Chapter Text
Shouto adjusted his tie for what seemed to be the millionth time.
Why did it feel so tight all of the sudden?
He bit his lip, wishing that Bakugo or one of his other friends could have accompanied him. At least then he wouldn’t need to be alone, restlessly pacing the waiting room at the TV station.
If Bakugo were here with him, he would say — rather shout — that it’s just an interview, that it was stupid to worry, that Shouto has done hundreds of them since graduating. And Bakugo was — frustrating — normally correct.
Everyone told him that he had done the correct thing, that he didn’t need to blame himself, that no one blamed him. Believing things like this was something Shouto had been working on. Bakugo told him — years ago — that he needed to learn to trust what others told him.
And so, believing that his friend would know what was best, Shouto had been working on it.
It had gotten easier over the last year or so. Now he rarely found himself falling into the dread of not being able to trust anyone, and it had been months since he last had a panic attack — as Bakugo had called episodes like that.
He had been getting better.
Midoriya told him that he was “doing so well,” Aizawa said that he was “proud of you, kid,” Iida and Uraraka both told him that had “come so far,” Kirishima told him that he was “even manlier now,” and Bakugo would tell him that he was “less of an idiot.”
But now — even with these words of support playing in his mind — he felt as though he was back on the first day of school, with no friends or anyone else he could trust. Back when exhausting and painful lessons were around every corner.
He knew in his head that this interview was one of appreciation. The news wanted to commend him for working so tirelessly to track down a villain who had been on the large for years. In addition to that, he had nearly single handedly fought and captured him.
Although seeing how things turned, maybe he should have waited for backup.
Ever since that day, eight days ago, websites had been popping up around the web spreading rumors that he had done it on purpose. They were calling for him to step down, saying that he couldn’t live up to his father, that he wasn’t fit to be a hero.
His roommates were very adamant that he shouldn’t listen to those people. Midoriya insisted that Shouto had just done his best, that it wasn’t his fault. Kirishima would loudly tell him that even the manliest Heroes make mistakes like this. And any time Bakugo caught Shouto reading articles, he would come over and forcefully yank his phone out of his hand, shouting, “Are you fucking stupid!? Don’t listen to the shit those damn extras are saying about you.”
“Are you the Pro Hero Shouto?” A stagehand had appeared in the waiting room. Ey looked up at him politely, eir mutant wolf quirk displaying a kind smile.
Shouto nodded, forcing himself to stand still.
“Right this way then, Shouto.” Ey led him to a door across the waiting room from the couches and into the interrogation room.
The reporter room had a stage set up in front of rows of chairs. Another two chairs were set up on the stage — the empty one of which Shouto was directed to sit. Reporters and other bystanders crowded the chairs.
Vertigo swamped him as he gazed at the sea of reporters and spectators. He resolved to look only at the interviewer, walls, or floor.
Although he knew his father had often given interviews in front of 5 times this many people in his work as the #2 and later #1 Hero, it had been a long time since Shouto had been a part of a formal interview such as this, and never had he done one alone.
Interviews like this were common among heroes in their first year of hero work, as a way for the hero to get their name out there and climb the ranks of the Hero Chart.
Shouto had turned down almost every interview opportunity he had received, only accepting ones that his friends were also invited to. He hated the idea of doing these alone, knowing the types of questions he would be asked. The only thing the reporters wanted was the inside scoop on his personal life, and following the Endeavor scandal a few years ago, those questions only got more intrusive and less tasteful.
At this point, Shouto was content in his ranking of #76. If he were to climb any higher, he would want it to be from his merits, not from self promotion.
“Going live in 3, 2…” The behind camera director counted down with his fingers, going silent as he reached one.
“We have here with us today, the #76 Hero, Shouto…” The interviewer, who had long pink hair and pointed ears, started talking to the camera.
Shouto raised his hand and nodded into the lens, just as he was taught as UA. His hand shook slightly, but he told himself that it was unnoticeable.
“...who, only eight days ago, finally apprehended the infamous ‘Cold Case’ villain.”
The interviewer turned to him. “So Shouto, your most recent case has once again landed you all over the news. How would you say your sudden increase in popularity has affected you?"
"Umm…"
How had it affected him?
He thought back to the moment when he had first realized just how large the case had gotten. He had just emerged from a scalding shower. The noise of the bathroom door drew Midoriya and Kirishima's concerned gazes. Shouto's stomach dropped away at their expressions and had been free-falling ever since.
"I'd say overall, not much has changed."
"Do you think this will affect your Hero Ranking?"
"I think that's not up to me. It's up to the people of Japan. I hope to show the people of Japan my passion and concern for their well-being by striving to do my best for the public."
"Oh, very noble. As expected of the son of the former #1 Hero."
A loud cough came from the audience. Shouto’s eyes flitted towards where the sound came from, but he couldn’t tell who had made the sound.
The interviewer didn’t seem to take notice and continued as though nothing had happened. "I’m sure the viewers are dying to know: how does this popularity differ from the Endeavor scandal?”
A few prickles of anxiety and annoyance appeared in his chest, but he pushed them away. “I don’t see any use in comparing these two incidents, seeing as they are so different.” He said, reciting the same answer he had given for what felt like the millionth time. It didn’t matter if it was a random fan off the street or an on-site reporter — this was the answer he supplied.
“Well then.” The interviewer sounded rather miffed. “We managed to get a hold of this footage of your audacious actions.”
The blurry footage started playing on a screen beneath the main broadcasting camera.
The CCTV looked down a main road. At the end of the street, a corner of the familiar brick exterior of the factory was visible.
The video showed the Cold Case villain dashing as fast as he could down the street, away from the factory. Shouto was not far behind, running at full speed.
A burst of flames shot out from Shouto’s left. It circled around in front of the villain, forcing him to abruptly dodge to the right.
At the same time as the flames, Shouto had let out a sheet of ice. The villain, having only been concentrating on the flames, didn’t notice the ice and promptly lost his footing. His feet slipped out from under him, giving Shouto enough time to catch up and tackle him to the ground.
He wrested the villain’s arms behind his back…
The real Shouto closed his eyes, bracing for the sounds that immediately followed the capture.
But it never came.
He opened his eyes and saw that the screen had gone dark.
The video had been cut. The deafening explosion followed by those piercing shrieks had never come.
They hadn’t included the aftermath at all.
Shouto’s ears still rung from the sounds, as though it had just happened. The factory had exploded via the villain’s remote bomb quirk, which Shouto had failed to neutralized in time.
He could hear the screams and cries for help, but if he went to help, the Cold Case villain would have escaped. There was no choice. He couldn’t let the villain who had been at large for so long go free. He had to avenge the many other lives this villain had taken — even at the cost of a few more — to ensure that something like this never happened again.
Still the guilt weighed heavily in his heart.
He had stood by and watched it all happen.
Of course, Midoriya and Kirishima reassured him that he did everything correct, but still the guilt that he could have — should have — done something more gnawed at him from the inside.
“As you can see, Shouto finally captured the villain who had been illusive for years. Which is why we invited the brave hero to our show — to formally commend him for his actions.”
Another sharp cough from the audience accompanied her words.
The sound sent another rush of anxiety through him, but he forced it back yet again. People just cough sometimes. Even though it did seem to align with what was being said, that doesn’t mean anything.
Midoriya had told him not to overthink things so much. The other boy often struggled with the same thing, so they were working on it together.
Logically, he knew that he shouldn’t be reading into it, but he still couldn’t let go of the feelings that he needed to be on guard.
“—of what you did, we would like to extend to you our sincerest thank you for ridding the streets of that merciless villain.”
The slightest hint of warmth crept up his cheeks. “I was just—”
“He’s no hero.”
The voice rang across the room, loud and forceful.
Shouto’s heart slammed into his ribcage.
The voice continued. “You’re not a hero, Shouto.” The speaker got to his feet, pointing at Shouto. “They just cut the video before it showed what you did.”
Immediately, Shouto recognized him.
A few days after the incident, on the day of the funerals, the TV coverage of the incident showed the faces of all six victims and their immediate families. Bakugo had quickly changed the channel, saying “Why are you watching such depressing shit?” as though the four of them didn’t constantly have the news on.
Bakugo's choice of not depressing shit was a nature documentary about beetles. He had changed the channel quickly, but still not before the faces could engrave themself in Shouto’s memory.
This man was the son of one of the workers.
He was…
…was a family member of one of the victims.
Shouto’s stomach — which had been freefalling for the last eight days — suddenly came to a jarring stop. His throat squeezed with the force of the guilt that crashed over him. Had he forgotten how to breathe?
Why couldn’t he have helped more? Why couldn’t he have stopped the quirk in time? Why had he just watched, waiting for others to show up? He could have saved people, he was sure. If only…
The man was still speaking, “No matter what Endeavor did or didn’t do, at least he never helped a villain blow up a building!” He rushed forward out of his seat, towards the stage.
Shouto just watched it through his spot filled vision, each word stabbing into his heart.
“Endeavor was a true hero! He always put the people—” His words were interrupted by two security guards grabbing his arms. His yells continued as he was dragged away, “—of Japan first. You’ll never live up to him!”
Just before the door shut behind him, the son yelled, “YOU MONSTER!”
The doors closed, and the whole hall fell silent. Those words still echoing around the hall and inside Shouto’s head.
Monster… Never live up to Endeavor… It’s your fault… Monster…
The words twisted and swam, cutting through every other thought.
He — he had been doing okay.
He had.
You’ll never be a hero…
He hadn’t had a panic attack in months.
Endeavor was a true hero…
Bakugo said — what did Bakugo say?
Monster... All your fault…
He said—
All your fault…
All my fault.
Bakugo said it was all my fault.
Shouto knew it — he knew it. How did he forget? How could he forget? How had he forgotten there was no one to trust?
Shouto bit his lip as his vision drowned in unshed tears. Pins and needles rushed his hands until they no longer even felt like his own. He stared at them as though they were going to disappear.
Was he going to disappear?
Could he just disappear?
Something touched his shoulder and he flinched away, nearly falling off his chair. He covered his ears with his hands despite already only being able to hear the blood rushing in his ears. His head felt like it could split apart, and only the hands on either side of it kept in one piece. His eyes clamped shut as the trails of wetness streamed down his face.
Yet again hands appeared on his shoulders.
Shouto had to bite back a scream. The hands — although cold, not burning hot — landed heavily like his father's.
Nausea smoldered in his chest.
He really didn’t like to be touched at times like this. He tried to flinch away, but those same hands pulled him roughly to his feet and hauled him towards the door he had entered through.
Shouto glanced to the side in time to see the surges of reporters rushing forward. Their mouths moved silently, all sound drowned out the pounding in his ears. He knew they would want him to give a closing remark, one that explained what happened or how he felt about it.
As though his panic attack wasn’t enough explanation.
He knew he should have said something — anything — just to prevent the news from spinning what happened into a million and one different ways, but even if he had been in a space to formulate a statement, he doubted he’d be able actually say it aloud. The nausea still filled his chest, preventing him from breathing, much less talking.
The doors to the reporter hall closed behind them, and Shouto was handed off to a stagehand in all black.
The stagehand guided him to the couch. Once he was seated, through the fog in his head, Shouto recognized em as the one who had directed him to the reporter hall before the broadcast.
“Thank — you.” He choked out, still struggling to take in entire breaths.
The lack — or perhaps over abundance? — of air sent his head swirling. It was all he could do to not pass out.
The stagehand said something to him, but it came out all garbled. The bloodrush had quieted down considerably, but still Shouto had a hard time getting anywhere near deciphering what was said to him.
At this point, shame had started to creep in as he realized: he had just had a panic attack on live TV — on air and in front of many, many people.
He waved the stagehand away, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.
He leaned forward on his knees, head in hand. His chest heaved, but he tried his best to slow and regulate his breathing. The numbness in his hands slowly subsided and so did the tension in his shoulders.
Endeavor was a true hero… You’ll never be a hero… You monster…
His stomach flipped, sending his eyes racing around the room for a trash can. He found one and rushed over to it. He heaved into the plastic bin as another wave of nausea and guilt swamped him.
He knew all his worries must be true. It was his fault. He should have done more. He wasn’t fit to be a hero.
He heaved again, but nothing came out. The black plastic remained unsoiled, even as he stared through slightly grey vision. A few more heaves forced their way out of him, but all remained dry.
Head spinning, he fell away from the bin and collapsed on his back. He stared unseeing at the ceiling, gasping for breaths.
Shouto knew he should get to his feet, or at least lay on the couch, but far too much effort would have to go into doing anything other than laying on the floor, forcing his chest to continue expanding and contracting.
He crossed his right arm over his face, hoping to hide both his tears and shame.
An indeterminate amount of time passed before he heard a commotion outside the waiting room door. For some reason, it came from the door leading to the main atrium of the TV station, rather than the reporter room.
A scuffle seemed to have broken out behind the door. Muffled yells filtered into the room, slowly getting louder, until someone slammed the door open.
Some poor employee said, “Sir, you can’t just barge in here like that.”
“The hell I can!” And the door was slammed shut.
Shouto shot to his feet, hurriedly wiping at his eyes. His heart pounded wildly even as he recognized the voice as Bakugo’s.
“Damn Halfie, what the hell are you doing freaking out and shit during an interview?”
Shouto’s legs very nearly gave out in relief, until another crash of guilt hit him.
He didn’t deserve for people to show up for him. There was no way he deserved that, you monster.
He turned away, ignoring the nausea that had once again flared in his chest. “Go away.” He said, fighting his quivering voice.
“What the hell?” Bakugo stomped over to Shouto, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. He let out a low sigh. “You look like shit. You know that?”
Bakugo grabbed Shouto’s wrist, pulling the taller boy towards the couch; but he balked. “No, stop. Why would you come?”
“The hell? I saw you freaking the fuck out on—”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Shouto tried to yank his arm away, but either he was too weak or Bakugo was too strong because his wrist stayed firmly in place. “I–I don’t—”
“What the hell are you saying, halfie?”
Shouto practically yelled, “I don’t deserve any of this!”
“What the—?” Bakugo started, but now that Shouto had started, he couldn’t stop.
“I don’t deserve this interview, or you, or Midoriya, or Kirishima. I had a panic attack. I haven’t had one in months. I didn’t mean to. And the TV people wanted to praise me? But the victim’s son was right.. My father was a true hero, not me…” Shouto knew he was rambling, but could do nothing to stop it.
“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve it because I’m—” His head spun. “Because I’m…” a monster. Just like my father.
“What?! Do you believe this was your fault or some other shit?”
Shouto nodded.
“God, you are such an idiot.” Bakugo reached up and lightly flicked Shouto’s forehead.
Shouto flinched away from the touch, swaying slightly.
“The hell, Icyhot??” Bakugo’s voice rose in alarm. “If you’re going to faint, at least fucking sit down.” He pulled Shouto to the couch.
“N–no…” Shouto’s weak attempts to shove Bakugo away were completely unsuccessful.
“Chill the hell out, Icyhot. You know you’re supposed to lay down when you’re going to fucking faint. ”
Bakugo forced him to lie down, ignoring Shouto’s incessant struggles against it, all the while muttering under his breath. “Stupid Icyhot, not even taking care of your own damn body. What would you have fucking done if I hadn’t fucking showed up? Fucking pass out on the floor?”
Eventually Bakugo got him situated with his legs elevated over the armrest. After a short hesitation, he sat down next to Shouto and gently guided his head into his lap.
“Damn, Icyhot, look what you made me do.” He turned away, suddenly finding the door extremely interesting.
“Ba’ugo?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Your han’ feel nice in my hair...”
“Shut up and don’t pass out, you idiot.”
After the dizziness passed. Shouto slowly sat up, wiping at his eyes.
A wave of embarrassment rushed through him at his confusion and hostility to his friend.
Bakugo said behind him. “So you’ve been blaming yourself for all this, huh, Halfie?”
When Shouto didn’t respond, Bakugo took that as a yes. “Why didn’t you tell us, stupid? This line of work isn’t one to tolerate alone; this isn’t a damn candy shop. That’s why we all moved in together, to share the load of hero work.”
“But I messed up, Bakugo…” Shouto’s voice trembled. “I messed up, and people died .”
“Yes, people died. But that wasn’t your fault, it was that damn Cold Case's fault. If he hadn’t terrorizing random factories, none of this would have happened; and you got him off the streets. You single handedly caught the real culprit — that’s what you need to focus on.”
Shouto, who had been slowly turning around, now fully faced his friend. In a small voice, he asked, “It’s okay to not blame myself?”
Bakugo couldn’t help but feel a twinge of affection for his idiot friend. “Of course it is. Mourn their passing, but don’t fall into the trap of blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“O–oh…” Shouto looked down at his hands. A few more tears slid down his cheek, but this time he didn’t brush them away.
“In fact, a few years ago, during the…” Bakugo coughed. “...Endeavor scandal, I was so pissed off one day that I made a huge mistake and a lot of people got hurt. I didn’t bring it up because you were going through so much, but…” He looked away. “...Deku and Shitty Hair let me talk about it with them and…it helped.”
“Oh…”
Just then, Bakugo’s phone buzzed. He was silent for a second as he read it. “Damn Deku and Rock Face are parked outside. Ready to go, Ice Queen?”
The corner of Shouto’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, let’s go.”
As the two of them walked through the atrium, Bakugo stole an unopened bottle of water off the welcome desk.
And for some reason, no one tried to stop him.
Kirishima and Midoriya were parked in front of the TV station. When Shouto opened the back door, Midoriya immediately asked, “Are you okay, Todoroki? Bakugo rushed out of the apartment so quickly, we had no idea what was going on. And then when he texted us to bring the car we knew we—”
“Shut up, Deku!” Bakugo yelled from the passenger seat.
“Chill, Bakubro, Midoriya was just—”
“You too, Shitty Hair!”
“Wait, Bakubro, are you blushing??”
Teeth clenched, he said, “I said, shut up!”
The three of them laughed as Bakugo continued yelling at them.
And for the first time in over a week, Shouto smiled, happy and safe with his friends.