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—
i.
I'm not the person that I thought I was
—
For the record, Natsuo knew this was going to happen eventually.
It was in Touya's nature to be curious. Ever since he was a kid, he was always snooping, always going out of his way to seek out knowledge. He never took “I don't know” for an answer, never accepted that some information wasn't meant for him. If he didn't know something, it was wrong, and no one had the power to stop him from making it right. It was a constant itch that needed to be scratched.
And it was the bane of Natsuo's existence.
This in particular was something Touya brought up a lot.
Natsuo had hoped that he would let it go eventually. He had always indulged Touya in everything else, helping him get the answer to his questions. But this was the one question he adamantly refused to answer. And yet, despite his constant rejection, Touya kept asking.
“Where's your father?”
Natsuo had scolded him for it before. When he was younger, it was easier. He just used the typical “I’ll tell you when you're older” and left it at that.
But now Touya was turning sixteen. And he was insistent on getting the answer to his most burning question. But Natsuo was not raised to back down from a fight.
“No,” he said, hoping it sounded firm enough.
“C’mon, Dad, tell me! Pleaseeeeeee? Please please please?”
“Touya,” Natsuo warned.
Touya huffed. “But you said I’d get anything I want for my sixteenth birthday. I want to know why you don't talk to your father.”
“Because I don't want to,” he answered simply.
“But why?” Natsuo shook his head.
“I've already told you.”
Touya wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction. It was something he'd done more often as a kid, and now only did it when he was extremely annoyed, usually for this very reason.
“He's a bad man who gave you an inside ouchie that still hurts,” Touya teased. Natsuo groaned.
“You were, like, four. I had to say it that way so you'd understand! And don't mock your father!” Natsuo scolded, then smiled at his son.
He was only sixteen, but he was so grown up. He got tall (taller than his parents, at least), and learned to control his quirk better than Natsuo expected.
Even after all this time, there was still a part of him that wonders how much better he could’ve been if he'd let Enji help more. If he just hadn't been so selfish, hadn't insisted on living in the past, hadn't held a grudge, hadn't hated his father so much, hadn't hated himself so much. If he'd just been… better. Maybe Touya would have better control. Maybe Touya would have the answers he wants.
“You're doing it again, Dad,” Touya informed him. And Natsuo knew. He'd been doing it since before Touya was even born. He zones out, retreating back into the part of his mind that is forever stuck in the past.
Natsuo physically shook his head to bring himself back to the present. To Touya, who was extremely skilled in the art of reading Natsuo like a fucking book. “Thinking about your father?”
Natsuo hummed. It wasn't a confirmation, but it definitely wasn't a denial.
“Wanna talk about it?” Touya prodded. Natsuo glared at him.
“Seriously?” Touya shrugged.
“We wouldn't have to keep having this conversation if you just told me, you know.”
Natsuo looked at Touya. His only child, his pride and joy.
He and his wife had tried to have more kids, but it never worked out. And there was always the crushing weight of his fear of ending up like his father, and after a while he thought maybe there was a reason for their bad luck. And it was always a comfort that Touya was perfect. Despite his constant pestering and questions, he was always kind and hardworking. And, well, Natsuo couldn't exactly get mad that his child had a thirst for knowledge.
Actually, he couldn't get mad about anything.
Not when the sound of his own raised voice makes him flinch. Not when the sight of his own angry face in a mirror makes him sick.
It annoyed his wife to no end, at first, but she learned to get used to it.
Touya only got to be so persistent because of Natsuo's lack of discipline. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't be like his father. Or at least, how his father used to be.
Fuyumi said that he got better. Hell, Natsuo had even seen it himself. He saw how he treated Touya when he visited, but he couldn't bear the thought of what could have happened if they had spent more time together. That was how it went, always dwelling of the infinite ‘what-if’s, the good and the awful. The ones where Enji was a positive presence in Touya's life, and the ones where he… wasn't.
So he kept them apart. And he knew it was hurting Touya, but Natsuo was his father, and… and the father knows best, right?
…Right?
Or maybe he was just as bad as Enji. Maybe, in trying to be better, he ended up exactly like him.
“I know,” he whispered. Touya huffed in response, then made his way to the door.
“I'm gonna go visit Uncle Shouto,” he said, slamming the front door as he left.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Natsuo hissed under his breath. He rose from the chair where he'd been sitting, making his way upstairs.
He stopped short when he passed the mirror that hung near the staircase.
Natsuo had always struggled with his appearance. It was a known fact that aside from his hair and eye colour, he looked… uncannily like his father. He had worked hard to differentiate himself from that man as much as he could, but he was written into his DNA. He couldn't escape him, not when every time he tried to look at himself, all he saw was Enji staring back.
He tried to focus on the parts of himself, the ones he got from his mother. His bright white hair, and his metallic grey eyes. If he unfocused his eyes, paying more attention to the colours rather than the shapes of his features, he could almost pretend he was only his mother's son.
Natsuo continued up the steps, passing the pictures his wife had insisted they hang on the walls. One of them happened to be Touya's favourite.
It was the picture he'd taken during the only time Enji had ever been allowed in the house. When Touya first got his quirk, and Natsuo had been desperate for help. Touya always talked about it. It was the only picture of Enji in the whole house, and he always made a point to bring it up whenever he thought applicable.
Natsuo had taken the picture because he wanted as many pictures of Touya’s childhood as he could get. That's what he always said, at least. It was not because he wanted an excuse to see his father's face every now and then, certainly not.
The picture showed Enji holding Touya up, as the little boy raised his arms in the air, hands glowing with dazzling white flames. Enji was smiling wider than he ever had during Natsuo's childhood, or at least, that he could recall. With Touya's back to the camera, he sometimes liked to pretend that that white hair was his own, that Enji was looking at him like that.
Natsuo was very ready to admit that his relationship with his father was strange. He hated him with every fibre of his being, he knew that much, but…
He loved him too. He needed him. Even as a fully grown adult, there was still a childish part of him, deep down, that just wanted his dad.
Natsuo got to the room he shared with his wife, decorated with plants and family photos and a few of the beautiful paintings she had done of the countryside.
He flopped face first onto the bed, burying his face in a pillow and screaming as loud as he possibly could.
—
ii.
I'm trying to come to terms with what you've done
—
Natsuo and Touya didn't talk about that conversation afterward. Touya never brought it up, and Natsuo certainly wasn't going to.
Instead, the blue-eyed boy came home a few hours later, declaring he had an idea for what he wanted to do for his birthday. Natsuo, who'd had nearly sixteen years worth of experience dealing with him, knew that this “idea” of his was some sort of ploy to get an answer to his burning question. And knowing him, it would also be in the worst way possible.
Suffice to say, Natsuo was terrified.
But he didn't mention Enji, simply stating that he wanted to do a family dinner, “like with Grandma and Auntie Fuyumi and Uncle Shouto,” he’d said.
So, later that week, the night of Touya's sixteenth birthday, Natsuo and his wife were in the kitchen cooking up a storm. Touya came in and out to grab dishes and utensils and such to set the table, as well as occasionally trying the food.
As he waited for some water to boil, he stepped out of the kitchen to check out the table Touya had set. He used their nicest plates, white with purple and gold accents, since Touya had complained that they were so pretty but never got used. And, well, Natsuo couldn't argue that this was a special enough occasion.
But one thing bothered him.
There were one too many spots set up. Natsuo was no fool. He knew exactly who that spot was for.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Touya started toward the entrance, calling “I'll get it!” But Natsuo stopped him.
“No, you won't,” he said with more anger than he intended. Natsuo walked to the door slowly, almost cautiously, as their guest knocked once more.
Natsuo had to talk himself through each step, his legs feeling more and more like they were made of lead as he walked. He got to the door after a few agonising moments, opening it as fast he could, just to get it over with.
He wasn't shocked to see Enji standing there, wearing a nice outfit and an almost eerie smile. There was something so terrifying about seeing his father with a genuinely joyful expression.
“Hello, Natsuo,” Enji said.
“Enji,” Natsuo said flatly. He winced as he heard the graceless taps of Touya's footsteps as he jogged down the hall to the door.
“Hi!” He said from behind Natsuo. He was way too excited. “You must be my grandfather!”
The former hero turned to his son for guidance. Natsuo turned away.
“Yes,” Enji said simply. Natsuo could feel Touya's massive grin from behind him.
“Come on in!” Natsuo and Touya stepped aside, and Enji stepped inside. Natsuo turned to his own son, who had a wide smile spread across his face. Touya met his eyes, and upon seeing the pure joy there, Natsuo found that he had to look away to avoid getting even more upset.
Natsuo took a deep breath and walked away before he could say something he would seriously regret later.
He walked back to the kitchen and leaned over the sink, suddenly feeling quite nauseous. He felt his wife come up behind him, rubbing his back in a soothing pattern. “Did you know?” He whispered. He heard the clinking of those huge dangly earrings she always wore as she shook her head.
“He told me that the rest of them are coming, but…” There was a pause as neither of them knew what to say. Then she asked, “do you want me to go talk to him? Tell him to leave?”
And then Natsuo had to think about it, really think about it for the first time. He didn't want his father here, there was no way, but he wasn't sure he could handle watching him leave. It was almost paradoxical.
Also, he wasn't sure he could handle seeing Touya upset. And this would surely devastate him.
“No,” he said after a moment. “No, I think… I think this needs to happen.” He heard his wife nod.
“Alright. Let me know if you need anything, okay? And if he does anything to hurt you, tell me. I won't hesitate to beat his ass.”
Natsuo smiled at her words, feeling like a dumb lovestruck teenager again, because what did he do to deserve such an incredible woman? “Thank you.” She squeezed his shoulder before walking away.
He tried to regulate his breathing as best as he could before he finished cooking. He heard another knock, then the sound of someone opening it, followed by cheerful chatter. Natsuo was able to pick out both Shouto’s and Fuyumi’s voices. They must have come together.
Around half an hour later, Rei arrived, and Natsuo rushed to be the one to open the door for her. He let her step inside as he asked her about her day and how Snowball was doing.
“By the way, Mom, you should know—”
“Don't worry Natsuo, I know.”
Natsuo just stared at her, thoroughly confused. Rei smiled.
“Touya let me know when he invited me. Your son isn't so cruel, you know.”
“Oh,” Natsuo breathed, extremely relieved. Suddenly feeling a little hurt, he asked “so why didn't either of you tell me?”
Rei hesitated, seeming put-off by the question.
“He… he told me you knew.”
—
iii.
In the fumes of your anguish, oh, my blistering pride
—
Natsuo was, for the most part, a quietly angry person. He had a sort of righteous rage at the world, and, more specifically, at his father. It must have been genetic, and he knew where—or who—it came from. But no matter how angry he was, he always kept it to himself. Though he could never be sure if he was doing it for the right reasons, if he didn't blow up because he knew it wouldn't help, or because he knew he'd sound like Enji.
So, when he walked into the living room, where the rest of the family was sitting and chatting, he called “Touya!” as calmly as he could, and yet it was still far more aggressive than he'd ever been with the boy.
He was livid.
Touya just looked at him, grinning widely, clearly unfazed by his father's tone.
“What’s up?”
“Touya,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “We need to have a little chat.”
This seemed to alert Touya to the fact that something more serious was going on. The teen excused himself from the conversation he was having with his grandfather, and walked into the hall with his father.
“Is something wrong?” Touya asked nervously. Natsuo glared at him.
“You told grandma that I knew he was coming?”
“Oh,” Touya breathed. “That's why you're upset?”
“This is serious, Touya. You cannot do this shit! You hear me? You can't lie like this! I raised you better than that!” Natsuo's heart was racing as he felt his anger grow at Touya's dismissive tone.
“You wouldn't give me an answer, so I got it myself.”
“That's not right! And how dare you go behind my back? Have you not considered that maybe there's a reason why I never gave you an answer?”
“Of course I have, but—”
“Then why, Touya? Why would you disappoint me like this? I thought you were better.” Natsuo's voice got louder as he spoke, the rage he'd kept bottled up his whole life finally spilling out, at the worst possible moment.
“I'm so fucking disappointed in you,” Natsuo said. He eyed his son, looking at those watery turquoise eyes (Did they remind him of his father, or his brother? Did it even matter?), only to turn away immediately. “Fuck— I— I can't even look at you right now.”
“Dad, please—” Touya begged, voice breaking. “Please don't say that— I— I’m sorry—”
“I don't want to hear it.” He turned to walk away, whispering “I thought I could get away from the shitty family, but I guess I'm destined to find one everywhere I go.” It was quiet, he didn't mean it, not really, and he didn't think Touya would hear it.
A broken sob from behind him told him that he did.
—
iv.
I'm still burning like a tire fire deep down inside
—
Natsuo sat on his bed, staring at a picture of him and Touya. Not his son Touya, but the original Touya, Natsuo's brother.
When he was still around, the two of them had been quite close. Touya had done his best to protect him, doing everything in his power to hide how much he'd been hurting, how awful he'd felt.
And yeah, it pissed him off.
Because he knew. It was impossible not to. Natsuo knew, and Touya knew that he knew, yet he still put on an act.
What pissed him off even more was the fact that it was something the media always got wrong. Even now, over two decades after the war against the League of Villains, people still spoke about it. It made sense, of course. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, after all.
But the media only ever regarded Touya—or as they knew him best, Dabi—as a broken man with a rough childhood, yet still a person who was beyond saving. They always said that even if Touya were alive today, he would be in Tartarus, because no sane psychologist would bother with such a lost cause.
And Natsuo wasn't going to deny his brother's crimes, but wasn't abusing your family a crime, too? Why was just the memory of Touya damned, while Enji was allowed to walk?
So yeah, Natsuo was angry. He was angry at his father and hero society and himself. And also, really, really angry at Touya.
Both of them, in different ways.
He got up from where he was seated, walking over to the vanity mirror on the opposite side of the room. He held his hand up to his face, hiding the parts of him that he had never been able to perceive as his own, the parts that could only ever belong to Enji.
At least he no longer had red in his hair.
Natsuo did his best to school his face into a calmer expression. Anger had never looked good on him. Or maybe it looked too natural. And maybe that's what scared him the most.
A gentle knock on the door brought him back to reality.
His family was still downstairs, he realised with a chill. Had they heard how he'd spoken to Touya? Was someone coming to tell him that he was no better than Enji, or worse, Enji coming to shove it in his face that he was just like him?
“Natsu?” a soft, beautiful voice said, muffled by the door. But he'd always recognize his wife's kind, steady way of speaking.
“Come in,” Natsuo croaked. He listened to the quiet footsteps as the love of his life walked up behind him.
“Well?” She asked. “Spill. What happened?” Natsuo flinched at her tone. It wasn't mean in the slightest, but it was much firmer than usual.
Natsuo wasn't stupid. Something happened after he went upstairs. He secretly hoped Touya didn't blab as usual.
“What did Touya tell you?” Natsuo asked, trying not to burst into tears. Hearing his wife at all upset, made him realise how he'd messed up. He was… guilty.
“Touya didn't tell me anything,” she said. Natsuo breathed a dramatic sigh of relief. “But, Natsu, we all saw his face. He looked crushed. And he hasn't been speaking to anyone. What's going on? What did you say to him?”
Natsuo barely suppressed a quiet sob as tears gathered in his eyes. It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but Touya was always so so loud. They usually had to bribe him to be quiet. It bothered Natsuo a lot, though he never wanted to change who his son was, he missed his peace.
But for Touya not to be talking… Natsuo fucked up. Bad.
“I'm sorry,” was all he could manage before he burst into tears, turning to lean into his wife's arms.
She whispered a soft “oh” under her breath, not even hesitating to wrap her arms around Natsuo. She guided them to the bed, embracing him tightly. He was glad. He thought he might fall apart if there was nothing to keep him together.
“I said some awful things to him,” he said between hiccups, once he was able to calm down a little.
“Your conversation barely lasted two minutes,” his wife observed, sounding very amused. “I'm impressed you managed this in that time.”
Natsuo snorted. Leave it to her to make a shitty joke at the worst time, and still manage to comfort him. But he didn't even know what to say.
Thankfully, he didn't have to.
“What did you want to talk about, initially?”
Natsuo paused. Sure, he knew his intent had been to ask him why he lied about telling Natsuo that Enji was coming. But what did he really expect to get out of that conversation? He already knew the general answer. Touya wanted to know something, so he took the first opportunity to acquire that knowledge. So what did he want to talk about? And then Natsuo realised.
It was never about the motivation.
—
v.
Oh I'm burning like a tire fire and I don't know why
—
Natsuo tightly clutched the old shoebox under one arm, while the other lifted to knock on Touya's bedroom door.
There was no answer for several beats. “Touya?” Natsuo asked. “I want to talk.”
“Go away,” Touya's muffled voice came from inside. “Don't you want to avoid your shitty family?”
“Touya, please. I'm sorry. I said some awful things to you.” Natsuo inhaled deeply, trying not to react too drastically. “I need you to know that I didn't mean what I said. I promise. I love you, Touya.” His voice broke. “Our family isn't shitty. It's beautiful. I love you, and I love your mother, and I love this family. Will you please let me in? I want to show you something.”
There was another long silence. Natsuo sighed, giving up, and turned to leave.
The door opened behind him.
“What's that?” Touya asked. Natsuo turned around, smiling warmly at his son. His perfect Touya, too curious for his own good, who couldn't bear not knowing what Natsuo wanted to show him.
Natsuo walked past Touya, sitting down on the bed. Touya joined him, staring intently at the box, as though he could see through the cardboard if he looked at it hard enough. Natsuo pushed it onto Touya's lap. “Open it.”
Touya glanced at Natsuo, before turning back to the box and pulling the lid off perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Oh,” he said softly upon seeing the box’s contents.
He hesitantly reached inside, pulling out several scraps of newspaper articles, all detailing the life and death of the villain known as Dabi. Along with the articles were photos, some presented by the media, others Natsuo had dug up and kept for himself.
Natsuo had always felt a bit selfish, hoarding all of the trinkets that could possibly connect in some way to Touya, not allowing his siblings to have a thing. In some self-important way, he felt like he was entitled to these things, much more than Fuyumi or Shouto.
In his mind, Fuyumi had betrayed Touya by forgiving Enji, and Shouto had been too young to know the real Touya, so neither of them deserved the memories he left behind.
Natsuo nudged his son's hands, which were hovering over the box, trembling fingers still clutching a photo of all the Todoroki siblings together from when Shouto was still a baby. Reaching into the box, Natsuo pulled out a tiny All Might figurine. Some of the paint for his costume decals had rubbed off the smooth plastic, but it was still somewhat recognizable.
He could still vividly remember the day he got it. It was one of those days when things with Enji were especially bad. Touya had seen Natsuo's terrible mood, and dragged him to an arcade. They weren't supposed to leave without permission, Natsuo had adamantly argued, but Touya just grinned at him, saying it would be fun.
They wasted half the day playing games and teasing each other, and for once, Natsuo thought he might be okay with this life. Right before they left, Touya fished out a coin from his pocket, running over to one of those capsule machines. He shot Natsuo his typical lopsided grin once more, putting the coin in the machine. He grabbed the capsule that came out, handing it to Natsuo.
Natsuo opened it, revealing a small All Might figure, from his silver age. It wasn't the rarest you could get, but it was special to Natsuo. He treasured it for months, up until Touya Todoroki was pronounced dead later that year.
He had a hard time looking at it after that.
Natsuo displayed the little toy to his son. “When I got home after seeing Touya's video revealing his identity, I grabbed this and threw it at a wall,” he said with a chuckle.
Touya knew everything there was to know about his uncle's story post “death,” but he didn't know much about what happened before all that, when they were kids.
Natsuo decided, both as an apology and as a birthday gift, he'd tell him everything.