Chapter Text
Shouto Todoroki didn't know what the hell was wrong. His thoughts were muggy. His progress with his fire was disappointing and clumsy. He was getting called out of hero training by Aizawa for "Bullying Midoriya out of his hard earned position as the class's problem child."
By anyone's standards, that was unacceptable. And Shouto's standards were very high.
Life, for him, had always been an uphill slog against expectations and consequences that bore down through the Todoroki name since before he knew how to walk. Since he was five, he had been shouldering that burden. The shame, the anger. He was used to it. That was normal.
If anything was abnormal, it was how good things had been developing since attending UA. His grades were good, things with his family were... improving. Horrifying terrorist activities aside, he was genuinely enjoying his internships and real-world experience in the realm of pro heroes and villains. And he had friends. He never expected that. Never expected to want that.
So why did he feel like he was a few wrong steps away from some violent and overly-dramatic decent into madness? One that involved a lot of hair dye, and a Midorya-sized plan to fake his death?
He didn't like it. He felt... twitchy.
Twitchy or not, he was training to be a pro. If he couldn't handle powering through a little fatigue and "twitchiness" with his training wheels on, there was little hope of managing in the real world. So he forced himself forward.
But he couldn't deny the impact if ignoring the... the twitchiness.
That was actually probably why instead of dodging the obvious blast of white light that was slung at his head in an impromptu villain battle, he had called up an embarrassingly thin wall of ice to shield himself at the last second. Shield himself... from light. With ice. Which is mostly transparent.
What an idiot.
Now he was stooped over in some random empty bedroom, dizzy and swallowing back bile. Which made no sense. One second-- battle field: Midoriya screeched in one ear, Bakugou wailed profanities in the other, while Endeavor's bellow somehow drowned the both of them out combined. Next second, Tatami mats and cicadas. Light filtered in through the windows. Dust motes.
Oh. And his foot was frozen to the floor.
A traditional, highly flammable floor.
Fantastic.
"How the hell did this happen?" Shouto muttered, giving the ice block creeping toward his thigh a small, reproachful slap. He sighed, cracked his neck, stretched his fingers. With a shiver, he called heat to his core, intending to melt the ice that had him gripped up to the kneecap.
Fire a meter tall blasted from his left side.
It startled Shouto so hard he pitched backward and cracked through the thinnest part of the ice sliding up his knee. His ass smashed to the ground, still hinged to the tatami. Shouto groaned. It's a miracle he didn't punch a hole through the whole fucking floor. He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying not to vomit as the room quietly spun.
So that's not an option right now. Holy fuck.
He scooted his butt forward, trying to find a comfortable way to curl up in a ball on the floor when your leg is frozen stiff from the knee down. It wasn't super successful.
He pushed his face into his knees, ignoring the growing chill. He may be resistant to the ice that's sucking on his leg, but whatever that quirk did to him left him unable to regulate his internal temperature. Not a death sentence by any means, but it was annoying as hell.
'Uhgg-- I'm still so dizzy.'
Plan B. He really didn't want it to have to come to this.
"Hello? Is anyone home?"
His ears burned as he called out towards the door at a respectful volume. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor. No reply.
He was itching to do a little property damage to get back out there and help his friends. He hated leaving them in Endeavor's care, but bursting out of a civilian's home to jump right back into battle would be supremely stupid. Especially considering the lack of quirk control he had right now. Who knew what that villain actually did to him besides teleport him to a random location?
'Shit. Hope I'm still in the right city.'
"Hello? Anyone around?" He called out again, at a slightly less-than-respectable volume. This time, he heard clattering a few rooms away. Pots and pans? Then footsteps. He sighed and adjusted his fetal position to something a little more purposeful-looking. Perfect. Just one awkward conversation away from the clinic.
The door swung open easily, and the first he noticed was the puff of white hair.
'...Natsuo?
No that's not right. Not right at all. He's way too short, too lean. And the eyes are all wrong--'
"What the hell... Shouto?" The guy looked really fucking confused, ladle in hand, hands on hips, and a spotted ruffled apron tied across his dayclothes. It had flowers on it. Little ladybugs.
Shouto blinked. That voice was bone-chillingly familiar.
"What the hell are you doing in my room? I thought you were getting an apron, not--"
He twirled his ladle in a circle at him, head tilting to the side.
"--freezing your whole fucking leg to the floor...? What? Seriously. What the hell is this."
He frowned, pointing his ladle at Shouto accusingly.
"You know how mom feels about us using our quirks in the house."
Shouto's mouth opens. Then shuts.
"My mom's in the hospital." He deadpanned, because it's true, and because this guy looked way too much like his brother to just be saying shit like that to him. Shouto's heart pounded.
'He knew my name.'
Not-Natsuo lowered the ladle and squinted.
Shouto shook his head, trying to shake off the weirdness of-- of whatever's going on right now. He felt a little insane. His head still spun. He struggled to get to his feet without slipping.
"Sorry for the intrusion. I might have a concussion. Or something." He wobbled upright, flailed a little, then crossed his arms, desperately grasping for professionalism.
"My name is Todoroki Shouto, I'm interning under Pro Hero Endeavor. I was engaging a villain when I was hit with her quirk."
The weirdo's face puckered like someone squirted lemon juice in his eyes.
"...It's why I'm in your house. So if you could help me...?" Shouto opened his palms gently, presenting the slippery iceberg like he would an unwelcome houseguest. Not-Natsuo looked at Shouto like he killed somebody.
"I can't fucking believe you right now. If mom walked in on you like this she would flip shit." His tone was ice cold. He jabs a finger at Todoroki.
"Are you on drugs!? Take that costume off right the fuck now before mom gets back. And wipe that shit off your face. I don't know what the hell you were going for but it looks terrible."
Shouto blinked, baffled. Touched the familiar lumps and divots on his left cheek. Did he actually mean..? What the actual fuck?
"...this is just my face."
Not-Natsuo scowled at him.
"I can't fucking deal with you right now." He turned on a dime and stomped away, leaving Shouto staring dumbly after him.
After a few moments of suffocating silence, his brain kicked into gear.
'Was it some kind of hallucinogenic quirk? Am I having some kind of weird, painfully specific vision and seizing on the ground?'
Shouto's leg was completely numb now, and aching with the cold. He looked at the puddle of water forming around his leg and idly hoped that he doesn't slip and pop his knee out of its socket. That'd be embarrassing as hell. Shouto recrossed his arms and resisted the urge to shiver.
'I don't think it's a dream. My dreams aren't anything like this.'
This whole situation was too weird, but something in particular was unsettling him. He couldn't pin down the specifics, but it clotted the air and made his stomach turn over. Something about the guy's eyes.
'He looks too much like Enji,' Shouto decided, comparing their faces in his head. 'But he's way too lean. More like mom.'
Maybe he's some weird quirk-induced hallucination combo of both his parents. Maybe the villain's quirk is showing Shouto what he fears? That would explain the familiarity mixing uncomfortably with the soul-wrenching unease. It would explain the quirk failure.
...but he's not afraid, not really. Just uneasy. He feels like he's missing something obvious. Like he's seen him somewhere before, beyond the uncanny family resemblance.
Besides, if this were truly a quirk-induced nightmare, it would also mean that Midoriya would have to be dead around here somewhere, along with the others. His mom, too. And Natsuo, and Fuyumi. Shouto ran a hand through his hair, worriedly glancing around the room.
It was mostly plain. A closet with dark clothes. A computer. A small soccer trophy on a shelf. Rich blue sheets with a book half shoved under a pillow. A lamp themed after a Sanrio character he didn't recognize. Painfully normal. Shouto hummed, hooked a hand across his upper arm. A dead body could probably fit in the closet...?
'He talks to me like he knows me. Like he grew up with me.' Shouto's skin crawls.
And isn't that the most unsettling thing of all?
Shouto was just about to rip a massive hole in the floor when angry, Bakugou-esque stomping crescendoed back in his direction. The door whipped open.
"I can't believe you pulled this shit in my room--" He muttered, clipped and angry. Not-Natsuo stomped right up into Shouto's personal space and Shouto swallowed a flinch when he grabbed for Shouto's chin. He pushed something close to Shouto's face-- to Shouto's eye--
Shouto slapped his hand away, unable to stumble a step back. The room temprature dropped a few degrees.
The weirdo lowered his hand and the damp rag in it as something like horror crept into his features. He spoke very softly.
"Shouto. What happened to your face."
That voice was so familiar, but not like this, not soft for him, concerned for him. Shouto felt like he was taking a step away from himself, like he was preparing for a fight.
"That's a very personal question," Voice calm, but void of all feeling. "..when I still don't know who the hell you are."
Not-Natsuo stared.
"If this is a joke, it's not funny." He matched Shouto's tone, but there's a different trembling edge to his words that wasn't there before.
Shouto's mouth thinned, his stomach churned, his quirk thrummed and swirled under his skin.
"This isn't a joke."
Intense blue eyes rummaged through Shouto's. It makes Shouto want to run, want to be sick.
After a few agonizing moments, he turned away. He looked defeated. Whatever he was searching for in Shouto's eyes, he didn't find it. He opened and shut his mouth, almost exasperated.
"My name is Touya Todoroki. I'm your older brother."