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Shoto was exhausted, and to top it all of, everything still hurt.
There was an incessant throbbing in his head that was driving him insane, and the dull pulse-like ache coming from his burns didn’t do him any favors either. Recovery Girl had done her best this second time around to try and fix him up as much as she could, and he did feel a lot better compared to when he first woke up, but due to him still being worn out, there was a limit to how much she could do. Slow and steady, she had told him, to avoid as much scarring as possible, andnot overwhelm his already weary body. Selfishly, he wished she would just get it over with, he’d be fine with hopefully being knocked out for a long timeif it meant he wouldn’t be in this much discomfort.
…
He should thank her later, when his head was clearer and more coherent… and not still possibly suffering the after effects of heatstroke.
For now though, he groaned, digging his fingers into his eye sockets in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. He wished his friends could have stayed for a bit longer, their company a nice distraction for as boisterous as they could be, but Recovery Girl had insisted they leave him to rest shortly after using her quirk. She probably believed he would have passed out quickly after, since his injuries were intensive and expansive, and she would have been right, if his mind had just shut up for one second.
He was feeling the side effects of her quirk just fine; his body was heavy as lead and annoyingly unresponsive and sluggish, and yet, try as he might, sleep hadn’t come. No matter how hard he tried.
After Recovery Girl left nearly an hour ago, he had laid down and closed his eyes, evened and deepened his breathing, relaxed his body a much as he could... but his mind remained in overdrive. He proceeded to toss and turn for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable enough position— which was way too hard if you asked him, with the IV on his left, and painful burns on his right— before he tried again, only to be met with the same results. He had huffed then, placed a pillow over his head to block out the lights, did some more breathing exercises and even resorted to counting sheep, but nothing seemed to calm his racing mind.
After all, all of his racing thoughts that he had shoved to the back of his mind when Aizawa and his friends came to visit, came back to the forefront of his drained psyche.
He couldn’t help but think of Touya, of Sekoto Peak, of the feeling of his skin melting off his face as bright blue encompassed his vision. And if he let his mind kept on going down that rabbit hole, his mind always went back to the pain Touya must have felt, the desperation, the helplessness he must have felt that night. Touya, unlike himself, had no one to save him. No quirk-suppressing quirk, no high end training facilities that were monitored, no… hope. It was nauseating, so… he decided to shelf that line of thought for later, or maybe never.
He wasn’t sure if he would be able to come to terms with it ever.
However, that let his mind wander about what this meant, could mean, for his future as a pro. Of the many, mostly negative, implications of this evolution.
Shoto quickly found himself falling back into what-ifs, into uncertainty.
He felt all too much like a broken record, stuck on the same point, repeating and repeating and repeating the same few seconds until it completely fell apart, driving insane those unfortunate enough to be close to it.
What if he couldn’t control his quirk anymore? His ice had felt so far away trapped in that blue inferno, a slight cool against his core instead of its usual biting frigidness, that he felt genuinely afraid of his ice having been melted away by his fire. He knew even the notion of it was absolutely ridiculous, quirks didn’t work like that, yet his mind couldn’t help but wonder.
What if he lost control again and hurt his friends during training? Or civilians during hero work? Or his family? He was lucky enough by the fact that it was Tetsutetsu, and that he was in UA grounds where Aizawa was near, after all. He couldn’t fathom putting anyone in that sort of risk ever again. The arena had been melted, after all, imagine that in a city setting. It would be catastrophic, and it would be on him.
Worse of all, however, was: what if he couldn’t control the temperature of his flames? He had issues with trying to use both his quirks at the same time, it was something he had been working on for weeks without much progress to speak off, so if his flames were always set to the hottest they could get, would his body overheat quicker, rending his ice side more unreliable? Thus, making it basically impossible to use both sides of his quirk at the same time? Therefore, stunting his progress?
Not to speak about the absolute disaster that would be for Shoto to overheat more easily. Heatstroke was no joke, and he would loathe to not be able to lower his chances of suffering it as much as possible. It would be seriously detrimental to his career, and was everything Endeavor wanted to circumvent when he imagined the perfect quirk for his “masterpiece”.
In the end, his quirk was nothing but a delicate balance, a perfect dichotomy precariously hanging by a loose thread. Any of the opposing sides of his quirk overpowering the other meant absolute misery for Shoto, not only in the sense of control and usefulness, but also on his daily life. His body temperature self-regulated according to his quirk, so if one side was more powerful than the other, well…
Let’s just say, he would not have a great time.
This, the blue flames,could be a point of no return for Shoto. If the balance had broken, if his quirk was no longer balanced, he would not be able to help nor protect anyone, and it would certainly spell doom for his fledgling hero career… and his overall health (which, unsurprisingly, he had to remind himself was a factor in this as well. He had never come first in his mind, those around him being safe was way more important).
Despite his weary and drained body, he had tried various times since he woke up to reach deep into his core, where his quirk lay, and poke and prod to make sure it was as it always was. He… truthfully couldn’t tell, it felt… slightly off, a bit fiercer, but nothing that would be of concern. Usually.
But what if, what if, what if.
His mind was stuck in a constant loop of “Touya”, “blue flames”, and every other increasingly pessimistic scenario that theyimplicated.
It was unsettling. He honestly felt skewed, distorted almost. It was driving him mad.
He wasn’t like this.
He was overthinking, he knew. He was probably being a fatalist about all of this. He probably just brought his quirk to a breaking point and that was it. But, still…
He wanted to find a positive, he really did, but he hated feeling out of control, and with his less than favorable history with his fire, the downward spiral his mind was going on was unavoidable.
And he hadn’t even touched the devastation that would be his family’s reaction to what happened.
Oh good God.
He groaned again, now digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to the point of seeing starts, the burned skin on his right throbbing painfully at the force, as his nails dug into his hairline. It was all in an effort to ground himself, and try to not go down that path, but it was an inevitability, with him as worked up as he was already, and thus, he was unsuccessful.
His breathing became erratic, his left hand shaking as his psyche quickly devolved.
Fuyumi would be inconsolable, big salty tears rolling down her cheeks endlessly. She would hesitate at first, stuck at the doorway as if time had stopped, before running to his bedside to quickly gather him in her arms. She would cradle his head gently, her fingers pressing into his scalp comfortingly as she tried to reassure him that everything would be okay— even if he, and her, were certain of the opposite being true, knowing that nothing was remotely okay about this.
Natsuo, meanwhile, would hover awkwardly by their side, mouth pressed in a thin line, with his fists tightly clenched and eyebrows deeply furrowed as he tried to force back his own tears. He would be one of the worst off, Shoto thought, as he had been close to Touya before his untimely death. He would be devastated to see history potentially repeating itself, and would enter such a protective streak Shoto wouldn’t be able to leave the dorms ever again without his brother constantly checking on him. Maybe. He didn’t know Natsuo as well as he did Fuyumi— and he admittedly had very limited knowledge regarding his older sister, which said a lot about his family, and how he was a person.
He seriously needed to change that.
(He tried to guess what his father would think, and despite thinking that his father would be over the moon before, he now wasn’t so sure. His head was at conflict in between Enji’s recent nicer self, who would, in his own way, worry about his well being, and the version of the man that would be in both measure ecstatic and disappointed in him for this development. It was making his headache worsen considerably, so he just discarded that line of thought entirely.)
And then, his mom… his breath hitched, tears quickly gathering in his eyes at the thought of her. She would be devastated, she—
He quickly wiped at his eyes, shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts. He wouldn’t go there, he couldn’t.
Nevertheless, one thing was certain, he hated causing them pain. It wasn’t fair to them, after everything he had already caused them to suffer through. Even his father, no matter how much he thought he deserved it at some point, didn’t deserve to go through what happened to Touya again.
Shoto let out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down by running his left hand through his limp greasy hair, and closing his eyes tightly to the point it hurt.
It was so unlike him to be this emotional about anything, he didn’t know how to react, or how to process and cope with this. He felt as if he was being absolutely pathetic about the whole thing, despite what Aizawa would consider a perfectly normal reaction, if Shoto ever told him everything.
And he could, tell Aizawa everything, that is. He could confide about how unsettled and wrong he felt, about Touya and father and his training, about his mother’s abuse and their quirk marriage, and he knew the older man would believe him. He knew he would have the man’s support, and he knew his classmates would rally behind him as well, no matter what. He would finally have justice for what was done to his family.
Yet, just thinking about spilling his darkest secrets to his teacher made him feel sick to his stomach. After all, everything was much better now, his father was changing and his family slowly becoming a bit more like a unit— or as much of a unit as they could ever be knowing their circumstances. And even though he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to forgive Enji for what he did, he felt more and more at peace with what he had, and how things were progressing until that point.
Plus, he just… couldn’t bear doing that to Fuyumi, nor his mother, who had been trying so hard to get them together as a family again, one way or the other. He couldn’t even bear doing it to his father, who would undoubtedly deserve anything that would happen if anything came to light. He didn’t know where this loyalty came from, after years upon years of hating his old man, but seeing him change, seeing him genuinely care and try, it just… it felt unfair, to take everything away. Petty, almost, even though he rationally knew it wasn’t, but feelings weren’t rational, now were they?
At the start of the year he wouldn’t care if anything happened to his father, but now it was complicated. It wasn’t about just the two of them anymore.
Falling back onto the bed with an exasperated groan, Shoto covered his face with his hands. He focused on the feel of the bandages against skin, of skin against the rugged texture of his scar. He focused on the puffs of warm air leaving through his nose. He focused on the sound of his shallow breathing, of the rustle of the sheets against his heaving chest.
God, how he craved for sleep, for the ability to just stop thinking. He just needed a minute, just one minute of blissful silence, and he knew he’d be able to go back to his own version of normal.
He just needed to be able to shove everything he was feeling back where it belonged, in the dark recesses of his heart, to rot away and never see the light of day again.
Shoto had done it once already, why was it that he couldn’t again?
He hated feeling this much. It was way simpler when it was just anger and hatred fueling him forward, instead of… whatever complicated mess he was feeling right now, as unhealthy as it was.
This was wholly impractical and unnecessary. This… meandering his mind was doing. If only he had fallen asleep.
He cursed his mind for keeping him awake despite his body begging for rest with increasing intensity as the minutes passed. He wouldn’t feel this much if he had just passed out an hour ago, when he was supposed to.
With a sigh, he scrubbed his eyes again before letting his hands fall to rest by his sides. He gingerly adjusted his head to lay to the side, eyes following the path of the IV liquid dripping slowly down the tube that connected to the nook of his elbow.
This was getting him nowhere. He just kept going round and round in circles around the same topics over and over again. Might as well try to fall asleep again, who knew, perhaps this time it wouldn’t be futile.
With his mind made, Shoto closed his eyes. He then set off to do some breathing exercises, knowing those would be his best option to relax his body, and hopefully trick his mind into dozing off. He breathed in through his nose, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled out through his mouth for longer than he had breathed in. He repeated the action for a few minutes, feeling ridiculously relieved when he started to feel slightly drowsy.
In between breaths, something warm suddenly started carding through his hair, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face with soft fingers. With a confused hum he tried to open his eyes, only to be shushed by a gentle voice, the hand on his hair gingerly moving to lay over his tired eyes. The tip of their fingers were cool against his feverish skin, and painfully familiar, though his dazed psyche couldn’t pin point exactly why. All that he knew is that it felt nice, to be touched like this, and if keeping his eyes closed kept the contact coming, he would happily oblige.
When the hand moved from his eyes back to his hair, he found himself leaning into it, seeking its warmth and comfort. He let out a content sigh as cool fingers started to lovingly massage his scalp, melting all of his worries away, and allowing his body to finally, finally, start to relax. His thoughts, for the first time since he had woken up faded away, leaving him in blissful silence. His pain, a near constant for the good part of a couple hours, drifted to the back of his mind to be all but forgotten, a distant memory in the wake of the loving touch this person was gifting him. It felt nice, the way suddenly nothing mattered but those fingers intertwined in his hair, messing with the neat parting of red and white, undoing the many knots that hard formed with his tossing and turning on cheap sheets.
It made him feel warm and content, cared for, something he hadn’t had been for a long time, and he so desperately craved, even if he wasn’t aware of it.
“Rest,” a feminine voice said, smooth and deep, and, again, painfully familiar. It was filled with love and care, and the same softness present in the hand resting on the crown of his head. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.” Her hand then moved from his head to his cheek, coming to cradle the left side of his face lovingly. He almost whined at the momentary loss of contact.
Another pair of hands grabbed his left hand right then, as if to affirm what the voice was saying, and pressing it in between cooler, smoother ones. After, he felt the bed dip by his right side, a thigh coming in contact with his own through the covers. The touch was light and hesitant, as if however did it was afraid it would hurt him. He appreciated the consideration, as his burns were still quite sensitive and painful, but he could bear a bit of it in exchange of the comfort the person by his side provided.
He could hear a fourth set of steps entering into the room as well, heavy, yet hesitant.
“How is he?” It was far away, and garbled, but Shoto’s hazy mind still could make up the words said by the gruff voice.
The woman from before answered, concern lacing her voice, “He’s quite warm, and very out of it. Recovery Girl said he was--”
Ah, he suddenly found himself without the energy to process what they were saying anymore. Everything sounded as if it was underwater, or in a foreign language he couldn’t understand.
Shoto wasn’t quite sure who was it that was keeping him company now, as he was quite sure it wasn’t his friends, nor any of his teachers, but with the hand lovingly caressing his face, the warmth of a thigh pressing against his own, and the soothing touch of a thumb running through his knuckles, he found himself not caring at all.
Slowly, he felt himself drift away, the world around him fading into inky darkness, hushed voices lulling him to sleep.
Finally, and enveloped by the caring warmth of those around him, he gladly fell into Morpheus’ awaiting embrace, ready to leave all his worries and pain behind.
If only for just a moment.
It was hot. It was way too hot. Why was it hot?
It felt as if his whole body was being burned from the inside out, his core a raging inferno, wild and untamed, razing everything he was. It felt as if he was being immolated, a sacrifice to his own ravenous quirk to fuel its sweltering flames.
He lurched forward, mouthing hanging open in pain and opened his eyes, trying to figure out what was happening. The first thing he noticed was that he was surrounded by blue, a cerulean so vibrant and bright it blinded him. The second thing he noticed was the all-encompassing crackle of flames as they whooshed around him, popping and cracking loudly against his sensitive ears.
It felt as if the flames were laughing at Shoto, dancing around him, toying with him.
Taunting him.
They licked at his hands and face possessively, leaving burns and blemishes every where they touched, marking him as his own. Mine, mine, mine, they whispered playfully against his ears.
Shoto tried to scream, but no sound came. It hurt, ithurtithurtihurt it hurt so much! He couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe!?
Slowly, they engulfed him in their deadly embrace, roaring with laughter as they stole the oxygen right out of his lungs, smothering him.
He opened his mouth, trying to take big gulping breaths, his chest heaving with the effort. However, all that entered his mouth was acrid smoke, coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth, making him gag and choke at the putrid taste.
The flames continued to taunt him, darting around his prone form as he tried and tried and tried to get oxygen into his burnt lungs. His hands flew to his throat, nails digging in.
They knew he couldn’t control them. They knew he was weak, thus, they would deal with him as they saw fit. They had, rather, wanted, no master, much less someone as pathetic as he was, someone unable to control like they craved to be controlled.
They needed, wanted, to be subdued, but if they’re host was unable to accomplish that, well… then they had no need for him.
A voice broke through the cackling flames, saying his name with concern at first, only for it to them quickly become overcome by panic. Suddenly, all he could hear were people shouting, alarm clear in their voices. Soon, they were drowned out again by the crackles of blue fire, his only companion as he melted away, body convulsing and spasming with the lack of air.
Shoto heaved, jaw agape and hurting from the effort, as he scratched and scratched and scratched at his throat, pleading, begging, imploring for it to fill with oxygen. Breathe, please, I need to breathe!
As soon as it had started, the flames died down, their roaring fizzling out into a mere murmur. Suddenly, he found himself able to breathe again, as the flame’s oppressive presence no longer consumed all of the oxygen around him. He inhaled it greedily, choking a few times as he filled his lungs over and over, and over again like a man starved.
A hand pressed itself against his shoulder, followed by a heavily garbled voice. He ignored it, instead keeping his focus on getting as much air as possible into his lungs. The voice clicked its tongue, speaking quickly and firmly to another, who responded in much the same manner.
Suddenly, he hissed, feeling a burning pain starting to travel up his left arm (it was painful, a different kind of pain. Mercifully, it dissipated rather quickly, leaving Shoto confused). He tried to swat at the hand holding his arm and doing whatever it was doing, but he was quickly stopped by another, smoother and cooler one. Before he knew what was happening, his world suddenly folded into itself, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and an oppressive darkness suddenly overtook all of his senses, submerging him under the waves of consciousness.
The next time he was aware, he felt no overwhelming heat, but rather a great chasm of emptiness in his chest. Why? He tried to rack his brain, but all he could remember was his overthinking spree, a soothing voice, and the echoes of scorching flames.
Which, apart from the fact that he was almost sure he hallucinated the last two out of sheer exhaustion, he’d rather not do again.
He slowly opened his eyes, grimacing at how unbearably dry his throat felt.
“Here,” a voice by his side said, hovering a straw over his cracked lips. He drank slowly, feeling sluggish and weighted, and even more exhausted than before, if it was even possible.
He let go of the straw after the water had all been but expended, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“Thanks.”
He turned to look at however had given him the water, only for his eyes to almost fall out of their sockets from how wide he opened them as he came face to face with his brother, Natsuo. He gaped at the other man, who chuckled wholeheartedly at his confusion.
“Heya, Shoto. How’re you feeling?”
“Natsu-nii?” He grimaced again at how scratchy and abused his voice sounded, suddenly wishing he had more water.
His brother huffed with amusement, standing up from the flimsy plastic chair beside his bed, “Want more, huh? One sec, I’ll bring it to you.” With that, he left, leaving Shoto extremely confused in his wake.
“Glad to see you awake, dear.” At the sound of her voice, Shoto all but whipped around, coming face to face with his mom. His mom, who was here, not in her room at the psych ward, even though she was supposed to be there. But she was here.
Was Shoto hallucinating? (Again?) He must be more exhausted than he originally thought. Then again, Natsuo was there, so perhaps he could allow himself to hope.
He felt his throat close up with emotion as he said, “Mom?”
“Why so surprised?” His mom chuckled, her hand coming to rest on his head. And, oh God, this was real. His mom was here. “UA told your father what happened, and then Fuyumi told me and your older brother. There was no way I was going to stay in that hospital room after what they told us, Shoto.”
At the mention of his father and older sister, Shoto finally registered that they were in the room as well; Fuyumi in a chair beside their mom, clutching a moist napkin close to her chest, and his father in front of the bed, leaning against a wall to give him some space.
Shoto had to choke down tears as he realized that his whole family had come to visit him. Even his father, who Shoto thought only cared for him as a weapon (despite how much he had changed) , had made time to see him.
It felt… nice, really nice. Like a real, normal family.
He hated worrying them.
An, “I’m sorry,” left his lips before he could stop himself, stunning the other occupants of the small room. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” was an after thought, something he added as he slowly struggled upright.
His mom shook her head, grasping his left arm to help him sit up.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Shoto. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Your mother is right,” his father said, his posture relaxing from his usual arms-crossed-across-his-chest pose, into something more casual, more open, less dangerous. “We’re just glad you’re safe. You gave us all quite a scare there.”
Shoto just hummed, thanking Natsuo when the man had come into the room with another glass of cool water. He brought the straw to his lips and drank slowly, making sure to take advantage of the action to think of his next steps, and how he would carry a conversation like the one they were about to have.
They… they had never spoken like a family, all of them together, much less in the same room.
Plus, there was the issue with that nagging emptiness clawing at his core.
“They gave you some quirk suppressants, Sho.” Fuyumi said. Had he said that aloud? “It’s only temporary, don’t worry.”
Nevertheless, Shoto startled, feeling faint at his sister’s words, “Quirk suppressants?”
“Your quirk… well, more like your fire side, went crazy.” She continued, hands fiddling with a loose thread on her lap, “a little while after we came, you just… started burning up.” She clutched the fabric of her pants in a white-knuckled grip. “We tried cooling you down at first, but then…”
Natsuo shook his head, looking down at his lap anxiously, “You burst into flames. It was like—” He paused, a name of his lips, before biting his lip and continuing, “They… blue, they were blue, Shoto, and you looked to be in so much pain we…”
A moment passed in silence, his family looking at each other with worried eyes, their faces tired and weary.
“Enji ran down to get your teacher and Recovery girl. Your teacher was able to suppress your quirk before it got any worse.” His mom eventually said, her hand coming to take his in hers. He felt grateful for it, after everything that was being said, it was grounding.
The blue fire hadn’t been a nightmare, or a hallucination, after all.
He… he didn’t know what to say. He had, deep down, hoped (perhaps delusionally) that after the first time his quirk went out of control, he would have some problems but would be able to wrangle his flames in quickly, but if they were acting up even when he was asleep, making it necessary for his quirk to be suppressed…
Fuck. This really was not good.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling like his worst nightmares were coming to life. This could mean the end of his hero career, and all would be his fault. What if because he neglected his left side growing up so it was acting up now? Because it was unused to the extraneous training and overuse? More volatile and unpredictable? Untamed? He had finally found his calling, made peace with it all, but now… now, just because he had been blind, and forgotten his mom’s blessing, he--
He felt a big warm hand grab his shoulder, squeezing it softly. His eyes snapped up, meeting the concerned (concerned?!) ones of his father. “You’re going to get through this, Shoto. This won’t mean the end of everything you’ve worked towards. We, your family and your teacher, will make sure of that.”
“Father…” His breath hitched, confused, and incredibly emotional. Endeavor, his father, was actually concerned about him. Like, actually concerned. No ulterior motives, no reference to his own gain, no nothing. Just him trying his best to support his son.
And, like, what!?
It made him feel conflicted, both warm and incredibly angry. Why now? Why did he have to almost die like Touya did for his father to snap out of it and actually care? He had been trying to be better, Shoto knew that, but still, how dare he?
The other part of him, however, preened at the attention, soaking up all of the concern and emotion his father was projecting. It felt like a missing puzzle piece inside of him had finally snapped into place, reserved only for the kind of fatherly love he had never experienced in his entire childhood.
The way his father was looking at him, holding him, searching for answers and solutions to his problem… it felt good, it felt fulfilling. It made him unreasonably happy.
He kind of hated it.
“For once, I have to agree with him.” Natsuo scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he looked as his father’s hand on his shoulder with disdain, “You’re strong, Shoto, this won’t stop you.”
Fuyumi nodded, looking at him with teary, yet determined, eyes, “Seeing you like that… it was wrong, it was so wrong, Sho. When Recovery Girl knocked you out, we decided that we couldn’t waste any time having pity parties by ourselves. We had to help you, no matter what.”
Shoto looked at Fuyumi, eyes wide and sad. The look on his face made him feel guilty for what they were going thru. If only he had been stronger, if only he hadn’t pushed his quirk to a breaking point, maybe none of this would have happened. His mom, as if she was reading his thoughts, squeezed his hand comfortingly.
“No matter what,” she started, voice determined and strong, “we won’t let another Todoroki suffer what Touya did.” The entirety of room tensed at the mention of the late Todoroki’s name, the conversation suddenly getting a somber tone to it. Rei steeled herself, taking a breath before continuing, “We weren’t able to help him and support him through his quirk issues as we should have. We won’t make that same mistake ever again.”
She looked around the room, meeting the other family member’s eyes with her own, receiving nods in return. “We will be here with you, Shoto, every single step of the way. We’ll make sure history never, ever, repeats itself.”
Shoto’s mouth hung open, looking at his family like a deer caught in headlights. He… He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Their history with dealing with what happened to Touya was… tenuous at best. While it was happening, and Shoto didn’t know much since he was far too young back then, his father and mom tried to stop Touya from using his quirk, but clearly it wasn’t enough, didn’t work, or was forgotten about when he came into the picture. And after the tragedy at Sekoto Peak... Well, “out of sight, out of mind”, as they say. His father had shut off, gone off the rails, and focused all of his energy onShoto, and soon after his mom would be... hospitalized. He wasn’t quite sure about how Fuyumi and Natsuo dealt with it, Shoto himself didn’t remember much of Touya, and was busy with father’s training regimen, so it was swept under the rug. Certainly, it felt as if none of them had any chance to properly grieve the loss of their oldest brother and son.
Nor properly deal with the guilt of having been able to help and stop the tragedy from happening, but not doing enough to do so. Especially his father.
And now, with the youngest in the same situation, it really seemed as if they wanted to turn back the clock and do everything they couldn’t for Touya, for Shoto.
It sucked, that it had to get to this point for them to come together as a family, it really did, but Shoto was weirdly grateful nonetheless. Seeing their mom, sitting tall and proud even when next to their father, made something warm and fuzzy in Shoto’s chest grow.
Plus… he really didn’t know what he would do if he had to go through this alone. He would probably not do well at all, if his spiraling thoughts were anything to go by. Having his family, his mom, by his side, already gave an incredible amount of strength. Coupled that with his friends, and his teachers…
It felt as if, for the first time since the flame’s appearance, he could get through this.
So, he steeled his face, straightened his spine, and nodded. Giving his promise that he’d do everything in his power to avoid it ever happening again. Trusting them to have his back, were he ever to fall down and falter.
His mom smiled, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Fuyumi nodded, placing her arms on his left thigh and pressing softly. Natsuo ruffled his hair affectionately, and his father nodded, squeezing the shoulder he was still grasping.
For once, they felt like a family. One united by tragedy, but perhaps, with time, they could be even stronger together because it.
They spent a few moments like that, basking on their company, and straightening their resolutions.
Enji was the one to break the silence.
“Your teacher and I have talked about giving you extra training lessons with the both of us. Mainly, we want to focus on temperatureand output, to build confidence with your fire side, and avoid something like this from happening ever again.” With a last squeeze to his shoulder, his father backed up and created some distance in between them. Shoto appreciated it. Who knew he’d see the day where his father respected his boundaries and was considerate?
Either way, he hummed in agreement, appreciative of the idea. His father was obviously the best suited for fire control, and with Aizawa there, he wouldn’t have to worry about his quirk going haywire.
It was a solid plan.
His father continued, leaning once again against the wall in front of his bed, “We’ll start as soon as possible, after your body has healed and you’ve had ample time to rest. Aizawa wants you to take a few days off of class as well, he’ll make sure to speak to your teachers so that you can get all of the material you’ll miss.”
“I’ll do my best to not fall behind.”
Fuyumi clicked her tongue, softly slapping his thigh, “Don’t push yourself though, Sho! Those burns are nasty, you’re gonna need to rest a lot for Recovery Girl’s healing to be as good as it can get. I’m sure your teachers will help you out even more if you asked for it.”
“Plus,” Natsuo added, “I’m sure you’ll have your own little band of mother hens absolutely dotting on you for the foreseeable future~”
“Mother hens?”
Natsuo cackled, shaking his head, and staying annoyingly silent. He gave a conspiratorial smile to his sister and mom, who quickly mirrored it, leaving Shoto incredibly confused.
He pouted, which made Natsuo cackle even harder. He had forgotten how much of an annoying brat his older brother could be.
“Either way.” His father started, and… was that amusement he could see in his face? What was happening?! “You’ll always have people by your side, Shoto. Do not hesitate to ask for help.”
If he wasn’t who he was, he would be left gaping at his father again. Him? Asking Shoto to seek help? Jesus, him almost dying really must have shook him up.
Clearly, some of his bewilderment must have shown, because his father frowned, tilting his head. “What? What are you giving me that look for?”
“Nothing, it’s just…”
Natsuo beat him to it, shit-eating grin firmly in place as he said in between chuckles, “He’s just surprised you’re being this human about it, is all~”
“Human? What does that even mean?” At his father ever-growing confused pout, Natsuo fell into hysterics, suddenly doubling over, and slapping at his knees.
“Your face---!” Natsuo guffawed, taking a big wheezing breath. His father just sputtered, unsure of what to do with that reaction, or what had even caused it.
Soon, Natsuo’s unhinged laughter was followed by Fuyumi’s own, which was then followed by his mom’s soft chuckles.
Shoto just watched, a small bemused smile on his face, as his father tried to make sense of the situation as the rest of his family fell harder and harder into hysterics.
They weren’t okay, and they wouldn’t be for a long time, but here, surrounded by his family’s laughter and seeing his father’s, admittedly hilarious, pout, it felt like they had taken a step forward.
Perhaps, in a few years time, and if they continued like this, they could be a family.
They would never be anything traditional, or particularly close knowing their history, but Shoto thought that just being okay with each other’s companionship, and being able to laugh like this would be enough for him.
But first, he had a berserk quirk to take care of.
For now, though, he had this. And, even though he wasn’t okay, and was still unsure and incredibly anxious about what the blue flames meant for him, and his future as a pro, he decided that perhaps he could take it one day at a time. Not everything had to be set into stone and certain, as much as he wished it to be, but he could try living with the uncertainty of it all.
It wasn’t going to be easy, and he was sure he would falter and fail and fall into despair, but, at least, with his family and friends by his side… perhaps he could do this.
Perhaps this… “point of no return”, with time and effort, could be a truly good thing, instead of the disaster his overthinking mind had supplied him with.
Only time would tell.