Work Text:
He made a point of raising his chin and leveling his gaze as his father’s eyes swept over him, but his heart plummeted into his stomach and his stomach lurched up to his throat.
“Shouto! C’mon, show your old man just what you can do,” he boomed, eliciting murmurs of excitement and suspense from his classmates.
Lips flattening into each other, he nodded once and strode forward.
“Now I can see if All Might,” there was a distinct note of disdain that he figured even idiots like Mineta could pick up on. “Taught you anything of value or not.”
“He’s taught me more than you ever hoped to!” He wanted to retort, wanted to defend, but bit his tongue. Angering his father further would help no one, and would likely only make Shouto himself look foolish.
“I don’t intend to go easy on you, and you’d best give it your all. Maybe these heroes-to-be can pick up on some pointers that way. Three minutes! I'll give you three minutes to show off your skills against the Number One Hero! Impress me by surviving!” Endeavor raised his voice so as to garner everyone’s attention; he needn’t have bothered - he’d already had it.
When put against sixteen years, three minutes seemed trivial. That still didn’t stop his pulse from quickening or ice from tensing up every muscle.
“The timer, if you will,” Endeavor was speaking to someone behind him, but he dared not look away for even a second to find out whom.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
Even prepared for it, Shouto was unable to entirely dodge the fiery fist hurtling towards him, brushing against the right side of his face as if taunting a matching scar.
Taking a step back, throwing up a hastily formed iced wall, coating his left side in flame - none of it mattered. It was like he was five all over again, thrust into training that hurt too much to teach him anything but pain and fear - called a monster and burned by the one who was supposed to protect him.
Endeavor came at him only with punches, melted his ice into the water it pretended not to be and consumed his flames as though they’d never been there, morphing into the heat surrounding his father in the first place.
Voices of his peers slipped through the blood pounding in his ears, and it was enough to snap him out of it. He had to win. He had to, at the very least, survive.
Allowing a punch to graze his right side again, he shifted forward only to double back and crash his left side into the old man, sending him stumbling forward a few steps.
“That the best you got? It’s been almost a minute and that’s the first - “ Shouto cut off the snide commentary with an array of ice, melted instantly and leaving a puddle in its wake. Another hurl of ice, latching onto his old man’s wrist just long enough to jerk him forward, into the pool at his feet and lose his balance.
Shouto’s chest was heaving with breaths he couldn’t catch up to; his father’s chest was heaving with ill-contained chuckles that echoed in his ears.
“So you did learn a new trick or two? It’s a shame they weren’t better,” he added as an afterthought once he had righted himself. “About halfway over now, boy.”
A grin that was all fang until it was all fire, and Shouto wasn’t fast enough to fling his arms up in defense, never mind his ice. Was simply standing one second and felled to his back the next, an intense burn eating at his clothes and lapping at his skin.
The horrific orange was swallowed up by darkness until it was back, hovering over his face in the form of a leer and too-hot breath.
The first punch didn’t hurt so much as it was simply shock, but the blood gushing from his nose was immediate nonetheless. Another one and he pushed away weakly, hands scrabbling for purchase.
“This is how you try to impress me?” His father hissed in his ear. “This is only how you disappoint me. You’ve gotten worse here. I may have said - “ another punch, this one leaving his ears ringing and he wished (he wished) that it blocked out the next words “ - Three minutes would never be enough. Five would still be beneath my expectations. I was hoping to make you look good in front of them. I was hoping you’d make me look good in front of them. And here - “ lifted by his collar now, the malice and irritation (irritation, like he wasn’t a disappointing son but a nuisance, like a fly that wouldn’t go away) in his father’s eyes glinting against the flames surrounding them.
Shouto spit at him, blood and saliva landing perfectly centered on the old man’s nose before he jerked his collar away, shlicked ice underneath himself to slide right from beneath his father and aim a poorly executed but successful kick to his back.
It probably didn’t really hurt, but it at least caused him to lose his balance before he expertly hopped to his feet. Another fireball thrown, a useless ice shield. A useless ice projectile and another chuckle.
“It’s been three minutes! Todoroki, please, end this!”
Shouto’s eyes snapped to the voice before he could stop them, and they landed on Midoriya - his own pupils blown wide and his face pulled down into something all wrong, crossed between horror and shock and fear.
Fear? Why should he be afraid? Endeavor would never go this hard against the rest of the students, even if he hated Midoriya more than the rest due to his odd connection to All Might.
He blinked once, twice (stupidly; that time could cost him his life if he weren’t careful), but then Aizawa-sensei was ushering him out of the makeshift ring, tossing out words like ‘impressive’ and ‘honorable’ with a soothing tone, just shy of his usual bored tone but somehow more reverent. Hissed words like ‘number one hero’ and ‘father’ with a tone that Shouto couldn’t place; had never heard from the man but so close to the distaste he was all too familiar with.
Midoriya was the first of his peers to run up to him, but everyone else was gathered around shortly, all in varying degrees of being stupefied.
“You should go to Recovery Girl,” Aizawa was saying, a gentle hand on his back that he hastily stepped away from.
“No, I’m fine. I can patch myself up,” he looked down and his fingers suddenly felt too big, too tight - were fumbling uselessly (it was all so useless) with the first aid attachments he had on his suit in attempt to prove the sentiment.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Todo - “
“Yes, if the teacher agrees,” Iida cut Midoriya off. “Then it is imperative to follow his direction!”
“I’m fine, guys, really,” he pushed his way through them, suddenly feeling claustrophobic because he could hear All Might and Endeavor arguing loudly behind him and it was his fault.
By the time he made it into the boys’ locker room, his hands were shaking, and he didn’t know why, and he couldn’t get them to stop (he just wanted it to stop), and Endeavor would be so angry that Shouto had caused a scene - had failed so badly - and he never paid much mind to Fuyumi, but what if he did this time around and -
The door closed with a soft “fwump” behind him and his eyes jerked up to look at the reflection of the intruder in the mirror.
Midoriya.
Of course it was Midoriya. It certainly wouldn’t have been anyone else.
“I can, uh, help with that if you like?” Quiet, unsure, eyes brimming with too much worry and Shouto looked down to shake his head no.
“I’ve done this a thousand times, you know.”
“I know,” barely a whisper, heard only because he had taken a step or two closer. “It doesn’t mean you have to do it again.”
Shouto didn’t respond, simply removed some alcohol wipes and began dabbing at his face, consciously suppressing any winces or sounds for Midoriya’s benefit.
Standing there, staring at his bloody, blank visage, he didn’t know if he’d ever felt less human.
“Here, c’mon, please, Todoroki. Please let me do that,” a hand on his wrist bringing it away from his face.
He expected it to leave but it stayed there, a warm weight encircling his joint, and he trained his gaze down and to the left, away from it - away from him.
“Here, just - “ Midoriya hesitated, looking for words that probably didn’t exist in the first place. “Just let me. Why don’t you hop up so I can get at you better.”
Shouto was pretty sure that would just make him even taller, but after a slight beat, found himself nodding and gingerly arranging himself onto the countertop.
A rag was shoved to stem the flow from his nose, and Shouto was obliging enough to hold it himself.
There was a delicateness to Midoriya’s tending that Shouto himself never had, always robotic in his efficiency. Faces inches apart, the haphazard spray of Midoriya’s freckles were the only thing to focus on; it was either that or the myriads of greens and slight hints of gold in his eyes, and Shouto wasn’t socially adept enough to know what it all meant, but he did know nothing good could come from staring into the eyes of what was arguably his only friend.
He shifted closer, apparently inspecting something on Shouto’s face, close enough that his soft puffs of breath hit Shouto’s cheeks like a dusting, and he held his own breath - suddenly self conscious of the fact Midoriya could probably feel his own exhales (he never breathed through his mouth, but had to with his nose too occupied with blood to function and he knew it was huffy and humid because of that), and that didn’t seem to bode anything good either.
“Hey, relax,” murmured around his jaw.
“I - I am,” he defended, subconscious trying to point out that was the first release of oxygen in at least a minute.
“Take a breath in,” Midoriya instructed, taking a step back. It was still well within Shouto’s preferred personal bubble, but it was better.
“What?” He asked blankly.
“Breathe with me,” Midoriya’s voice sounded stronger, more confident, this time around, and his eyes had lost their worried edge, replaced with an eyebrow-scrunching determination.
“In - “ his hands rose with the exaggerate motion, “And out - “ a huff of air and the lowering of his arms.
“And again. In - …and out.”
Shouto just watched him, somehow feeling more relaxed even just from witnessing without partaking, but then Midoriya just stopped.
Lips pulled down into a frown and eyes pulled in for a squint, he reprimanded, “You’re not doing it, Todoroki!”
“I am breathing better, though,” he chose to point out lamely.
Midoriya was the first to break eye contact, a rueful smile and a slight shake of his head.
“Alright, I’ll give that one to you, I guess,” he sighed, shoulders sagging. “Let’s just, uh - “ his hand flopped upwards in an awkward wave, and he didn’t bother to finish the thought.
Instead, he returned to Shouto’s private space and began smearing healing balm onto split and bruised skin.
“How's, erm, how’s your nose coming along?” He asked as his rough fingertips secured a square of gauze onto his forehead, skimming against his decade-old scar with a surprising lack of revulsion.
“It’s still bleeding if that’s what you mean,” he responded, voice slightly stuffy as if to prove his point.
“He…He did a real number on you, didn’t he?”
“This is nothing,” Shouto brushed off instantly, tilting his head back to help his nose out now that his face was properly bandaged where needed.
He felt more than saw Midoriya tense in front of him, and his gut sunk because he’d managed to say the wrong thing again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t - “
“Why are you apologizing?” Midoriya snapped, voice raw and low in a way that Shouto didn’t know he was capable of, something wholly different from the anger and power when they had faced Stain.
“ I - “ He hurriedly craned his neck back down, hurriedly struggled to explain himself, but was interrupted again.
“Why are you apologizing?” He repeated, eyes downcast. “Todoroki, I’m asking you to explain this to me. What do you have to apologize for?”
“Everything?” He almost tried, but something in his friend’s (were they even friends anymore?) tone told him that would not be an appreciated answer.
“I - I offended you,” he settled on, testing each word out before completing them.
“No, you did not,” Midoriya responded calmly, leveling a pointed gaze at him.
“I - “ he faltered, feeling helpless (useless), and rapidly growing more distressed.
“Todoroki,” the gentleness was back in spades, and it was hard to reconcile this worried boy with the wrathful one he’d been looking at not moments before.
“Todoroki,” restated as though to merit his attention, although he’d already held every ounce of it. “You did nothing to offend me. You did nothing wrong. The reason I was upset was because - because…Because of what I know that, well, that bastard has done to you!”
The last part was said in a rushed shout, and Shouto felt himself physically withdraw a tad in shock.
“He beat you in front of the whole class as some kind of sick demonstration!” Midoriya continued, and Shouto protested over him.
“I think I held my ground pretty well; he didn’t just 'beat' me!” It was huffed in pretend irritation, but he was inexplicably bothered by the fact Midoriya seemed to think the fight was so one-sided as to -
“I didn’t - ! That’s another thing!” He shouted in frustration, arm flailing about. “I don’t mean ‘beat’ as in ‘win’; I mean ‘beat’ as in he hit you hard enough and enough times to leave you bloody and the rest of us in shock! I don’t care who won or how. It was supposed to be a learning exercise and he did nothing but hurt you in its name!”
“I - oh,” he felt small, and he felt stupid, and he thought maybe slipping down the sinks’ pipes wouldn’t the worst thing that could happen to him.
“Todoroki, you - the teachers kept encouraging you both to stop, or at least tone it down, but neither of you would listen to any of us. It, uh, it was kinda scary,” Midoriya simpered down, scratching the back of his head.
“I just - I just really don’t want you go to back to him. Ever, really,” he added with a sad smile that Shouto didn’t feel like sharing.
“It’s not that bad. You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he scoffed. Well, he tried to scoff, it was less a caustic reassurance and more a brittle whisper.
Midoriya was giving him a sad look now, smile gone and safety with it.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Shouto heard himself admit, barely an utterance above the wind. He half-mused that Midoriya couldn’t even hear him; that he was just competent enough to understand what he meant.
He never reached a conclusion, was too sideswept by the body suddenly pressed against his, the arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Enough to be a heavy weight, but not enough to aggravate any aches or restrict his breathing.
Fluffy green hair pressed against his neck, tickled the bottom of his chin, and the hand free of a bloody-nose rag went up to curiously touch it of its own accord.
“I’m sure Aizawa-sensei or All Might will help you any way that they can, especially now that they’ve seen that first hand,” Midoriya was telling him, advising him, soothing him, and warming him, and suddenly - just as abrupt as the hug - Shouto was hit with the urge to cry.
He didn’t, refused to with his father in the same building and wondered if he even knew how to cry without his throat hurting from keeping in the sounds. But he felt like it enough to cautiously tighten his hold on Midoriya’s hair and let himself believe, if only for a moment, that everything really would be alright.