Chapter Text
It’s 700 hours, sunrise.
He can just see the first wash of red trying to force its way through the haze.
The lower city has been burning for 46 hours now.
It seems to cower under the smokestacks like a beaten dog, waiting of rescue.
It will be waiting a while yet.
He’s been there since first call, and they’ve hardly made a dent in the chaos.
His back aches, his eyes are streaming, and it’s been difficult to breathe for a while now.
Recovery teams have already abandoned their efforts on the east terraces and remaining teams have been ordered to focus their efforts on stopping the spread into the northern districts.
The ones closest to the city center.
He can hear the exhausted acknowledgments on the coms, his coworkers’ weary faces look defeated as they trudge past, shepherding the remaining evacuees away from what’s left of their homes and all their worldly possessions.
He holds out his hand and grudgingly directs jets of flames over the inferno, trying to starve them out, using up what little oxygen there is.
It’s too little much too late, but it does bank the flames some; enough for a hero he doesn’t recognize to come stumbling out of the nearest building coughing and hacking and clutching a small, badly burnt figure to his chest.
“She’s the last one,” he gasps. “Let’s move. The place is coming down.”
He could try an ice wall; thinks of gathering up what little moisture is left in the air together to shape or shore up the building, maybe give the pro a little more of a chance to search for survivors, but he’s already dropped off the child into his arms and is moving off with the rest.
He can feel her fishbone ribs through her filthy shirt as she coughs and looks up at him with dull, solemn eyes.
Their pupils are goat-like and the little fur that remains on her face is coarse and brown.
They stare at one another.
She twitches one of her floppy ears and says nothing.
A lot of the civilians in the lower levels are heteromorphs, so he is unsurprised by her appearance and only holds her close as he steps through the rubble.
“Do you know where your parents are?” he asks her after a moment.
She points at the smoking hull of the building, and he sighs and moves with the other heroes towards the emergency nerve center where a number of recovery pros are already quietly draping tarps over the other casualties of the fire and rounding up the young children who don’t have anyone looking out for them anymore.
None of them are crying or screaming.
Most of them are old enough to understand that without the protection of their adult guardians they will be moved into state care.
As ‘morph children he doesn’t like to think about their prospects.
They will be shuffled out past the walls he supposes, sent out to the farms that support the city center, or else taught some other trade badly needed by the commission and forced to work off the debt for their education.
The little girl in his arms tightens her grip on his shirt as he tries to set her down and he is forced to gently pry off her fingers before he can hand her off to an exhausted-looking nurse who looks her over and sits her on a gurney.
“Will she be alright?” He asks as she moves hurriedly away.
“She looks stable,” she replies looking harassed, “We are prioritizing the critically injured and heroes on the scene. She’ll have to wait to be treated.”
She’s badly burnt, but she doesn’t cry; she doesn’t say a word as he moves off, not to thank him or to curse him.
She looks far away, already moving past her injuries and the losses of the fire, too worried about next steps to even mourn.
He hopes she has friends somewhere in the city.
He takes himself out of the tent and it’s serious, desperate air.
No one makes any move to stop him.
He starts to move along with the rest of the crews headed off to deal with the crisis but is stopped by a nerve cell agent who waves him over impatiently.
“Shōto?” They confirm as he walks over. He nods and they type rapidly into their wrist com. “You’re being re-assigned. We had a call for a fire emergency in the inner city; head towards the nearest terminal and take the pro-line. They already know you’re coming.”
He blinks and taps his ear com into the open channel.
He hadn’t heard anything about fires in the upper districts.
The channel is clear of any emergency chatter, it’s quiet aside from the usual patrol check-ins and he stares down at the nerve cell.
“‘Coms sound clear,” he notes, “Do you have any details about the new fire?” The agent gives him an annoyed look.
“Look I’m just doing what I’m told here,” they snap, shooing him off. “Orders from the top were to send you back to your district for emergency fire dispatch.”
He doesn’t try and argue anything else.
There’s not much a cell could tell him anyways.
He heads towards the nearest shuttle platform and waits for the sleek red hero-shuttle to shepherd him through the gates and back into the upper districts.
He works out of the Belegaer district and watches the dirty, careworn streets of the lower city rapidly transform into tidy, neat buildings and high-tech glass structures as he passes through the gates back into the familiar sights of the inner rings.
Smog and dust disappear, and the sky gradually clears into the pale light of a cool morning.
He leans his head against his fist where he holds the rail and takes a deep breath to steady himself.
He hasn’t slept in over a day.
He remembers grabbing a cal-pack from a frantic recovery tech and cramming into his mouth half a day ago, so that’s been lunch, dinner, and today’s breakfast, and now he’s headed into whatever the upper city has planned for him.
The shuttle slows and he doesn’t wait for it to stop, he hops off and lets it continue on its way to the next emergency pick-up; hopefully to bring some sort of relief to the exhausted crews down south.
His ear-com registers him as having entered through the inner-city gates and rapidly begins sending him coordinates for the next emergency.
He’s not far- it’s a few blocks into downtown, at one of the new high-rises the council just got permission to rebuild.
He frowns.
That’s odd. Those buildings aren’t even 6 months old; he remembers his sister begging him to apply to move into them.
Perhaps it’s an electrical fire.
He’s too tired to try for a slide, and he may need whatever strength he has left to combat the fire, so he runs towards the building.
It’s barely dawn, so the city’s residents aren’t really out yet.
He spots a few early morning commuters and the odd service bot trundling along, but it will be hours yet until the morning rush.
He manages to find the building and takes stock.
It looks large and modern and very much not on fire.
He taps his com.
“Command this is Shōto,” he relays, “I received an emergency re-route from the Angmar district to this location?”
“Copy Shōto, this Command Dispatch,” comes a tinny voice. “Emergency call came from apartment 16648. You’ll have to go in and use the lifts.”
“I’ve…been routed from the district fires for a domestic call?” He checks, incredulous. “Can’t the civil services take care of it?”
“The call came in on the hero line,” the dispatcher explains after an embarrassed pause. “And all inner-city emergencies have priority. You are the hero on duty for Belegaer district in this rotation. We were told to- I…had to re-route you. Sorry, sir.”
“I understand, I’ll handle it, Shōto out.”
He seethes quietly for a moment and steps into the building.
There’s a concierge and he looks him up and down in his sooty, filthy recovery gear and balks.
“Emergency.” Shōto flashes his dog tags, “16648?”
“Sixteenth floor,” the man gapes, “Please try and mind the carpet.”
Shōto takes special care to walk directly down the center of the gaudy floral carpet and stomps into the lifts.
He scans his dog tags to bypass the security and have direct access to the floor.
He waits in the gentle drift of snowfall that’s starting to consume the space and tries to control his anger.
The doors eventually swing open with a cheerful ‘ding’ and he’s able to find the right door pretty quickly.
He summons a wave of ice and batters the door open with a swift jab.
It cracks and sails off its hinges in an instant.
The building’s emergency alarm starts to blare at an ear-splitting decibel and several neighbors open their doors in sleepy panic.
A shocked and terrified looking couple stumbles out of the apartment to stare in horror at their door.
“Fire services,” Shōto says simply to their stunned faces, “You called the hero line, so I assume you require immediate assistance- where is the emergency?”
“Whu-?” The woman from the apartment gapes, “I- we-”
“-It’s in the kitchen,” her man finishes looking positively livid, “We only called the hero line because the fire department takes too long. You didn’t have to break down the damn door!”
“The hero line is for immediate and urgent heroic response,” Shōto informs them stepping briskly into the apartment and looking around.
It’s neat and tidy and looks very high-end and expensive with its modern glass fixtures and leather furniture.
He spots a small grease fire on the electric stove and sends a lazy wave of frost over the entire countertop, incasing the entire marble slab in a foot of ice, “Calls are directed by matter of importance through the helpline and heroes have to be diverted from other tasks. You should never throw water on grease fire by the way; it makes things worse.”
He turns to go, and the couple seethes with indignation.
“Now wait just a damn moment-” the man growls.
He draws himself together and Shōto waits to see if he’s going to actually say something.
He continues to just look angry, so Shōto ignores them both and taps his com.
“Command this is Shōto. Emergency resolved. Headed to base-” he turns to them and adds, “You can contact your insurance about damages, but the Council isn’t liable for any property that is destroyed during heroic action. Have a good day.”
“Wha- but you just- wait… Shōto…”
The man’s eyes fall over his face and linger on his scar for a moment before he suddenly seems to realize just who it is that’s come into his home.
He blanches and takes a step back, ducking behind the woman.
“Yen,” she hisses, “Don’t just stand there; do something!”
He shakes his head, terrified.
“You’re Endeavor’s other boy,” he murmurs, “You’re Todoroki Shōto Aren’t you?”
The woman’s eyes go wide.
She looks at the frozen remains of her door and her ruined kitchen and stares hard at his face too before yelping in alarm and putting her hands up.
“Why are you here?” She bleats.
“You asked for emergency Hero services involving fire containment,” Shōto explains tiredly. “I was the only hero technically in the area.”
“Yuh-yes but- but you, you?” She says in open panic, scrabbling back with her man towards the other end of the apartment. “Couldn’t they send anyone else?”
“There’s not very many of us,” he points out, trying hard not to lose his temper. “And fires are, as you’ve probably realised, my specialty.”
“Just get out!” The man shouts, running behind a door, “Get out and don’t come back here! You were never here! Please!”
Shōto stares at where the couple has barricaded themselves in what is probably their bathroom and waits to see if they’re going to come back out or say anything else.
After a moment he sighs and turns to go.
There’s a sizable crowd gathered outside the door now having been eavesdropping and most of them take a step back in alarm.
Only an old woman rolls her eyes and stays where she is.
“Honestly,” she snorts, “You think the brother is going to come stomping up here from out in the slums? Be reasonable.”
“Mother!” a woman shushes from within the crowd, “Get back inside.”
The old woman shakes her head and shuffles back into a nearby unit.
“Shaking in your boots over a boy and his little gang,” she sighs, “The world sure has gone downhill since the old man’s time.”
No one dares to say anything to that.
The crowd murmurs and parts for him to head to the lifts; he can still hear them muttering to one another as he heads downstairs.
He tries to ignore the churning, miserable feeling in his stomach.
He has a feeling he won’t be able to continue working in this district for much longer…
The concierge is waiting by the doors and pounces on him as soon as the lifts open.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a car, sir,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument, “If you’ll follow me? It’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go.
The ‘So long as it’s far away from here’ is implied.
Shōto follows the man down a long hallway and allows himself to be dumped into a service alley where a cab is waiting.
“Good morning,” the cabbie says brightly as he steps inside. “Are you sure up with the larks? Where to?”
They have a quirk that makes sweet steam waft gently from off their skin.
The whole cab smells like bananas and the windows are foggy.
It reminds Shōto he hasn’t eaten.
“U.A. Academy, please.” He tells the cabbie, slumping against the window. They give a cheerful acknowledgment and pull into the street.
“You’re not the usual sort we pull out of them flats,” they chortle looking at him through the rearview mirror. “It’s typically hookers or salary men too drunk to stand Ol’ Smokey calls for.”
“I’m not a hooker,” Shōto tells him tiredly, “Or drunk. I do make a salary though.”
“Yeah? ‘Don’t look like it’s enough,” they snicker, “Rough night?”
Shōto debates his answer and settles for-
“Angmar is burning.”
“Again?” The cabbie scoffs callously, “Stupid bloody beasts– you hear the counsel public broadcasts, warning them again and again to take it easy with their half-assed ‘gennies, but do they listen? No!”
Shōto wants to point out that the majority of the citizens in the lower districts are too poor to afford a radio, let alone a holo or a television to watch the commission broadcasts.
Most of their generators date from the before the war, during the initial attacks. They’re almost as old as he is and can barely keep a stove running at full pelt.
People get hungry and cold.
They don’t have a lot of options.
“And now another one’s gone and blown themselves up!” The cabbie shakes their head, “Just a mess. I tell you. I don’t even want to think about all the ‘fugees and what they’re going to do to the traffic around here. They’ll all be tottering up any minute now, just you wait, clogging up the place, begging the council for money or pros for aid.”
“What are heroes for if not to render aid?” Shōto says quietly.
“The pros have better things to do then babysit that pack of half breeds,” the cabbie scowls, “They tend to city business.
Right.
City business.
Like grease fires at million-dollar condos.
Shōto sighs.
“Well, don’t you worry about it much,” the cabbie soothes him, “The walls around the Academy are still ten feet thick! If you can get in you’re not gonna have any trouble. You work there?”
“I live there.” Shōto tells him.
The cabbie’s eyes shoot up in surprise.
“Well look at me yammering on about the pros,” they grin, “A preacher to a shiny pulpit! S’that why you know about that slum fire? You getting off a shift?”
Shōto nods and tries to ignore the powerful waves of curiosity emanating from the driver.
“Never been inside the academy walls,” They admit, “I hear it’s all real fancy. That’s where the commission is housed, right? And all you pros?”
“A lot of us live on the grounds, yes.” Shōto answers. “I don’t know if it’s any more ‘fancy’ that any of the other inner districts though.”
The cabbie snorts.
“Sure,” they say, “I’ll believe that. You guys have the best of everything in there, everybody knows it.”
Shōto says nothing.
“C’mon,” the cabbie coaxes, “We’re almost there. You can’t tell me a bit about what it’s like inside? You ever see any of the old pros? What about Mt Lady? I loved her!”
Shōto suddenly wishes he had just walked or taken a pro-line home.
He’s much too exhausted to have this kind of conversation right now.
He knows all the strange things the public says about the academy, the speculation and rumors, it stands to reason with the security around it, but he’s never been one to enjoy this kind of prying conversation.
He’s tired and burnt and maybe a little upset.
He doesn’t have time for this.
“If I double your faire for this ride,” he asks bluntly, “Will you please stop talking?”
The cab driver looks affronted for a moment and then beams at him.
“I get it,” they say, “S’all top-secret stuff, hush hush. Say no more friend. We’ll drop the subject.”
Shōto nods gratefully and closes his eyes.
He enjoys a single, blissful moment of silence before:
“I hear they keep All Might locked up in there.”
Shōto’s eyes snap open and he sits upright in the backseat.
He locks eyes with the cabbie through the rear-view mirror.
“Come again?” he says coldly. Hoarfrost creeps its way up the glass of the window and rimes across the seats, but the cabbie brazenly continues.
“You know, when they’re not dragging him around to apologize for this mess we’re in.” They say, “I’ve heard- well the hero commission keeps him over at the academy. You know, out of sight, out of mind and all that. That’s true at least, isn’t it?”
Shõto blinks.
“You think the commission is keeping one of greatest Heros of the modern age,” he repeats carefully, “Penned at the Academy like some sort of petting zoo exhibit?”
The cabbie scoffs.
“Well, he’s no hero now is he?” They snort, “He’s all washed up, he’s a has been, the right old fraud. They gotta keep him put up someplace so the public don’t tear him apart for the state of the place- he was supposed to protect us you know. Fat lot of good he’s done at that. And don’t get me started on the mess with Endeavor- ”
“Stop the car,” Shōto says, unbuckling from his seat and catching at the door handle.
He has to chip through almost half a foot of ice and the cab driver glances back in dismay.
“But we’re almost there,” they protest angrily, “C’mon lad, you have to have tougher skin than that about the old man or you’ll-”
Shōto fishes one of the Commission credit chips out of the pouch at his waist and tosses it to the driver who catches it as they slow to the curb.
“Feel free to charge whatever you’d like for the ride,” he says, scrabbling out and nodding in what he hopes looks like politeness to the driver. “Thank you for your services, have a pleasant day.”
He lifts his hand and condenses the air under it into a stream of ice and tries for a slide.
The motion is easy, practiced, years of work honing it to something he can do even now, even when he’s exhausted, when he can feel his hands shaking and the world greying out at the corners.
He leaves the cab and the sidewalk behind and skims to the side of the street designated for mobility quirks figuring he might get less of a reprimand if they only have to chip out one of the lanes leading up the academy.
Unlike the dirty sprawl of the lower levels, where any quirk is permissible providing you aren’t caught, the center has a hard line on quirk uses.
Loud, showy quirks like his are only tolerated for pro-work and even then, only grudgingly in the way that heroes are only tolerated because they’re necessary to enforce the fragile peace they have with the warlords on the other side of the walls.
Everyone says it was different before the war, but Shōto doesn’t really remember, having been so young before The Decline.
It’s best not to dwell on it.
He turns the corner and sees the massive walls of the academy suddenly rear up out of the sleepy morning quiet.
He really wasn’t far from it.
It looms over the surrounding rings of the city, a tired, careworn old creature crouched defensively in the heart of the metropolitan sprawl, ready to leap into action to defend any part of its home it can.
The sight of its massive gates are a welcome one to Shōto, who’s lived behind their protection since he was 14.
His ear-com chirps in welcome and he fiddles with his dog tags.
They flash green and open the service gate and he jumps from the arch of his ice slide through the little door to greet the security team.
“Morning Shōto!” One of the guards waves brightly, “Where’re you coming in from?”
He holds his wrist out to be blood tested and waits for the pat down.
“Angmar,” he says watching the guards all wince.
“Yikes, still burning huh?” The security head says commiserating, “I hear the council’s about to petition the commission for some of the hydro-quirk pros out of the Bay Area to move up full time. The Old Man’s there now with some of your old school buddies coordinating rotations to give your fire-team a break.”
“Why didn’t they ask for a rotation when it started?” He asks sourly, unbuckling his vest and laying it on the nearby conveyor belt as the guards wrap up his exam.
“Well- you know the commission,” the lead guard says ruefully, “They hate spending money they don’t have to, and they don’t like asking Beast Town for anything.”
“Don’t call it that,” Shōto snaps automatically, thinking of the cabbie and feeling his anger rise. “The Bay Area, we don’t want to associate the people there with that term.”
“Sorry, sorry,” the guard laughs, “You’re right we shouldn’t call it that. optics are bad enough for the ‘morphs as it is. I know you’re on the advocacy board and Endeavor’s got-”
“-Who’s with the Old Man’s at the meeting?” Shōto interrupts, not wanting to be drawn into another uncomfortable conversation. “Do you know?”
“It’s Froppy,” one of the guards supplies meekly after a briefly awkward pause. “She’s representing the bay, you might still catch the tail end of it if you run.”
Shōto grimaces and tries to think of something that will soften the uncomfortable edge of the silence. The lead guard gives him another rueful smile.
“It’s all right, sir,” she promises, “Hurry up or you’ll miss your friends.”
He nods, picks his gear up from the security scanner and shuffles through the narrow hall that opens into the east service sector of the academy.
Unlike the rest of the city, which is only just now shaking off a sleepy doze, the former school is a bustling hub of activity.
He makes his way into the Nerve Center and catches the attention of one of the cells as they wander by looking half-asleep.
“I heard the council is meeting someplace,” he asks them. “Do you know where?”
The cell blinks bemusedly for a moment and then seems to shake off the confusion.
“They’re in the south tower block.” They yawn, “But I wouldn’t head up there if I was you. The Council’s on the war path and the Old Man’s in a temper about it.”
Shōto winces and thanks them for the heads up.
He heads for South Tower and runs into a few scurrying, harassed looking sidekicks and various aids clearly fleeing the scene upstairs.
“Shōto,” Bubble-girl sighs in relief spotting him across the corridor headed towards the lifts. “Oh thank goodness you’re here! I was just going to get Recoverygirl!”
“What’s going on?” He asks, stepping over to her and letting her herd him into the lifts.
“Yagi-san is fighting with the council again!” She pulls a face, “It’s getting ugly- they’re refusing to allow class-4 citizens past the 3rd gates at all even with the fire and the current housing crisis and they don’t want to extend Heroic considerations to any of the candidates from out of the Bay-”
“-They’re not going to let any of the new recruits register?” He echoes, stunned. “Even though we had seven aquatic heroes retire last year?”
Bubble girl looks almost teary as she nods, “The Old Man’s going ballistic-he and Tsukauchi-san personally selected them and vetted them themselves and Froppy’s been overseeing their training, but they-”
“-What about the rotation for the current crisis?” He asks, “Bay area residents all have a class-4 status, even their heroes. If they’re not letting anyone past the 3rd gates how are they getting to Angmar to deal with the fire?”
“Toshinori has managed to convince them to make an exception,” a voice cuts in. A hand jams the lift and someone crams inside with the two of them, “but only because the fucking plant’s just caught fire.”
It’s Shinsou and he looks completely exhausted like he’s also just come straight off of a shift. “I’ve been called in for reinforcements.” He adds at Shōto questioning look. “I did some of the backgrounds on the contested recruits. Aizawa sent for me. Long time by the way.”
“Likewise.”
His former classmate sighs deeply and runs a hand through his matted purple hair clearly annoyed.
He sniffs and glances at Shōto’s soot-stained uniform and singed hair.
“You coming in from Angmar?” he guesses. Shōto nods, sourly.
“I was pulled off the detail to put out a kitchen fire on the upper level.” He tells his coworkers who look sickened. “The nerve center gave that priority status over the Angmar manufacturing plant apparently.”
Both the other heroes in the elevator wince.
“Don’t tell the old man that,” Bubble-girl mumbles miserably. “He’s furious enough as it is.”
“Did they send you out to find your boss?” Shinsou asks her.
She nods and cups her elbows as if warding off a chill.
“Mirio’s gone to help with the fire,” she admits dully. “I shudder to think what the council is going to say when they hear about it – unsanctioned heroic action – misuse of paid time – they’ll hit us with something again, and we already took that voluntary pay cut because of the orphanage. Anyways, he’s not here so I was going to go get Recoverygirl instead. Luckily, I ran into Todoroki on the way down so…”
Shinsou nods. “Good. Listen, someone’s gotta talk the old man off the ledge before he gives himself another ulcer,” he tells them seriously, “Aizawa and I are going to tag in for a bit. Shōto, try to convince him to go home or take a nap. He’s been at the nerve center since the start of the fire, and nobody can remember when he last ate.”
“He can’t keep doing this,” Shōto sighs, “He’s just had that surgery.”
“You try telling him that,” Bubble-girl rolls her eyes, “Mirio was almost in tears the last time he had to keep out him of the Nerve Center- you know how he gets.”
They all share tired, rueful smiles.
“I’m so glad so many of you 1-A’s are here on campus,” she jokes lightly, “Otherwise we’d never get him to rest.”
“Yeah, thank the Shining Child and all the gods you found Shōto,” Shinsou joins in, half smiling with his eyes, “His little golden child- what’s it like to be the favourite of the favourites?”
“Oh like you wouldn’t know Erazerhead,” Bubble-girl laughs.
“That’s not my name.”
“Sure, whatever. I still don’t understand why you won’t just take it, Aizawa’d let you have it, he’s off the field-”
“- But he’s not retired yet,” Shinsou cuts her off, loyally. “And anyways this ain’t about me. Shōto, I think Tsu’s called in Uraraka and last I heard Nezu was in the way up. Use that old class pet charm and get The Old Man out before this gets any uglier.”
“Principal Nezu is coming?” Shōto repeats, alarmed.
This really is a bad fight.
The old principal of the academy rarely leaves his labs these days, even for council meetings, not since the school officially closed its doors two years ago.
“The council’s called in Commission Reps,” Shinsou confides at a murmur, tucking his head into his scarf so as to not be seen on the cameras. “To ‘restore order to the overreaching body of the Heroics Chapter’. We’re rounding up all the troops. It’s gonna be a big one tonight.”
Bubble-girl gives a small groan of horror.
Shōto doesn’t blame her.
He’d hate to have to sit at table for this fiasco.
Happily, he’ll never be needed.
The council is happy to pretend he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t make waves.
Plus Shinsou is right.
The Old man is pretty fond of him, and everyone knows it’s better to reason with him than meet him head on.
He wasn’t The Symbol for nothing.
Most heroes would stand behind anything he’d have to bring to or against their government.
The council knows this, just like it knows it can’t necessarily afford his anger and so they tolerate the men and women and others he respects so as to have something to leverage against him.
Shōto is willing to put up with a lot to stay in the field.
So he tolerates them back.
“Who else is coming?” he asks Shinsou quietly.
“Iida is already there,” He relays, “And your girl. I think they were trying to scare up Hawks if his wings weren’t hurting him too bad this week and Woods and Fats; 13’s been in the building for a minute and Mirko’s gonna radio in after her hip replacement.”
The Old Guard.
Interesting…
“That’s a lot of retirees,” Bubble-girl bites her lip, “You know they don’t like to listen to the old heroes. Ugh, I wish Mirio hadn’t left-”
“-Does Burnin know this is happening?” Shōto asks, “She’s always ready for a fight. I could send her a message, maybe.”
“Don’t.” Shinsou snaps suddenly. He gives him a quick glance and sighs through his nose. “I wasn’t going to tell you, because with any luck you’ll be gone by the time this really kicks off but- The commission chair is bringing Endeavor.”
Bubble-girl’s face twists in disgust and he tenses up without meaning to.
“What’s he coming for,” Bubble-girl hisses, “He’s got a lot of nerve-”
“-The commissioners probably think it’ll be better to have somebody reason with us, you know at our level,” Shinsou rolls his eyes “Hero to hero.”
Shōto doesn’t say anything, and his comrades don’t mention the icicles that start to drip down on them from the ceiling.
“Do you have a plan,” Shinsou suddenly asks as the lift starts to slow to its stop, “For the old man?”
“Let me see what mood he is in first,” Shōto contemplates. “Then we can decide on a plan.”
The doors open into chaos.
Pros, techs, aids, and sidekicks are all crowded into the hall trying to see over each other into what was once a humanities lecture hall and now houses the majority seats for the council when they come to the Academy for assembly.
The stage is set up to receive the reps from the hero commission at their typical long wooden table and squashed between these two powerhouses of Civil control, towering and skeletal and clearly furious, stands Yagi Toshinori, the hero formerly known as All Might who was once the most powerful Symbol of Peace, and one of the greatest heroes the world has ever known.
He’s been a shadow of these former glories for most of Shōto’s life now, but that doesn’t stop the people in that room from cowering back from his anger as it breaks over them in a flash of his sunken blue eyes.
“-A gross failure of leadership and frankly a bigoted response to the men and women and others who fight to defend our country in these times of crisis!” Shōto hears him bawling out at the council. “I would be ashamed to deny these brave young people a chance to prove themselves the heroes we need and so should you!”
The crowd around him breaks into furious applause and he can hear the head councilwoman shrieking for order as he pushes his way through into the hall.
“All Might,” a councilmember Shōto knows has always been sympathetic to the Old Man sighs as the room rustles and murmurs itself to a lull. “The Council recognizes your passion and commitment to the city and we can understand your desire to ensure a future for these young people, but please be reasonable- you know there are not enough resources to support the heroes we already have, and frankly we don’t have enough pros in the field to- to keep watch over the candidates from the Bay area.”
There’s a hiss of dissent from the gathered crowd and Shōto spots one of his old classmates and close friends, Ochaco, coming out to stand next to All Might.
“I think the council should be clear,” she says in a calm voice that carries to the back of the room and spills out to the halls, “They want the residents of the bay area, including its current registered Heroes and all future hopefuls, to be monitored by current Heroes and police staff at all times if they cross the 3rd gate. A gate past which, I do not need to remind anyone here, only 2 percent of the population holds any heteromorphic traits whatsoever. What is that if not open and callous discrimination against some of the most maligned people groups of this entire country?”
“You have no evidence to that claim madam!” A councilman shouts to be heard over the sudden din of the crowd.
Another one of his old friends, Tenya immediately bustles forwards with a holo tag that he throws up into full view of all parties.
“Pro hero Uravity is in fact correct. And as a further matter of fact- we currently have a census taken of the entire city of Mustafar that corroborates Uravity’s claims.” He states, fussing with his glasses. “I’ve also taken the liberty to provide a breakdown of all current projects and future economic projections for the coming fiscal term and as you can see, funding would be available to provide for-”
“-It is the Commission’s responsibility to ensure dispersal for common funds provided by the council, Pro Hero Ingenium.” A commission member drawls lazily from over across the table, “And that is not up for debate at this time, please stick to the current situation and address the Council’s concerns.”
“WHO authorized this census,” a dowdy old councilwoman harrumphs at the back of the assembly, “Who requisitioned funds to conduct a survey of this magnitude?”
Shōto is unsurprised to find another of his closest friends, who everyone has called Momo since his school days holding up her hand to declare, “My family generously donated the funds for this project and all logistics and equipment were donated by myself and others, the research itself was compiled by your own Nezu, formerly of the Academy and 15th high seat of the council board.”
The former principal appears as if summoned from within the crowd.
“Indeed, miss Creaty,” he bears his little fangs in a beaming grin, “And as a matter of fact there are a number of concerns this population graph illustrates about our current policies.”
He twitches his whiskers genially, but his lashing tail betrays his anger as he politely goes through a few of the relevant data points.
Shinsou suddenly steps forward from his place next to him and stands to meet their old principal so he can make the leap onto his shoulder and better address the Council.
The sight of his little white furred person wrapped around the lean black figure with its billowing white scarf sends a wave of sudden nostalgia through Shōto’s very bones.
He wonders where Aizawa is in the crowd.
Their old homeroom teacher was never one to draw attention to himself, but his protégé mentioned he would be here.
And indeed, Shōto’s careful eye finds him tucked into the back of the crowd surrounding All Might, calm, observing and steady as he remembers.
It’s been a while since he’s seen him out in public.
Perceptive as ever Aizawa flicks his single eye over to Shōto and nods, having felt his eyes on him and continues looking to where Shinsou, almost his clone in his black tac-gear, heavy boots and scarf, is allowing himself to be used as a makeshift podium.
Shōto tunes out of the meeting and watches the crowd, curious.
The council isn’t pleased by this united show of force from the heroes, and he spots several of its members glaring over to the commission seats, trying to force them into action against the heroes they claim to regulate.
The commission representatives look almost bored, having likely been flown in from the central branch in Tokyo and being largely unconcerned with the petty political affairs of such a small part of their larger picture.
Shōto doubts they really care about any of this as long as the heroes don’t overreach themselves and get booted out by the council; they get paid for every set of tags in the city after all, the council’s effectively renting every person here from their Tokyo office.
They’re only really here to make sure the city stays satisfied with their purchase.
He tunes back in when he hears Tsu’s familiar croak rasping current updates from the Nerve Center about Angmar.
“Relief teams have just reached the plant and pros from my district have begun taking over fire control.” She ribbits, hopping forward. “The blaze is currently over 45 percent of the district, and we’ve incurred twelve losses.”
12 heroes.
Shōto feels the room flinch.
He wonders whose names will be read at the next assembly- if he’ll see a
familiar face at the memorial soon…
“12 Fine heroes.” All Might murmurs. “Lost to the course of their duties… Members of the council: we hold here in this room the solemn responsibility to secure peace and protect those without means from harm. We all do this bravely, selflessly, sometimes at the cost of our lives. Few are equipped to handle the enormous weight of such a pledge. Who are any of us to deny those who would stand up to take up this promise when others fall?”
There is a resounding silence.
The counselors shift guiltily and begin to mumble among themselves.
“Perhaps,” the lead council woman coughs. “We have been a bit… Hasty about the Bay Area candidates...”
“Let’s take a brief recess.“ A commission representative suggests, “And your heroes can present their case to you after the management of this current crisis. Everyone! the certification issue will resume this evening, please head to designated assignments for the day.”
There’s a sudden tumult as the crowd begins to break up, chattering quietly among themselves.
The council stands to go, threading out in a line behind the podium at the front of the room by the stage. The councilman who spoke to All Might stops briefly to smile at him and pat his elbow which is the only part of him he apparently can reach.
Several of the commission representatives steeple their hands and watch the room gradually empty looking contemplative.
Shōto feels a sense of misgiving; nobody likes it when the commission reps are here, especially if they have their eyes on anything the heroes are doing in the area.
Aizawa moves forward to whisper something to Tenya and Ochaco. They both whip around, beaming.
Apparently, they hadn’t noticed him in the crowd.
Ochaco gets Momo’s attention and they both come barreling out of the knot of people surrounding the old man and make a beeline straight towards him.
“Shōto!” Momo smiles. We didn’t see you.
Ochacho stops just short of where he and bubble girl are standing and opens her arms, inviting him to hug her. She looks well and he awkwardly steps forward and lets her and Momo put their arms around him before stepping back.
There.
Friendship done.
Both girls giggle a little at the look of relief on his face, and Momo says, “Come on, everyone’s gonna try and trick the old man into grabbing some breakfast.”
“I haven’t eaten.” He informs her as they all head closer. “I’ve just come in from Angmar.”
She looks grave, and Ochoco asks. “How is it?” as they approach the others.
“Bad,” he grimaces, “Worse now if 12 of us haven’t made it. They were only reporting seven casualties when I was recalled.”
“The generator that exploded took out four Heroes from the jump,” Ochaco reports sadly, “We lost Deadlift, and Bullneck- someone said Arctic’s in critical condition too. He’s been transferred downstairs to see what Recoverygirl’s techs can do.”
Shōto sighs under his breath as they make the final few steps towards where All Might is shaking the hand of a teary-eyed person with some sort of walrus-based quirk.
They’ve got massive tusks and look awed as they stammer their thanks at his defense of them and their comrades.
They must be one of the contested heroes.
“Young one-”
“-Miss, sir-”
“Young Miss,” he corrects smoothly, taking her flippers in his big hand, “It is my duty and more than that my honor to see you through this. Please rest assured that we will all do everything in our power to see that you and your companions are licensed.”
She sniffs and struggles to keep her composure as she blubbers another thank you.
The old man looks absolutely exhausted, but he smiles gently at her and asks.
“Have you chosen a Hero name?”
“Siren, sir.” She murmurs, “It- it was my aunt’s, b-before she- I’m s-sure you don’t remember…”
“-I remember her very well,” he says softly, “A beautiful, brave young woman. She helped save everyone in Kamakura that day, you know. It was a privilege to have known her. I’m sure she would be proud to know her niece is following in her footsteps.”
The girl’s bristly mustache twitches and her eyes brim over with tears.
She has to be gently steered away by Tsu who shoots All Might a thankful look as she hops over to her little clutch of hopefuls.
All Might looks over at them and sighs deeply.
The entire weight of the world feels like it hangs over him in that moment and Shōto wavers, scared to interrupt him as he gathers the strength he needs to bear it.
He trades anxious looks with some of his old classmates and finally glances over at Shinsou who nods covertly before turning to chat with the principal and Aizawa.
Shōto steps forward and into the old man’s line of sight, catching his attention.
“Oh,” He perks up and finds a tired smile. “Young Mr Todoroki, I heard you’d been called in from Angmar.”
“I was sir,” Shōto nods, “I’ve only just got back.”
“What terrible timing,” he says wryly, “Out of one fire and into another.”
Shōto fidgets on his feet as the others keep giving him meaningful glances.
He’s supposed to find a way to lure the old pro out of here…
“Sir,” he tries after a moment of deliberation, “I was told to distract you so you would leave this room and Aizawa and the others could take over for you. I haven’t eaten and was hoping you could be convinced to come with me to have breakfast.
Ochaco and Momo both duck their heads to grin and Shinsou groans and rubs between his eyes.
Tenya nods encouragement to continue, but he waits to see what the old man will do.
All Might blinks in surprise and smiles ruefully.
“Oh? You’re my distracter, are you? I’m being burdensome again.” He chuffs and looks them all with obvious affection, “Had to break out the big guns to get the old man out of the way, huh?”
“We were hoping he would be more subtle.” Bubble-girl shakes her head, walking over from where she got held up greeting a few pros.
“I’m not sure why,” Shinsou snorts.
Nezu’s whiskers twitch and a few of the others crack into smiles.
All Might chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.
“I admire your effort my boy,” he says genuinely, “But-”
“-But Shōto really hasn’t eaten,” Ochaco blurts. “Tenya and I haven’t either! We just flew in from Tokyo.”
A few others rapidly relay similar information and look at him hopefully.
All Might wavers.
“None of you have eaten?” He repeats suspiciously.
Shōto nods.
“Not since I was called out to the fire.” He states.
Now the old man looks alarmed.
“I was the one who dispatched you,” he boggles. “That was almost two days ago, young man.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” Shōto shrugs and the old pro scowls and starts to steer him towards the mess by his shoulder.
“That’s never an excuse to miss meals,” he admonishes, ignoring how some of the others shoot him incredulous, exasperated looks. “Young people like you need to eat to keep your strength up- what if you’re called in for another crisis? No, no, we’re taking you straight to Lunchrush so we can sort this whole thing out- come on everyone.”
Shinsou and Aizawa both give him quick nods of thanks as he’s marched out and he hears more than a few sighs of relief.
They tromp out in force to the mess and Shōto is forced to watch with dismay as All Might loads a tray with two of everything on offer.
Ochaco and Momo sneak up next to him.
“Thank you,” Ochaco murmurs.
“I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat all that,” he mumbles as the old man tries to beg one of the service techs for a third portion of rice. “I’ll explode.”
“Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” Momo nods, smiling slightly. She reaches out to squeeze his arm and he puts his hand over hers reflexively. “I’m sneaking back off to check in with Nezu- good luck you three.”
She leans up to peck a quick kiss to Shōto’s cheek and darts off and Ochaco looks sadly at her retreating back.
“I wish you guys had worked out,” she sighs.
Shōto says nothing and she pouts at him.
“Seriously Shōto, what’s it been like- a year? Two? Tenya and I were talking-”
“-I’m sure I’m not going to enjoy the topic of your discussion,” he stares down at her.
“-and we really think it’s time you moved out of here and found a place in the city.” She pushes, ignoring him. “You never get out! All you do is work and it’s not healthy! We were thinking that maybe you could-”
“-Shōto!” All Might saves him, waving him over impatiently, “Come here my boy, come have some breakfast.”
The commotion causes a few other heroes to realize that they are here, and she is called away to the other end of the table to converse with a few friends she hasn’t seen since her Tokyo deployment with Tenya.
Tenya ducks his head to avoid Shōto’s reproach and pretends to be deep in conversation with another one of their old classmates, Hagakure, who is showing off the pictures of her twins.
“Oh yes,” he hears him say seriously, staring hard at where a floating pair of bows and a tiny blue bow tie sit in an otherwise empty field over matching pink and blue rompers. “They…sure are getting bigger?”
“Right??” He hears Hagakure cooing ecstatically, “They look just like their father, don’t they?”
“Y-yes,” Tenya nods, dubious, “But they…really take after you I think…”
“Everyone says that,” she laughs happily, “Poor Mashi- I’m sure you’ll be able to see it more when they’re older.”
“I…certainly hope so,” Tenya mutters.
Shōto tunes in to where others are discussing All Might’s speech to the assembly and betting on the new reps they’ll swap in to replace the commissioners who just left.
“It’s going to be that asshole from Hosu who’s always fighting with their chief.” He hears Epic telling Bubble-girl and Sirius. “The one who hates ‘morphs. They’re always trying to ingratiate themselves with our city.”
“I’m not sure,” Bubble-girl frowns, “I heard Endeavor is coming, and the Hosu chair has it out for him-”
“-Endeavor?!” Ochaco squeaks, overhearing and jerking up from her other conversation. She shoots a nervous glance at Shōto and says, “He’s not coming here is he?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t dare show his face here.” Tenya blusters, “Not after the last time- and All Might’s sir, you wouldn’t let him.”
All Might doesn’t say anything and quietly pushes the tray of food in Shōto’s direction.
“Eat,” he prompts, ignoring how almost everyone at the table is staring intently at him. “You need your strength.”
Shōto looks down at the tray of food and feels his insides churn with nausea.
He looks at the Old Man and he stares back somberly.
“He’s here already,” he guesses, “Isn’t he?”
“To help starve the fire,” All Might whispers, “Yes.”
The others at the table jump up or slam their fists in outrage.
Shōto is warmed by how several of them instantly draw close and form ranks around where he and the old man sit as if they expect to have Endeavor drop in on them out of nowhere and are ready to defend them both.
“Calm down everyone,” All Might says, holding his hands up to placate them, “Endeavor is a hero, and has a right to come to UA, especially during times of crisis for our city. It’s still his duty to render aid.”
“But-” Ochaco chokes.
“-The Commission knows where we stand on the matter of his…other sanctioned mission.” All Might interrupts her. “He’s not allowed to be housed in or near any of our private residences, and none of his people can linger in any of our common spaces. Those were my demands.”
He looks deeply into Shōto’s eyes and says more quietly.
“I spoke to him personally, reminding him about our last discussion. It’s alright my boy, he won’t try and contact you without your permission.”
They all relax, and he feels his face heat a little as Ochaco and Hagakure sit down on either side of him and start to fuss over him to ease their nerves.
Ochaco gently pets a wrinkle out of his sooty sleeve and Hagakure starts nudging plates off the tray and closer to his person.
Tenya looks stiffly towards the doors, alert to trouble.
He feels his throat work and coughs a little, pulling a plate of rice closer to begin eating.
Everyone begins talking loudly to distract from the awkward tension.
He and All Might lock eyes for a moment and he gives him a small, knowing smile.
It’s still a strange feeling, having friends.
They make him feel weak and fragile but also cherished and cared for.
He’s never quite known what to do with it.
“Do you know who I haven’t seen in some time?” The Old Man murmurs after a while, automatically taking a cup of coffee from Tenya as he surreptitiously pushes it into his hand. “Your little friend- the one young Koda asked for your help with.”
Shōto looks up from his breakfast and finds a real smile under his rattled nerves.
“Fin-chan,” he nods, thinking of the little white bird that’s probably dozing in his cage on Shōto’s desk as they speak. “Yes, I still have him.”
“Koda said his wing didn’t set right, didn’t he?” Ochaco adds, slyly pushing a plate of pastries under All Might’s hands. “And that the other finches might bully him. That’s why you kept him isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Shōto agrees. “And I thought it might be nice to have a pet. Momo says he looks like me.”
“He does!” Hagakure laughs, “I saw the pictures on your profile. Do you ever post about anything else?”
“No.”
“Ah. Well, pets are a good start!”
All Might takes a bite of pastry without thinking much of it with a little chuckle and misses how the table collectively sighs in relief.
“I think it’s important for us to cultivate interests outside of our work,” Tenya says thoughtfully, “Ochaco and I have taken up gardening-”
“-You’ve taken up gardening,” she teases, “I hold the watering can-”
“-And we have a fairly sizable crop of tomatoes going.”
“Mashi and I have a garden,” Hagakure tells them, “We’re a little busy with the dojo though, so it’s getting a bit neglected. I wouldn’t even know where to start with pets, the twins are enough work.”
“Has that been hard?” Shōto asks. “All that change at once?”
“Not really,” she muses, “Getting kicked out of my job for getting pregnant was hard- I love Mashi, but I’m not interested in getting married you know? I don’t see why that had to be so make or break, but it turns out we love the countryside, and our district keeps us busy with how close we are to the slums- we see a lot more of Tokoyami and Mina now too which is a plus, they both look amazing by the way.”
Shōto smiles at the thought.
A number of his other classmates settled out in the furthest districts of the city, past even the fourth gates.
He doesn’t see much of them anymore and it’s nice to hear they’re doing well.
“We’re so far out in Tokyo,” Ochaco whines, “We never see anybody and it’s not like there’s money to visit-”
“You do good work for us there though,” All Might suddenly rumbles, “Advocating for the lesser cities and keeping down those prohibitive quirk measures- I know it’s terrible to be so far from home, but I applaud you.”
Tenya adjusts his glasses, flustered and Ochaco blushes and stammers to think nothing of it.
“You were supposed to go to Tokyo too weren’t you, Shōto?” Bubble-girl suddenly butts in, leaning past Ochaco, “I remember Mirio pouting about your transfer request.”
“I was,” he nods, “With Tenya and Ochaco and Momo, yes.”
“I didn’t know that!” Hagakure gasps, “Why didn’t you go?”
“Toru-” Ochaco winces, but Shōto cuts off her next statement with a simple shrug and the truth.
“I was supposed to move in with Momo. We were still seeing each other at the time, but then we broke up.” He says, “Everyone said it would’ve made things more awkward for us to stay together since I broke it off and I had never wanted to go so I stayed here.”
“O-oh,” Hagakure says thinly, “I um, guess I missed that part.”
“You were very pregnant and mired in scandal,” Shōto agrees, “We were all doing our best to mitigate your stress at the time and Momo didn’t want to inadvertently slip the idea of breaking up into your head.”
A few people at the table wince, but Hagakure doesn’t seem to mind much.
“That’s very thoughtful,” she murmurs. “She was probably right, I was out of my mind at the time, especially when your pops tried to take my license-”
“-Let’s not dwell on any of that now.” Ochaco covers hastily. “That was years ago and-”
“-I’m still sorry about it,” Shōto ignores where Ochaco is desperate to change the subject. “Him creating that stupid, horrible division, and then trying to use it against my friends to- I really don’t know what he hopes to do coming back here. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forgive any of it.”
There’s another lapse of silence at the table.
His friends all trade worried looks.
“We won’t let him near you, son,” All Might declares quietly. “You have my word. I think we should all do our best to put past actions behind us and focus on the future, but I can respect your wishes on it.”
“He’s not here in that capacity besides.” Tenya soothes the table, “You heard All Might. He’s here for the fire and nothing more, once he’s done what he can he and the commission will have no choice but to leave.”
He seems to be reassuring himself as well as them, but they all agree and conversation eventually resumes.
All Might’s appetite reasserts itself now that it’s had a sudden taste of food and Shōto happily shares the spoils of his massive tray.
Talks veer towards budget cuts and rota complaints and the deficit in the support technology and Powerman’s ongoing divorce from Flicker.
The usual chatter of hero life.
Shōto lets the conversation slip over him and cover him up like a blanket.
It’s soothing; listening to his friends talk and eating quietly until prompted to offer some response to someone or something, it’s familiar.
He misses sometimes the way things were, before his brother’s confession.
How much simpler life was here, with his friends at the academy.
Eventually he must nod off right there at the table, because he wakes to find his tray cleared and the old man’s patient expression waiting with another cup of coffee.
He sips contently.
The table has mostly cleared out and the mess is quiet.
“Oh,” He wobbles groggily upright and rubs over his face. “I fell asleep.”
“You passed out, yes,” All Might nods. “You’ve been up fighting fires for most of two days, you’re exhausted. I told the others I’d walk you home. Your friends were a bit reluctant to leave you, but I convinced them.”
“Thanks.”
“Think nothing of it.”
He stands from the table and looks at Shōto expectantly and together they set off towards Heights Alliance.
Shōto glances at all the Old Man as they walk.
“I take it I’ve worked as a distraction.” He asks, “Or will you go back once you’ve seen me to my room?”
All Might sighs deeply.
“It seems they would prefer I take a break from the proceedings,” he says ruefully. “Young Iida mentioned while you were sleeping- insisted really. We’ve both been up since the start of the crisis and apparently rest is called for.”
“It’s not healthy to stay up fighting fires,” Shōto nods.
“I haven’t been,” All Might says darkly, “I’ve just been standing in that room, watching the situation deteriorate.” He looks broodingly up at the towers of the school and shakes his head. “That’s all I’m good for these days. Sending bright young people into danger and listening to old fools like me complain about money of all things while Japan slides out from under us all into the sea.”
“You wouldn’t let that happen.”
All Might looks at Shōto and gives him a wan smile.
“Of course not,” he states. “Not while we still have some fight left. There’s plenty of us in the ring.”
He reaches out and pats his shoulder again.
“Don’t listen to this Old man’s nonsense, my boy. Go get some sleep.”
Shōto wants to, he feels like he could sleep a thousand years, get up, roll over, and sleep a thousand more, but he’s worried about the old man and his strange mood.
“Would you like to come see my finch?” He asks him, casting around for something distracting. “You’d mentioned it’s been some time.”
All Might chuckles.
“Some other time,” he promises, “I have to stop by the memorial if I have no other business…we’ll need it ready in the morning once the crisis is over.”
That doesn’t seem like a good idea given his current state, but Shōto doesn’t argue.
He turns from the path that leads up to his current dorm and heads toward the main gate and its massive security entrance.
“Now wait just a minute. You don’t need to-” All Might protests, but Shōto just ignores him and plods determinedly towards the door.
The guards all come to attention once they spot the old man and a couple of them trade quick glances.
Shōto flashes his tags and says.
“The Old Man needs to go to the square.”
They look subdued as they open the little side hatch of the gate and wave them through.
The massive monoliths can’t be seen from the front of the campus, but a quick walk sees them to the square and its granite pillars, honoring the fallen.
There used to be some other statues or something here when Shōto was a boy, but he no longer remembers of who or what.
Now it’s this: a stone forest of names that grows every day. A garden that All Might tends diligently and stands to honor every morning with whoever is not on morning rotation before they make their solemn procession back to campus to start the day.
Shōto waits for the old man to check carefully over each stone, making sure they’re free from the usual refuse and graffiti before he mentally plots out where the next one will go.
He lingers especially long over the smallest of them at the back.
It’s much older and different than the rest of them; made of bronze, originally melted down from whatever had once stood here, it’s dwarfed by the heroes’ names that seem to crouch over it protectively.
He places his hand on its surface and runs over the neat rows of listed names, inspecting them for smudges or flaws.
A little bundle of flowers and a teddy bear lays at its feet, and he pauses and crouches down to study it with a deep sigh.
“It’s almost the fifteenth, isn’t it?” He mumbles, “I’ll have to remember to bring flowers.”
Shōto thinks he’s been here long enough and moves to stand next to him.
He glances at the pillar but doesn’t really see it- it’s been there most of his life, he was four, when it was erected, it’s proclamation is almost as familiar to him as the scar on his face.
IN MEMORY OF THE CHILDREN LOST TO THE MUSTAFAR CRISIS: JAPAN HONORS YOUR SACRIFICE
“You have a while sir,” he says softly, “Until then. We ought to leave.”
All Might tenderly brushes a bit of dirt off the bear’s snout and fusses with the flowers, pruning withered leaves and straightening them in their vase, before finally standing to go.
They head back into the academy without another word.
Shōto practically bullies the world’s greatest hero into the old teacher’s dorms where he still lives and begs him to get some sleep before heading to his own dorm.
A few people loiter around the common area, some gearing up for work shifts and others spreading rumors and gossip about the fight at the assembly.
They mob Shōto as he heads up towards his room, but he fends them off and basically collapses against his door.
His room is as ever he leaves it.
Calm, quiet, tidy and bare except for the essentials.
The little bamboo cage at his desk rattles as his finch cheeps loudly inside, demanding breakfast.
He strips on autopilot and moves to open the cage so the little white bird can flutter around while he checks his water and fills his food bowl.
Once that task is done, he fights to unroll his futon and collapses straight into it in a smokey heap.
There’s the tiniest bit of pressure as his bird flits over to bounces across his head, beeping loudly while he burrows his face into his pillow.
“Please don’t make a mess,” he tells him with a loud yawn. “And stay away from the windows this time.”
He falls asleep like that, half in his clothes, with fin-chan free-flying around because he was too tired to close his cage back up.
Just another day in the city.