Chapter Text
It turns out, recovery is harder than he’d thought it would be too. He’s away from Endeavor. Completely.
“We handled it internally. Legally, he has no claim over you anymore, but we felt both for your safety and society, we should prevent this from becoming a media craze. This way he’s still motivated to behave so as to not further tarnish his reputation. Unfortunately, it also means he remains a licensed hero. Is this ok with you?”
Shouto thinks. He thinks a long time. He knows hero society is fragile right now. They’re still reeling from the loss of All-might. As much as he hates his father, he’s the only one close to filling those shoes. He can’t very well take that away from people too.
“Of course, we will take measures that the two of you do not interact during your work study,” All-might adds.
"Pending a large-scale disaster, those measures should hold. It's not perfect and to be honest, he deserves a harsher punishment and you deserve better," Aizawa grumbles, obviously unhappy with the turnout though he was the one who'd explained it to Shouto.
“I understand.”
“We also want you to know, Nedzu and I worked to find a therapist who specializes in hero related issues. We think it would benefit you to have a couple of sessions at least. From what I was able to drag out of Midoriya, this affects you a lot.”
"And that's nothing to be ashamed of young Todoroki. But you don't have to deal with it alone anymore and you may be able to learn to better cope with it. I think it's safe to say most pros here have had to do a session or two after, particularly bad fights. We may win wars, but we don't always come out unscathed."
“You said something intelligent for once. Congratulations.”
“I’ll… I’ll try.” He concedes.
"We also rearranged the dorm assignments. This is by no means allowing for you to break the rules, but we thought for better or worse, you trust our problem child and wanted you to have resources available to you. I also relocated my quarters to be on your floor. The rooms above and below you are unoccupied as I understand you experience unintentional quirk use when stressed?"
Todoroki slumps his shoulders. “I do. Bakugo was angry with me last year.”
“Well, we haven’t informed your classmates of any details pertaining to your situation. They’ve deduced certain things on their own, but it’s yours to share.”
“Thank you.”
“All right. Quit hiding,” Aizawa says, looking over his shoulder where a very sheepish Izuku pokes his head out.
“Sorry-“
“Save it,” Aizawa says. All-might looks conflicted between them. “You do know a lot of this could have been avoided if you’d stepped up sooner?”
“I know you were trying to help him young Midoriya, but sometimes heroes have to do things that are in good interests of people even if it’s not what they want.”
Izuku opens his mouth to talk but Shouto talks instead. “Don’t be angry with him. I never would have come forward.” He feels Izuku’s rough fingers lace with his own, giving a gentle squeeze.
“It’s going to be alright now young Todoroki. Because we are here for you.”
Tears blur his vision and slip down his face. Those words had given him comfort and inspiration so many times as a child, but he’s never felt them as strongly as he does now, even with All-might’s diminished form.
_____________________
Getting away from his father, as it turns out, doesn’t fix all his problems. It doesn’t stop the nightmares. It doesn’t stop the daydreaming his therapist has dubbed “dissociating.”
It does change things. It changes that now he has twenty-five people in his corner instead of one.
When he feels panic gripping his heart and it seems like water is filling his lungs, there’s always someone there. Midoriya. Iida. Uraraka. Momo. Tsuyu. Kirishima. Aizawa. Grounding him with their words and gentle touch, letting him know he’s here, at UA, and he’s safe.
When he’s frosting his room and screaming into his pillow, sleep crusted Izuku is knocking gently, climbing into his bed and holding him while he calms. Last minute sleepovers are held in the common room, sleeping bags smooshed together in the small space, reruns of bad comedies on the tv.
He sees a therapist now. He takes something called an SSRI that helps manage his symptoms. They talk through everything he’s been through. Everything he’s been suppressing and repressing for years.
He remembers things about his mom he thought he'd lost.
He remembers things about his father he wishes he could have left forgotten.
He remembers Touya. He remembers the last day he saw Touya.
He hears the kettle ringing in his ears less often.
It isn't perfect. He still startles when people walk up behind him, particularly ones who cast large shadows.
His heart still threatens to burst when he can feel someone approaching him that he can’t see.
His throat still closes up when he sees his father on the tv.
It still churns his stomach when he hears people praise his character. But at least he no longer hears it from his classmates. He'd spared them a lot of the gory details, but he, at the prompting of Izuku and his therapist, told them an abridged version of why he tried to kill himself.
Of why he is the way he is.
Part of him still wishes his father were behind bars. His reasons and ability to imprison his mother void, his reputation in shambles. Another part of him is glad he’s not.
His therapist says it’s normal to have mixed feelings about things. Especially in cases of parental abuse.
He still hates that word. He knows it applies, but it implies a victim and he hates feeling like a victim. He hates feeling weak.
She also tells him, every session, that it wasn’t his fault.
He’s not sure he believes her.
If he'd never been born, his dad would have left them alone. He didn't care about any of his siblings. Didn't care about his mother until she got in his way.
She says no one is responsible for things except themselves. Enji, and she says Enji, she never calls him by his hero name, was the one who chose to hurt them.
She asks him all the time if he wanted them to hurt. If he asked his father to ignore his siblings and hurt his momma.
He always says no.
She says then it isn’t your fault.
It’s hard to argue with her sometimes.
———-......———-
It’s been three months.
He kind of feels like he’s making progress.
He hasn’t had a nightmare in four days.
It almost sounds earnest when he tells himself what his father did wasn't his fault.
He no longer has the urge to scoff when Izuku tells him the same thing.
Her words and Izuku’s mix often. Izuku assuring him he’s not his father. His mother’s words, ones he can finally remember from before things went to hell, telling him he’s so much more than his father or even her. That he can make the choice to be anything. That she loves him.
He hasn’t heard her say she loves him in so long.
He's standing in front of a mirror, looking at the incongruent nature of his face. At the red hair he'd grown to hate. At the scars he was ashamed of.
“I’m ready,” he says, watching as a pair of scissors materialize and fall from Momo’s palm.
“You’re sure?” She asks.
“I am.”
Everyone has been there for him in the last six months. Izuku has been there changing channels when his father comes up.
Iida and Uraraka are both attentive to his moods. Iida, in particular, has a sense for when Shouto is slipping, touches that seem too gentle for the usually exaggerated and spastic clas rep helping ground him.
Kaminari and Kirishima are usually awake when he can’t sleep, teaching him video games and watching crappy movies while he cuddles a pillow to his chest, Kirishima’s leg presses gently but not invasively against his own.
Tsuyu holds his hand and Momo talks him through panic attacks. Tsuyu's hands are cool and remind him of his mother and sister.
Even Bakugo has toned down his abrasive attitude and overuse of explosions to some degree.
Satou makes him comfort food. Sero has introduced him to comedians.
Tokoyami linked him to some meditation videos that help him sleep sometimes.
He also has a cat now. She was a stray with a mangled ear.
Her name is Chika.
Aizawa pretends he doesn’t know.
He also leaves bags of cat treats at Shouto’s door.
Shouto watches the pile of his hair on the floor accumulate, red and white strands falling atop each other.
“I’m done,” she says after what seems like a long time. He looks up.
It's the most of his face he's seen in a long time. She's got his white hair combed over slightly, overtaking the red a bit, a small amount of gel on what's left of his bangs, letting the hair curve up and defy gravity.
He runs his fingers through the short hair on the sides. It’s enough to tug at, but it’s not the shaggy mess it was.
For the first time in his memory, there isn’t hair hanging in his eyes and brushing his cheeks. It’s not hanging down his nose and tangling in his eyelashes.
He can see his forehead, his eyes, his ears, his scars.
He can see himself. All of it.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
The following week is a bad one. Endeavor stopped some large-scale disaster. He's on every news channel. Everyone outside of class A is talking about him. Shouto walks through the halls and all he can hear are whispers of his father's name.
He can feel everything bubbling up and he’s about to completely lose his shit when Izuku takes his hand and pulls him into an empty classroom, strong arms wrapped around his trembling shoulders.
He’s not sure why he’s shaking.
He’s not sure why his body does much of anything anymore. Every time he thinks he’s getting better something comes and yanks the rug out from under him again.
Izuku doesn't say anything for a while. Just holds him. Absorbing his tension, his hand rubbing soothing patterns on the back of his jacket making him realize his undershirt is sticking to him from sweat.
Why is he sweating?
Carefully, he releases his quirk, letting a chill pass over his skin. It gives him a cold chill, drying the sweat and nearly icing it over.
“It’s gonna be okay, Shouto,” Izuku murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple.
"It doesn't feel like it. Every time I feel like I'm making progress I get forced two steps back again," he feels tears burning his eyes and he clenches his fists, nails biting into his palms. ‘I never used to cry this much either,’ he spits in his head. “I’m so fucking frustrated.” Izuku pulls back, tilting his head to meet Shouto’s watery eyes with determined ones.
“I know. But how long has it been since you got away from him? How long have you really had to process it?”
"Three months and four days," Shouto says automatically.
“It’s been almost a year since Bakugo and I started having some semblance of a normal rivalry. It’s been over a year since he quit beating on me and I’ll be honest, I’m still not quite over it.”
“Thanks. I feel a ton better,” Shouto bites.
"But every day I feel a little bit better. At first, I still expected to turn a corner and have him throw me into the wall. Even by the second year I still felt my heart try and jump out of my chest when he'd use his explosions. I'd have to talk myself down from hyperventilating when he'd start yelling. But it gets better. Healing isn’t perfect, love. But we’re all here for you. Say the word and Iida and Bakugo will go shut all of them up. We have your back.”
“Thanks, Izuku...” Shouto says quietly, feeling a little ashamed of his behavior.
"And it's okay to feel these things," Izuku adds as if reading his mind. "It's okay to be sad and angry after going through that." He smiles, gentle and bright. Sometimes Shouto is reminded exactly why he thought Izuku and All-might were related. They're cut from the same cloth. So kind and willing to give their everything into things they care about.
Shouto resists the urge to pick at the scars beneath his sleeves. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
"Cool. Wanna get ice cream?" Izuku asks, turning the conversation on a one-eighty that used to make Shouto's head spin.
“I can’t. I have to see my therapist today.”
“Tomorrow then,” Izuku says, grinning broadly.
“Tomorrow.” Shouto agrees.
Izuku does this sometimes on Shouto’s bad days. Makes ‘appointments’ or dates for the next day, as if trying to make sure Shouto has a reason to get there.
It helps a little bit. Giving him something to look forward to when he gets bogged down by the fog.
Izuku waves when they part, Shouto heading further into the school, Izuku heading to the gates with their other friends.
Shouto stands in front of Ms. Shino’s door for a couple minutes before he actually walks in. The first appointment he stood out there for fifteen minutes before he felt brave enough to go in.
“Afternoon Shouto,” she says. He gives her a little wave, dropping his backpack in the floor and sitting down, sliding down the couch.
His talk with Izuku made him feel a little bit better, but he still feels pretty down about his progress.
“You seem down,” she says, peeking over her oval lenses glasses. Miss Shino is a small woman with a kind face and dark grey eyes, short dark grey hair with longer fringe on the sides. She’s younger than he’d expected for a therapist but she’s... good.
He supposes her quirk helps. It’s not mind reading or anything invasive. She described it as extreme empathy. She actually feels what people around her feel.
Shouto doesn’t think he’d be able to handle feeling everyone else’s pain.
He can barely handle his own.
She had visited him in the hospital before they let him go. They wouldn’t let him leave before they found an outpatient therapist he would agree to see.
He dismissed four before Aizawa recommended her. The hospital had wanted to use one in their own network, but she leveled with Shouto in a way no one else would.
She told him about her quirk and how it had hurt her.
“It was hard growing up. I couldn’t filter it. I couldn’t control it. I felt everything. I felt how sad my mother was. How sad she was around me.
Eventually, though, I learned I could use it to help people and that made it a lot easier to bear."
Shouto touched his scar. The one his mother gave him. His quirk had hurt her. His quirk made his father hurt her.
‘You can use it to be who you want to be. To be the kind of hero you want.’
He touched the scar his father gave him. His quirk made his father hurt them both...
Would it hurt less if he knew he could help people with it? What if he could help her with it? What if he could save her...
“I almost had another meltdown.”
“What happened?”
"I'm sure you know so don't make me say it," Shouto snaps. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't yell at him. She just looks at him. "Everyone's talking about him again," he says, subdued this time.
“And it makes you angry. To hear them praise someone who hurt your family so much.” Shouto nods. “Are you unhappy with the compromise UA did with the authorities?”
Shouto considers it awhile. He’s thought about it a lot in the last three months.
“No. And it’s not even really that. I’m just... I’m beginning to wonder if I’m ever...”
“If you’re ever going to be ok?” She finishes. “You are not your illness, but your illness is part of you. People with addiction will always be more likely to use. People who are anxious will always struggle more with change. People with PTSD will have sensitivities and triggers other people don't, but they can be managed. Don’t you feel like you’re doing better than you were the first time we met?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you are. You’re more open. Less paranoid. You’re more honest with yourself. More willing to accept and even reach out for help. You stay present during our sessions. You’ve reported less of the blank periods. Does this sound accurate to you, Shouto?”
“I guess...”
“Sometimes it’s hard for us to see our progress when it’s so gradual. It’s like when you try and watch ice melt. It seems like it isn’t really doing anything and then it’s just gone. Or like when you run consistently. You don’t really feel like you’re getting faster, but if you compare your times, you’ll see that’s not true.
Gradual changes can be hard to perceive. It doesn’t mean they aren’t there, or that they aren’t fantastic progress. You went through over a decade of trauma. It’s not going to go away overnight.” She pauses a moment. “You still seem a little unconvinced.”
“I’m... afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That people will get frustrated with me. That they’ll get tired of helping me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You ask me things the whole hour.”
“Fair. Your mother has been in psychiatric care for ten years, right?”
“Little longer. But yes.”
“And she tells you she’s still frightened of him. Her behavior still isn’t the same as you remembered it?”
“She still doesn’t touch me much. She brushes Fuyumi’s hair. And she hugs Natsuo every time he visits.”
“Are you frustrated with her that she’s not over it yet?”
“Of course not! He, he beat her. I don’t know if she actually wanted any of us.”
“Would you be angry if it was reversed? If say, your friend Izuku was the one who’d been abused and you were the one helping him?”
“I do help him... we help each other.”
“And are you frustrated with him? Do you think he’s being weak because things that happened a long time ago still affect him?”
Shouto doesn’t say anything.
“Sometimes it helps to think about things that way. If you think you’re being a burden, flip the script and see if that’s how you would see things.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to be a hero? That I’ll be able to be better than he was?”
“I think you already are, Shouto.”