Chapter Text
Glancing up, he noticed belatedly that it was raining. Fitting, given the circumstances. It was empowering, and he almost wanted to laugh at the irony. The dark clouds reminded him of his father’s stormy gaze, livid, his yelling falling on ears that had long-since tuned him out. It was over now, but the emotional wounds still felt fresh and raw.
He was aware of his feet on the ground, each footstep ringing in his ears. He realized the adrenaline was pumping through his body, and the fear still gripped his throat in a vice. He knew it would take time for his body to relax, but for that moment he focused on how the rain felt, dripping and clinging to his skin, causing his clothes to hang limply against his bruised body. Each limb hurt in different ways, but he ignored that. It wouldn’t happen again, and he could deal with the wounds later. It was more important that he created distance.
If he hadn’t been dissociating, Shouto would’ve faintly been able to hear the angry screams coming from the direction of his childhood home, but he paid that no mind. Ducking into a few different alleyways, almost without thinking, he was out of sight before anyone could identify where he went. Each step had him drifting further. What would he do? Unfortunately, his father still had influence. It wouldn’t be easy, especially if that man got ahold of the authorities. But even if he didn’t, why would they believe a child over a pro hero? It wouldn’t make sense.
No. He couldn’t trust anyone. Could he? It was difficult to say. His teachers might listen. They knew him better. His body would be sufficient evidence, that is, if it couldn’t be explained away by the amount of sparring they did in class. Never mind that the past week had been noticeably less intensive, due to their upcoming finals.
His attention was drawn to a sharp inhale, barely able to be heard over the pouring rain. His heterochromatic eyes lifted to meet grey ones. His vision was blurry, and he didn’t know how to react. He should’ve known Aizawa would be on patrol, but why was he in this district? Glancing around, Todoroki realized he must’ve traveled much farther than he initially thought. Judging by the cracked watch on his wrist, he realized it had been much longer than he thought as well.
“Are you alright?” The words broke him out of his daze, and he looked back at his teacher. He used that moment to assess himself.
“No.” He croaked out, before clearing his throat. Grey eyes widened at the straightforward admission, but that faded into acceptance of the answer.
“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Shouto realized it was early Saturday morning. He had until Sunday before he was due back at the dorms. Of course, he hadn’t planned things to happen the way they had, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
“Yes.” It was quiet, but Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment anyways. Glancing at his own watch, Aizawa sighed.
“I have two more hours on my patrol, but I think I can get one of the others to cover it. Do you mind if we stop by on the way?” Shouto shrugged, unable to come up with another response.
Turning, Aizawa waited for a sign that Shouto was going to follow before leading him down the narrow streets. He ducked into his agency, quickly finding someone willing to check in on his district before leading Shouto further into the city. It took them another 15 minutes of walking before he stopped in front of an unassuming apartment building. They entered, and Aizawa immediately directed Shouto into the bathroom.
“I’ll grab you a change of clothes. Take your time.” His voice was soft, a quality Shouto had never previously labeled his teacher with. Shouto slipped into the bath, allowing his battered body a moment of reprieve. It took him a moment to adjust to the warm water, his body temperature shifting to accommodate the new conditions. He sighed, the steam filling his lungs and settling something within him. His mind cleared a bit, and he allowed himself to glance around the small room.
It was nothing like what he was used to, but it somehow felt much more comfortable than anything he had ever experienced. It was small, and a little cramped, but it felt safe in a way that his previous living conditions could never compare to. Of course, the dorms were great, but they had the atmosphere of a hotel; someplace that was nice to stay, but never home. As much as the other students tried to make it feel lived-in, it never seemed to fully wipe away that sense of feeling out of place.
On the other hand, this small room held more life than Shouto had previously experienced. Two toothbrushes sat in a small ceramic holder on the bathroom counter, accompanied by a variety of hair and face products. Two different hairdryers were plugged into the outlet, and the dim lighting brought his attention to the random decorations on the walls. Everything from the “Get Naked” sign next to the tub, to the “Wash Your Hands You Filthy Animal” sign hanging above the hand towel rack.
Part of him wanted to ask, but did it really matter? He found himself chuckling softly at the absurdity, as the more he looked the weirder it got. The loofah holders were offset, one set considerably higher than the other, and there were three plungers for the toilet. There were at least ten different shampoos and conditioners stuffed into a holder, and when he tested them, they all appeared to be half full. He realized there had been a knock at the door, and he finished in the tub, drying himself off with a clean towel he found under the sink after a few panicked moments.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, Shouto cracked the door open to find a pile of clothes at the door. Picking them up, he pulled them inside. They appeared way too large for his still-growing body, and also too brightly colored to possibly be Aizawa’s. He tried on the shirt, which was surprisingly comfortable, and a horrible shade of orange. The sweat pants weren’t any better, a faded green with a couple of old stains he chose not to question. Try as he might, he couldn’t get them to sit higher than his hips. After a few minutes spent trying to adjust the clothing, he gave up and hung his wet clothes over the side of the tub to dry before propping the door open once more,
Shouto peeked his head out the door, absently wondering where Aizawa had disappeared to. He didn’t try to seek him out, instead choosing to find the living room and curl into a corner of the couch. He found a pillow and blanket there and used them to make himself comfortable. Shouto forced himself to succumb to sleep, not allowing any thoughts to overwhelm him; he could deal with everything else later.
Shouto woke up to the front door slamming open. Jolted immediately into consciousness, his body reacted on instinct, curling to make him smaller, a desperate panic response bringing tears to his eyes. He forced his whimpers to be as quiet as possible, as he tried desperately to identify where he was and what was going on. He couldn’t maintain a steady train of thought, suddenly becoming aware of hands pressed against his shoulders. He jerked away, and they retracted as he started to realize how difficult it was to breathe.
A distant, soothing voice slowly came into focus, and he clung to it. He used that as a lifeline, matching his breathing to the steady tones. It wasn’t easy, and he kept losing focus, but he eventually managed to feel safe enough to uncurl slightly. Memories of the night before, and going home with Aizawa, filled his head. His eyes warily surveyed his surroundings, the anxiety still sitting uncomfortably in his chest.
Aizawa was in front of him, giving him space but remaining just within reach, just in case. His mouth wasn’t moving. Shouto turned his head, trying to find the source of the calming voice, his eyes finally resting on… “Yamada-sensei?” He rasped, and the voice stopped. He was across the room, pressed into a corner, and his eyes were full of guilt.
“Are you feeling better?” His eyes snapped back to Aizawa, assessing himself before nodding slightly.
“Sorry,” he whispered, suddenly feeling ashamed. He winced, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see their anger. He knew he was weak, it wasn’t new. But the emotional explosion never came, and he heard a cut-off sob from the other side of the room.
“It wasn’t your fault kid. I forgot to let Hizashi know we had a guest,” Aizawa gently corrected, as Shouto noticed Yamada frantically wiping his eyes and nose.
“I’m so sorry kiddo, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Yamada’s teary eyes surprised Shouto, he was so genuinely upset about unintentionally hurting him.
“It’s okay,” he responded on instinct, his brain unable to process this absurd behavior. Why weren’t they upset with him?
“Are you hungry?” Aizawa was talking slowly, as if he was carefully choosing his words. Yamada jumped up at the suggestion, not even waiting for a response from the teen sitting on the couch. Shouto’s eyes tracked the movement, watching intently as the tall blonde began mumbling about ingredients for pancakes.
Aizawa followed his gaze, chuckling and shifting to rest more comfortably against the couch, still giving him space, but more relaxed. They sat in silence and watched as Yamada made a giant mess, managing to cover his entire front in flour before 15 minutes had passed.
Shouto used the morning sunlight to survey the apartment, appreciating the open-concept layout for the living room, kitchen, and dining room. It was small, but the lack of walls made the room feel more open. The bedrooms and bathroom were down the hall, which he recognized from the night before.
He suddenly noticed that his hands were full of a warm cup of what smelled like hot chocolate. Further investigation found that there were seven mini marshmallows slowly dissolving in the hot liquid, and the faded black mug had a smiling cat on it. A glance to his left told him that Aizawa also had a mug, though his beverage appeared to be coffee, in a purple mug that read “Fuck Mornings”. He almost snorted, but the sound came out weird and he stifled it.
The tan walls of the room were full of randomly placed photos, in clashing frames. It seemed fitting, somehow. Photos of Aizawa and Yamada as children, and the older they got, the more common it was to see them together. Their UA graduation photos, photos of them and other pro heroes, photos with a couple of cats, photos of… a wedding?
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud chirrup, announcing a little orange tabby cat who decided to curl up against his left side. He rested a hand on its head, and it lazily allowed him to pet it.
“That’s Jasmine, she’ll do anything for a warm spot to lay,” Aizawa commented, and Shouto nodded. The cat began to purr, content to sit beside him.
Eventually, their peace was disrupted by Yamada bringing in plates of food, and he filled the room with his chatter. Shouto didn’t really pay much attention, but it somehow added to the comfortable atmosphere. The adults sat on the floor, using mismatched cutlery as Shouto sat cross-legged on the couch, unable to move due to how disgruntled Jasmine became when he tried to move to the floor.
Another cat made its way into the kitchen, a grey cat with a torn ear. “That’s Apollo,” Yamada’s tone was incredibly cheerful for 8 in the morning. How did he maintain such high energy after working all night and all day? “We picked him up at the shelter. Jasmine found us, and wouldn’t leave. We stopped fighting it after the third time she snuck in- we found her waiting for us on the couch!” Yamada kept talking, but Shouto couldn’t focus on the words. Instead, he studied what was left of his food, listening only to the tones in his teacher’s upbeat voice.
He couldn’t help wondering why they bothered to help him in the first place. They didn’t really have anything to gain, unless his father decided to post a reward for his return. There’s no way he was going to let Shouto return to school, not when he could testify against him. Would it be easier to go home willingly? He had already caused enough trouble, and now his teachers knew something was wrong. Would they be able to protect him? Did they care enough to try?
“Are you alright?” Shouto was jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping up to meet concerned grey ones.
“Yeah,” he whispered, before clearing his throat and straightening up, schooling his expression into a neutral one. “I’ll be alright.” It wasn’t really a lie.
“It’s okay if you’re not.” Yamada was uncharacteristically quiet, his words soft and reassuring. “We’re here for you if there’s anything going on, and if you’d like to talk we’d be happy to listen.”
Shouto took a moment to consider the offer, fully aware that they were watching him carefully. He didn’t know if they would be safe to confide in; what reassurance did he have that they would even believe him? His father put on quite the show of a “happy family” when they were in public, doing everything possible to hide the truth. That his mother was in a mental institution, that his eldest brother had joined the LOV just to escape their father’s grasp. But naturally, no one would know that if they hadn’t witnessed it. The amount of money Enji had spent on his public relations staff alone was enough to fund a small corporation- coverups were expensive.
He quickly found himself spiraling, full of negative thoughts and doubt, until a gentle hand was placed over his.
“You don’t have to tell us anything kid,” Aizawa started, his voice was low and something about it made him automatically relax a bit. “But we’re here to support you. Obviously something’s going on, and if you really don’t wanna talk about it we’ll respect that, but if there’s anything we could do to help, we’d like to be there for you.”
The wet feeling on his cheek was foreign. He blinked, only to find that it was coming from his eyes. Tears, of course. But why was he crying? The next thing Shouto knew, he was being engulfed by two sets of arms. He was overwhelmed, his body unused to non-painful physical contact, and belatedly remembered to return the gesture.
When they finally pulled away, he wiped his eyes, sniffling a bit. He found himself missing the contact, suddenly craving it. He shook the feeling away, focusing on the two in front of him. Suddenly his story was pouring out of his lips, without his permission. The more he talked, the more relieved he felt, as if his body was finally releasing the tension it took to hold everything in. He didn’t like the feeling of the words as they left his mouth, but he forced them out anyway. When he finished, he sat back, exhausted. His emotions always left him feeling tired and numb, his feelings as contradicting as his quirk, swirling inside him like a blizzard.
He didn’t look up at the two adults, but if he had, he would’ve seen how aghast they were. Each had had their own suspicions about the Todoroki family, but nowhere near the extent that the teenager had described. They shared a look, concerned, but brushed their anger towards Enji aside in favor of caring for the clearly traumatized teen. Yamada placed a careful hand on Shouto’s knee and shifted to sit beside him on the couch, as Aizawa stood to prepare a warm drink.
“I’m very glad you chose to share that with us,” Yamada was intentional with his words, slowly processing the information he had been given. “We believe you, and we want you to know that we are very proud of you. You’ve been through a lot, none of which was your fault, and you’re still here.” Yamada heard Aizawa on the phone with what he assumed to be Nedzu, as well as child protective services.
“Thank you,” Shouto’s voice was rough from talking, and Yamada realized his eyes were looking a little watery again. The teen looked like he was barely holding it together.
“Would you like to watch a movie? Or keep talking? Or something else?” Yamada offered Shouto a reprieve from the emotional turmoil he could sense inside the teen, and Shouto gratefully accepted the distraction.
They watched a lighthearted film, one meant for children. Yamada had seemed personally offended when Shouto admitted he had never seen it, immediately demanding that he watch it. “It’s a classic!” He declared, and Shouto appreciated the change of tone. It gave him something to focus on. He knew Aizawa was on the phone, and he had a feeling about what was probably happening, but he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it when he had a very loud blond expressing his emphatic commentary on the movie in front of him. He did his best to pay attention, and found himself smiling slightly at his teacher’s antics.
Allowing himself to be absorbed into the movie, Shouto shoved all other thoughts from his head and trusted in his teachers. He had a feeling his life would be a little crazy in the coming weeks, but for now, he could focus on the cat snuggled into his side, the warmth of the apartment, and the crooked smile of his teacher. He decided that, in the end, it would all be okay.