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It should have been a simple thing, picking his hero name. He could see Bakugou and Midoriya already scribbling down names. He could see Ashido excitedly telling Kaminari about her name— Alien Queen— and Kaminari debating between Jamming-way and Chargebolt.
And Shoto? So far the best thing he had was... well... Shoto.
He wanted something better.
But he couldn’t think of anything.
He heard someone— he couldn’t determine who— say something about choosing a name based on something they admire, an ideal they want to live by.
Shoto... wanted to be like All Might. Right? Yeah, he was his favorite. But he was made to surpass him. He couldn’t name himself after All Might, besides what would he even call himself? All Ice? Half Might?
Haha, very funny Shoto.
He found himself sitting there in his seat, staring at his white board for the next fifteen minutes, trying his best to come up with something— anything.
And then Midnight was calling people up to the front to present their hero names.
He watched as Kirishima excitedly proclaimed that he was “RED RIOT!”
And Midnight beamed, “Is that a homage to the old hero Crimson Riot?”
“Yep! He’s just the sort of hero I want to be!”
“Very well! I approve!” Midnight cracked her whip.
And Shoto realized that his turn would be coming up soon. So, he depressedly wrote down his name. And then clicked his marker closed.
Midoriya walked up then. And turned his board around to show “DEKU”.
Shoto frowned. Was he really going with the name that meant useless?
What was it about Midoryia? He was so... pure. Good. Like nothing, absolutely nothing, could bring him down. Like nothing could wipe that determined smile off his face.
Shoto didn’t understand.
He couldn’t understand anything but his pain. His anger. His hatred.
And then Shoto was being called up to the front to present his hero name.
Midoriya... named himself Deku, despite the pain associated with the name. He pushed past his pain, his abuse (because Shoto was sure it was there, he could see himself in Midoriya sometimes) and Midoriya had turned it around.
Shoto stood at the front of the room, staring at the board in his hands.
And he remembered. Just like his memories of his mother, he’s blocked most of it out. But right now, in this moment, snippets of warmth flooded back into his heart.
“Come on, Sho,” Touya hummed, picking Shoto up off the ground with care, settling him into his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.” He began walking down the hallway, his footsteps silent as he’d learned long ago. Touya’s skin was warm, the defiant blue fire that ran through his veins hot enough to radiate from his skin constantly. Both Touya and Endeavor warmed the rooms they walked into, but Endeavor’s heat was always full of hatred— fear. Touya’s, on the other hand, was kind, it meant safety. Shoto could run into his arms and know that Touya would pet his hair and assure him that he’d protect him from Endeavor.
Shoto closed his eyes at the front of the room, wiping his hand over the scribbled “Shoto” on it. No. That wasn’t the name he wanted to choose.
“Touya,” he asked, face pressed into the crook of Touya’s neck. His skin was scared slightly, but at least it didn’t have the white bandages on it anymore.
“Hm?” Touya asked, and Shoto felt him kick open the door to the bedroom— Shoto’s room. Shoto wasn’t allowed in the side of the house that the rest of his siblings stayed in. Touya wasn’t supposed to be with Shoto now, even. But Touya had never been good at following the rules.
“You’re my hero.” He whispered out, voice quiet because he was scared to say it. The word hero always had negative connotations in this household.
Touya placed Shoto down on the bed, and walked away without a word, going to the bathroom to take out the first aid kit from under the sink and to wet a wash cloth with cold water.
Touya ambled back to where Shoto sat on the bed, and pressed the cold washcloth to Shoto’s red hot skin. “I am?” He finally said.
“Mhmm. You’re always here.” He says.
And he’s too young, too tired from training earlier to see the pained look in Touya’s eyes. The way his mouth parted as if to say something, before closing again, instead focusing on applying ointment to Shoto’s skin.
“If you were a hero... you’d be a good one. Everyone would look at your fire and feel safe. Not like...”
“Safe, huh?” Touya raised an eyebrow, words cutting off Shoto’s trailed sentence. He didn’t need to finish it.
“Yeah. Remember that... that fire isn’t always scary.” Shoto replied, voice quaking a little as he remembered a day several months ago when he’d collapsed into Touya’s arms, sobbing about how fire was scary. How he didn’t want to be like Endeavor.
“That’s right. Some fire is good.” Touya replied, though his answer was noncommittal, more focused on his task— wrapping Shoto’s arm with bandages.
“If you were a hero...” Shoto began again. “What would you call yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Touya huffed. “Probably just Touya. Keep it simple.”
“Nooo!” Shoto giggled, “you can’t call yourself that! It has to be cool! Like you are!”
“Cool?” Touya huffed out, a smile crossing his face. Shoto didn’t see Touya smile much, usually his expression was angry— at Endeavor. Never at Shoto. Never.
“Yeah! Super cool! Something— something fiery!”
“Fiery?” Touya chuckled. “Hmm... well then... maybe I’d call myself Fire Man.”
Shoto snorted at that, the pain in his limbs fading from his mind as he laughed at his older brother. “That’s horrible!”
Touya chuckled as well, his thin fingers reaching up to ruffle through Shoto’s half toned hair. “No it’s not!”
“Yes it is! Choose something cooler! Something dramatic!”
Touya pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, sighing. “I just don’t know! How about...” Touya considered it for a minute, a long minute in which his expression turned from humorous to something solemn, saddened, and a touch angry. Like that anger that broiled in Touya’s gaze and across his fingers as his flames danced along his skin. The anger in his eyes as he glared angrily up at Endeavor for pushing Shoto too far in training.
“Pyre.” Touya decides. “I’d call myself Pyre. The Phoenix Hero.”
At the time, Shoto didn’t understand the name— that a Pyre was constructed for funerals. That they weren’t meant to be good things, hopeful things. He’d simply beamed and exclaimed “YES! OH THAT’S SO COOL!”
And the smile had returned to Touya’s face and he’d ruffled Shoto’s hair again. “Damn right it is.”
Shoto giggled, “You’ll be the most amazing hero, Pyre.”
“I sure will.” Touya responded, and finished Shoto’s bandages. “Come on, squirt, it’s bed time.”
Shoto was still smiling as he crawled under the covers and let Touya tuck him into bed.
“I love you, Touya.” He said, words confident. Because Touya was the only person in the world that he had left— the only person left who cared.
“Love you too, Sho.” Touya whispered, his words quiet— the opposite of Shoto’s proclamation. Touya pressed warm lips to Shoto’s forehead. “Goodnight.”
A week later, Touya threw himself in between Endeavor and Shoto, protecting Shoto from Endeavor’s wrath like he had a thousand times before. But this time wasn’t like those times, because his anger at Endeavor flickered up into dangerous flames that consumed him, and a few days later, Shoto had discovered the true meaning of “pyre” as they held a private funeral for Touya— whose flames had consumed him to the point where they never found a body.
“Todoroki?” Midnight asked, snapping him back to the present.
He cleared his throat, and finished erasing his name from the white board and instead scribbled down a new one.
His classmates watched in interest, as one tear traced down Todoroki’s face, and he turned the board around.
“Pyrice.” He announced. “I want to be called Pyrice.”
“Ooh! How original! I love it!”
“Thank you.” He replied, and moved to his seat, but was stopped before he could take more than two steps.
“What was your inspiration?” Midnight asked, a gleam in her eyes. “It certainly seems to mean something to you.”
“My brother.” Shoto said immediately, drowning out Midnight’s statement of “you don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”
He swallowed, now feeling the curious gazes of his classmates. Specifically the ones that weren’t aware that he had siblings. “My older brother, he came up with the hero name Pyre for himself. He had a fire quirk. I want— he was kind. I want to be like him.”
He nodded once and went to his seat, feeling confident in his hero name, despite the odd looks from his classmates. They’d definitely picked up on his use of the past tense when referring to Touya.
Shoto couldn’t remember much about Touya— that one memory really being the only concrete one. Maybe... had he had less psychological trauma, he might remember more. But he’d blocked Touya out of his mind when he’d died, just like he’d done when Mom... left.
But not anymore. He’d visited mom this weekend, and it had been nice. He could remember more clearly her gentle humming and the carding of her cool fingers through his hair.
Maybe it was time to visit Touya too, or... his “shrine” in the house. To tell him that Shoto was going to be a hero for the both of them. Save enough people for the both of them. He would make sure that others didn’t have to suffer like he did. That no child would ever sacrifice themselves to protect their younger brother from their abusive father ever again.
He would be Pyrice. And he’d make Touya proud.