Chapter Text
The training room was a sea of fire, and Shouto had no paddle. Heat licked at his skin, telling of the flames dancing around the room. He could see the shadow of his father’s looming frame and the short wooden pole in his hand, but Shouto refused to meet his eyes. Balling his fists, he stared down at the floor, feet planted in place.
“Stop being so childish!” his father roared, frustration thick in his voice. “This stubborn refusal to harness your fire is holding you back for no reason. You are a masterpiece, Shouto, and your attitude is an insult to your own potential. I told you to ignite a flame!”
Shouto’s heart thudded soundly in his chest. When he shut his eyes, his father’s harsh frame disappeared, but in his place, Shouto found his mother’s horrified face peering down at him like he was a monster.
’And Shouto… his left side. Sometimes I look at him and hate what I see.’
With a shaky breath, Shouto clenched his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms as he thrust his right fist up, ice spreading out like a thick, jagged gauntlet, just as his father had done just moments before with his flames. Meeting his father’s eyes, he shouted back, “No!”
Fire whirled around them with a sudden blast of heat, and Shouto could already feel the ice melting from his fist. Stumbling a few steps to the side, he collided with one of the short wooden poles jutting up from the floor and lost his balance, catching himself on his knees just before he hit the floor. He could feel his father’s frustration radiating in each disapproving flame, and with a jumbled mix of fear and anger, Shouto curled forward, chest and face to the floor as he listened to each heavy footstep approaching.
“Get up, Shouto. Try again.”
For what felt like an eternity, Shouto just breathed, forehead pressed to the floor. He didn’t have to look up to imagine the fury in his father’s eyes, far hotter than the flaming ‘hair’ his father wore on his face. What would happen if Shouto refused again – rejected his flames again and again and again? Would this ever stop?
Could it ever stop?
Lifting his face, Shouto was preparing to stand when he caught sight of a pair of bright blue eyes in the crack of the door on the far side of the training room. The boy was older, his eerily patchy face framed with spiky white hair, and in a flash, he looked just as surprised as Shouto felt.
When Shouto opened his mouth to call out, that surprise hardened on the other boy's face. Holding a stony expression, he just shook his head and vanished back into the night without a word.
Blinking a few times, Shouto waited to see if he was going to come back before he flicked his eyes over to the altar erected for his brother three years before.
…Had that been Touya's ghost?
"Shouto, are you listening to me?"
The displeasure was still burning in his father's eyes. With all that exacting focus, his father didn’t seem to have seen the ghost at all… but if Touya’s ghost didn’t want to be seen, Shouto wasn’t going to rat him out.
With his mouth sealed shut, Shouto dragged himself up off the floor again.
Their father – Endeavor – sure had a lot of nerve. Right next to Touya’s altar, the man yanked around his little puppet and made him dance, as if his first son had never existed. Nothing had changed at all, except now, Touya was out of the way. He was nothing more than an unobtrusive memorial, so much easier to ignore in favor of the perfect creation.
Touya’s life had meant nothing to them, and neither had his death.
He knew he should have left right away – there was nothing left for him here – but he lingered in the shadows outside the training room, perched on top of a crate that was out of any immediate line of sight. Closing his eyes, he listened to his father shouting at little Shouto. Apparently, ‘turning up the heat’ was not the kid’s strength. What a pitiful replacement for Touya’s passion, even if he was born with his fancy designer quirk pair.
Pathetic. Why did Shouto deserve their father’s attention? Why couldn’t their father have just been satisfied?
Why wasn’t he enough?
"Are you a ghost?"
The question nearly startled Touya out of his skin, seemingly coming from nowhere until he looked down from his tucked away perch to find Shouto peering up at him. When had Shouto left the training room?
“What?”
“A ghost. You look like Touya, but everyone says Touya’s died,” Shouto expanded, his expression unchanging with those split-color eyes. Even his stupid eyes – just like his stupid hair – blended the ice and fire genetics of their parents. How was that fair? The universe must want him to hate the little brat.
“Do you always just believe everything everyone says? Do you just say whatever they say like an empty-headed puppet? Where do you hide the strings?” Touya snapped, holding up clawed hands and moved them like a marionetter.
The younger boy’s brow furrowed. Was he going to cry?
…No, he was going to lift his shirt and turn around. “I don’t have any strings because I’m not a puppet.” Dropping his shirt again, Shouto turned to face forward again. “I’m a boy. Are you a boy or a ghost?”
For a moment, Touya just stared at the straight sincerity on his little brother's face. He stared, and then he laughed, covering his mouth to try to keep the sound from carrying. What a weird kid. Dear old Dad really must have kept up that ‘isolation regiment’ he implemented with Shouto. Touya would have killed for that much enforced one-on-one time.
“Come with me," Touya said, sliding down onto the grass and starting toward the line of trees.
"Where are we going?" Shouto asked.
"To the place where I died."
Shouto's eyes were still wide when they reached the streamside spot in the mountains where Touya had crumbled to ash. His little brother hadn't said a word the whole time, but each time he checked, Shouto didn't stray or complain. Sometimes, his brow dipped a little, like he was thinking about something really hard, but he was always staring at Touya's back. How old was he now - eight? The solemn expression on his face made him look older.
"Were you attacked here?" Shouto stepped up beside him.
"I was abandoned here." Touya folded his hands behind his head and kicked out a knee, looking around. "This is where I waited for Dad to come, but he never did." Three years ago, he had scorched the earth, but just like everything else, the grass had grown back, as if nothing had happened at all.
Shouto's solemn expression iced over, narrowing to a glare. "You burned up, right? No one really said anything, but I heard them talking."
"Yeah." Touya held out his hand, and with a flourishing flick, ignited a bright blue flame. Wiggling his fingers, he added, "Burned right up."
"Your flames are blue, like my ice." Shouto's eyes were fixed. "So hot… How did they get like that?"
Touya let the flames die, then used that hand to pat the younger boy's head. "The power of my resolve, little brother. Gotta turn up the heat. Dad only cares about making you his perfect little creation, but one day, I'll show him."
Flattering his expression, Shouto deadpanned, "You can have him. I'll never use my fire like him, not ever." With remnants of a scowl still on his face, he looked up. "I guess you aren't a ghost, then?"
"Maybe not a literal one." Planting his hands on his hips, Touya watched as his little brother turned his attention to the stream where Touya had tried to douse himself, though Shouto couldn't have known that. Finally, the kid had shown some sort of emotion that suggested he did have something between his ears, after all. So Little Mr. Perfect didn't like their father.
He could work with that.
"Hey Shouto?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to come with me?"
They locked eyes. "Yeah."
"You aren't too scared?" Touya said with a twinge of playfulness in his tone as he stuck his hands in his pockets.
"It can't be worse than being at home," Shouto said, fists balling. Once again, he didn't look quite the way Touya thought angry eight-year-olds normally looked, but he admittedly hadn't known many angry eight-year-olds..
"Bad night?"
"I hate him," Shouto replied emphatically, tone heating up. "I hate him for what he did to Mom. I'll never be like him."
"Then that settles it, little brother." Touya allowed a smile to spread over his face. Maybe he couldn't get their father to look at him, but at least his father wouldn't get to look at Shouto – his favorite toy – anymore. This time, he would lose a son he cared about, and Touya hoped it would tear him apart. "Here's to a life of freedom."
Touya snapped his fingers to ignite another small blue flame. Shouto studied the movement closely, held up his right hand, and snapped a little spread of ice. The effect wasn't quite the same, but he seemed satisfied enough.
"Where are we going?" Shouto asked when they started walking again.
"Anywhere we want."
"You have no idea, do you?"
"Let's go. " Again, he let the flames die and stepped into the moonlight.
He didn't turn to see if Shouto's face was contorting again, but behind him, he heard the soft patter of footsteps following him through the brush – together.