in his throat. He looked up, meeting bloodshot, red rimmed blue eyes. His white hair was messy and knotted, sticking up in weird angles. The scars under his eyes were puffy, the skin around shiny and inflamed from the near fire.

He had burns . Worse than he had ever given himself before. His blue fire burned through his weak excuse for fire resistance, burning and peeling and blackening his skin. 2000 degrees Celsius. Not even Endeavor could reach that kind of temperature. Touya reached up, tracing a finger over the scars under his eyes. It hurt to put pressure on the scar, hurt as he pressed on the swollen part at the edge. He pressed down harder, feeling a pop, and the pain eased as blood trailed down his cheek like tears.

They put him back together. Piece by broken piece. He burned his organs again, damaged his quirk. 

Broken, a failure, useless. 

The Todoroki disgrace, left behind, forgotten. His family hadn’t even looked for him, hadn’t even tried. Wrote him off the moment they could. Wrote him off so they could live happily ever after. Was there even a butsudan for him? What photo would they even use? One of when his father had still loved him, when he had Todoroki red hair? Or when it was all gone, when he was just a burden, wearing his short lived middle school uniform?

Left behind. Unwanted, unneeded. Forgotten.

The pressure under his eyes built and built, blood seeping from the opening he had created. He slammed his fist into the mirror, a flare of heat crackling over the glass, blood dripping down the reflection. 

He had wanted to prove to his dad he could be a hero. His father didn’t care. He had never cared. He had tried over and over to push Touya into doing anything, everything else. Had pushed him away so he couldn’t follow his footsteps, so he wouldn’t be a disgrace. Touya knew that now. 

Endeavor didn’t want him. Didn’t need him. Not as his heir, not as his son, not as his anything. 

His family had moved on, had left him behind in the ashes of Sekoto.

He stormed out of the bathroom, crossing back to the computer. 

“Yes, I know. I’m just worried. No, I just. I believe he might be homeless. He’s thirteen, a-and, hurt. The scars he has…”

Touya froze, gaze swiveling to the librarian. He could see her, back at the front desk, holding the phone. She seemed to be wringing her hands, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. She sighed, taking the phone in her hand. “Yes, I gave him information but– “ She pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, I think an officer would be most helpful, or a hero. Is that not part of your job?”

The cops. She was talking to the cops. If they send someone, an officer or even a hero…They’d know. They’d send him back. He can’t go back there. Not to a house where he doesn't belong. He won’t go back to somewhere he wasn’t wanted. 

He snatched up the papers, clearing the history on the computer. He didn’t want them seeing. They’ll ask why he was looking up Touya Todoroki. They’ll see the resemblance. They’ll be forced to find him. They would force him to be their obligation, again.

He can’t let them see, can’t let them know. He won’t let them find him again.

Touya Todoroki was dead.

He sprinted out the door, clutching the items as he ran down the street. His heart pounded against his ribs. He barely felt the brief flashes of pain as his feet slapped against the concrete. He needed to get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could.

He couldn’t let any cops, any heroes, find him. He needed to hide, needed a plan. 

He ran past startled pedestrians, catching the flash of white in the windows, the bright blue of his scrubs. He needed to change himself, needed to hide. He threw himself into an alley, pressing back against the bricks.

His lungs burned, his feet ached. He was sure he was leaving a bloody trail of footprints. It was fine, he would fix this, they wouldn't find him. He just needed to find clothes, shoes, and hair dye. Maybe some other supplies, if he could.

The librarian probably told them what he looked like. He needed to change his looks as quickly as possible, before he was spotted again.

There wasn’t anything he could do about the scars, but he could try and hide them. A mask or something. He poked his head out of the alley, looking around, spotting a large department store. 

Perfect.

He’d never stolen before. He derided anyone who would consider it. He was the son of the Number Two Hero, not some common thief. He would never stoop so low.

Except now, he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t have money or a job, just the clothes on his back and the baggage of his trauma. 

He pulled the hoodie off the hanger, looking around before he threw it on over his scrubs. Pants, socks, shoes, and a facemask later and he looked like any bored teenager. He hoped.

He managed to snag a duffle bag, shoving as many essentials as he could find. Whatever he could fit–

“Hey! Stop right there!” A store clerk shouted.

He spun around, time’s up. He bolted for the door, dodging through shelves and aisles of first aid supplies, ducking under and around other customers that tried to stop him. He ignored the repeated threats from the workers and was out, on the street and out of sight before even a hero could arrive. 

He kept running, ducking through alleys and streets until he was far, far from the shopping area, from the more populated space. He braced his hands on the wall of a rundown tattoo parlor, pulling his mask down to drag air into his abused lungs. Three years in a coma and burning himself alive did wonders for his health. It was a miracle he could stand. 

He could taste copper in the back of his throat. His feet were throbbing painfully in his shoes, but at least they finally had some protection. He just had to make it a little farther. He just had to get to safety, and then he could lay down.

He stumbled his way back to the warehouse, his shelter looming high over him. His new home, for now. He climbed the steps of the burned out husk of a building, to the room he claimed. It didn’t seem like anyone else tried to stay here before. Far as he could tell, it didn’t seem like he would need to defend the space. Maybe no one wanted a drafty warehouse in the middle of winter. 

That was fine by him, the cold didn’t bother him. He dumped the bag, crouching down to go through his haul. Some spare clothes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, first aid supplies that also included burn cream, and hair dye.

First things first, he took out his haul of first aid and hunted down a bathroom. And, hmm, he hadn’t actually thought about it. He was in an abandoned warehouse, probably should have checked the utilities.

He turned the knob on the closest sink. The pipes groaned and clattered and squealed ominously before the water came out in fits and spurts. After a few minutes, it ran clean, if a bit weak.

Thank god.  

He got to work. He took the time to deal with the damage to his feet, took the time to disinfect and bandage his knuckles from punching the mirror. Thankfully he had gotten good at taking care of his own wounds over the years. He also tested the burn cream on his scars. It..helped? It felt like slathering lotion on dry skin. It left him feeling oily and greasy and uncomfortable. The cream was soothing, so he must be doing something right.

Next, he held up the box of dye, having picked the first box that didn’t make his skin crawl. No red or weirdo bright colors. Absolutely nothing that would make him stand out.

So, black it was.

He twisted the box to look at the directions. He just needed to put the goo on his hair, spread it through, and then rinse it off in half an hour. He could do that just fine. Easy.

He stripped off the new jacket and pants., might as well only make a mess of the weirdo scrubs. He pulled the gloves on next with a snap and reached for the bottles. He popped one open, sniffing, and recoiled. The chemical smell was strong.  He held them at arm's length, mixing the bottles together and holding the cap tight as he shook the contents. Once it was all set, he started applying it to his hair.

He watched as Himura white was coated in inky black.

He ran his fingers through the strands. Maybe probably should have tried washing his hair first. Oh well, too late now. He tugged the knots free, splattering dye on the mirror, on the sink, globs of it falling to the floor. He turned and angled and did his best to make sure he covered every single white hair. He only had the one box, needed to make sure it was all covered, even if that meant using every drop in the bottle.

Once he was satisfied, he peeled off his gloves, chucking them with the rest of the trash from the box. Now he had to leave it to sit.

Which…he didn’t really have a whole lot he could do while he waited. To top it off, he also didn’t really have a way to tell time. He didn’t have a phone anymore. Didn’t look like there were any clocks around. 

So he was stuck waiting as the dye started to itch and burn. Waited as his stomach growled. He should have grabbed food too while he was out. Where did he go for that? Did he need to steal from a conbini? He would have to walk for a bit. He didn’t want to steal around here, around his territory. Heroes were dumb, but not that dumb. He scowled. He could look through the trash, but that sounded gross too. 

It wasn’t like he could cook either. His mom or Yumi had done all the cooking, so he never learned how. He wasn’t even sure there was a kitchen or a stove or anything here. He’d have to look around more, see what was actually in his new home. 

He huffed out a breath and waited until the dye started to burn, He figured that must have been long enough now. It was awkward, trying to angle his head under the faucet, trying to rinse all the black off. He carded his hands through his hair, squeezing out the dye. He kept at it until the water ran clear. Or, clear as it could. It was still tinged gray by the time he was done.

The basin was completely black now. Black spots of dye all over the mirror, the faucet, the floor. As well as a ton of water everywhere. He was glad he changed because the scrubs were soaked , dripping water and stained with dye. He looked at himself in the mirror, splotches of black at his temples, down his neck. His hair looked weird now. It was dark, dark black, slicked to his forehead, curling at his cheeks, and leaving a trail of gray rivers down his face. He looked like a drowned cat.

He stripped off the shirt, using it as a makeshift towel. There was no salvaging what remained of it anyway. Plus, towels may have been part of what he forgot to grab, sue him.

He met his gaze in the mirror again. 

His hair was a deep black, like it absorbed all the light, sticking up in odd spiked tufts. Black dye stained his hands and arms, the sides of his face and parts of his neck. All the black made him look even paler, even more washed out. It made his scars stand out more so. They looked more maroon now than the dark brown they were in the sunlight. They were so much worse than before too. Scars under his eyes like strange eye bags. Scars that covered his ears completely and crossed to his bottom lip, covering his jaw, like it was a whole different piece of himself. The scars descended down his neck to his collarbone. And then there was a huge swath across his stomach, where he used to always hide his burns from his father. 

He looked nothing like a Todoroki anymore, nothing like Touya.

He met blue eyes again, staring into the mirror, and saw a patchworked creation of broken and burned parts. A creature born from blue fire and ashes. A monster.

Dabi.