Chapter Text
Toya Todoroki sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, his small fingers drumming against the plastic armrest of the chair that was too big for his eight-year-old frame. The harsh fluorescent lights cast unflattering shadows across the pale blue walls, making everything look washed out and sickly. Just like his father had looked, being wheeled into the emergency room two weeks ago.
The memory was still vivid in his mind: the screech of tires, the crunch of metal, and the horrifying sight of his father's unconscious form lying amid the wreckage of what had once been their family car. Natsuo, only four years old, had been crying in their mother's arms, while Fuyumi stood frozen, her usually bright eyes wide with shock.
But what Toya remembered most was the blood. So much blood, staining his father's hero costume crimson, turning the proud flame-red of his beard into something darker, more sinister. The Symbol of Power, the man who had pushed himself and his children relentlessly in pursuit of surpassing All Might, had looked so small and vulnerable on that stretcher.
"Toya?" His mother's gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. Rei Todoroki stood before him, holding a paper cup of what he assumed was hospital coffee. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, making her look older than her years. "The doctors say we can see him now. He's awake."
Toya's heart skipped a beat. For two weeks, they had waited, hoping their father would open his eyes. The doctors had warned them about the head trauma, about the possibility of memory loss, but nothing could have prepared Toya for what he was about to encounter.
The walk to his father's room felt like a march to execution. Each step echoed in the quiet hallway, mixing with the steady beep of heart monitors and the distant murmur of nurses' conversations. Fuyumi held Natsuo's hand, both trailing behind Toya and their mother.
Room 415. The number seemed to mock them with its ordinary appearance. Inside, propped up against white hospital pillows, sat Endeavor – no, not Endeavor, just Enji Todoroki now. The fierce flames that usually crowned his head were absent, leaving him looking smaller somehow, more human.
"Hello?" His father's voice was different. Not in pitch or tone, but in the way he spoke. Gone was the commanding presence that could make pro heroes tremble. Instead, there was something almost... soft in his inflection. His turquoise eyes, usually sharp with ambition and determination, now held a confused gentleness that made Toya's stomach twist.
"Enji," his mother stepped forward, her hand reaching out but stopping short of touching him. "How are you feeling?"
His father's brow furrowed, creating creases in his forehead that Toya had never seen before. He'd seen his father angry, determined, disappointed – but never confused. "I... I'm sorry, but they tell me you're my wife? Rei?"
Toya watched as his mother's hand fell to her side, her pale face growing even whiter. "Yes, I'm Rei. And these are our children." She gestured to them, her voice trembling slightly. "Toya, our eldest. Fuyumi, and little Natsuo."
His father's eyes swept over them, searching for recognition that wasn't there. When those eyes landed on Toya, there was no hint of the expectations that had weighted their previous interactions. No silent demand for excellence, no critical assessment of his potential. Just... curiosity and something that looked almost like concern.
"They told me I'm a pro hero," his father said slowly, as if testing out the words. "Endeavor. Number two in Japan." He paused, looking down at his hands. "But I don't... I can't remember any of it. The doctors say I have amnesia."
Toya felt his world tilt slightly. The man before him wore his father's face, spoke with his father's voice, but everything else was wrong. Where was the man who had spent countless hours drilling him in quirk training? The father who had pushed him to his limits and beyond, all in pursuit of that impossible dream of surpassing All Might?
"I'm sorry," his father continued, and Toya nearly flinched at the genuine remorse in his voice. His father never apologized. Never. "I know this must be difficult for all of you."
What happened next shocked Toya to his core. His father smiled – not the confident smirk he sometimes wore after a successful hero operation, but a warm, kind smile that transformed his entire face. "Could you... could you tell me about yourselves? I'd like to know about my family."
Toya couldn't stop staring at his father's smile. It was wrong – everything about this was wrong. The gentle way his father's eyes crinkled at the corners, the soft tone in his voice as he asked questions about their daily lives, the genuine interest he showed in even the most mundane details. This wasn't the father he knew. This wasn't Endeavor.
"So, Fuyumi likes to read?" his father asked, leaning forward slightly in his hospital bed. "What kind of books do you enjoy, sweetheart?"
Fuyumi, still clutching Natsuo's hand, shifted nervously. "Um... I like stories about magical girls and... and adventure stories."
Instead of the dismissive grunt their father would have normally given, his face lit up with interest. "Magical girls? That sounds fascinating! Could you tell me more about those?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Toya exchanged glances with his mother, who looked as lost as he felt. The old Endeavor would have scoffed at such "frivolous" entertainment. He would have reminded them that they didn't have time for such things, that they needed to focus on training, on becoming stronger.
But this man – this stranger wearing their father's face – just waited patiently for Fuyumi's response, that unsettling smile never wavering.
Two weeks later, they brought him home. The doctors had warned them that familiar surroundings might help trigger his memories, but they also cautioned against pushing too hard. "Let him rediscover things at his own pace," they'd said. "Too much pressure could be counterproductive."
Toya had expected their home to feel different with this new version of his father in it. He hadn't expected it to transform entirely.
The first morning after his father's return, Toya woke to an unfamiliar smell wafting through the house. Sweet and warm, it drew him from his bed and down to the kitchen, where he stopped dead in his tracks.
There, wearing an apron over his casual clothes (casual clothes – another thing the old Endeavor would never have worn), stood his father. The kitchen counter was dusted with flour, and cooling on a rack were perfectly golden-brown cookies.
"Good morning, Toya!" his father called out cheerfully. "I hope you like chocolate chip. I found this recipe book in one of the cupboards, and I thought it might be nice to try making something sweet for everyone."
Toya stood frozen, unable to process the scene before him. His father – Endeavor, the Symbol of Power, the man who had spent years drilling into him the importance of surpassing All Might – was baking cookies. And humming. He was actually humming while he worked.
"Would you like to try one?" His father held out a cookie, still slightly warm. "Be careful, the chocolate might still be a bit melted."
Mechanically, Toya accepted the cookie. He bit into it, expecting... he wasn't sure what he expected. But the cookie was perfect – crisp around the edges, chewy in the middle, with just the right amount of chocolate. It was possibly the best cookie he'd ever tasted.
"This is... good," Toya managed to say.
His father beamed at him, and Toya felt that now-familiar twist in his stomach. The old Endeavor never beamed. He barely smiled, and when he did, it was usually more of a satisfied smirk after a particularly intense training session.
Training. The word echoed in Toya's mind, and he felt a sudden urge to mention it – to remind his father of their daily routine, of the hours spent pushing their quirks to their limits. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the memory of those endless, grueling sessions, or maybe it was the way his father was now carefully arranging cookies on a plate, making sure they looked pretty.
"Dad," he said instead, the word feeling strange in his mouth – they'd always called him 'father' before, anything else would have been too informal. "How did you know where to find the cookbook?"
"Oh, I couldn't sleep last night, so I decided to explore a bit. This house is so big! I found all sorts of interesting things. Did you know we have a whole cabinet full of cleaning supplies that look like they've barely been touched?"
Before Toya could respond, his father continued, "After I finish these cookies, I thought I might do some cleaning. This place could use a good scrub, don't you think?"
Over the next few days, their home transformed. Years of dust disappeared from corners they hadn't even known existed. Windows sparkled, floors gleamed, and somehow their father managed to make even the most neglected spaces look inviting.
But it was the evening activities that truly marked how much things had changed. Instead of the strict schedule of training and studying they'd always followed, their father insisted on "family time." He discovered the television – something that had previously only been used for watching hero news and analysis – and became fascinated by the various shows available.
That's how they ended up, one evening, all gathered in the living room as Fuyumi shyly suggested they watch her favorite show: Sailor Moon.
"Oh, this looks interesting!" their father exclaimed, settling onto the couch. "What's it about, Fuyumi?"
As Fuyumi explained the premise, Toya watched his father's face. He expected boredom, maybe even that old familiar disapproval. Instead, he saw genuine curiosity and excitement.
By the end of the first episode, their father was completely invested.
"Wait, so let me get this straight," he said, gesturing animatedly at the screen. "Usagi just happens to find a magical talking cat that gives her transformation powers? And she doesn't even question it? I mean, I know we live in a world with quirks – which, by the way, I'm still trying to wrap my head around – but come on!"
Despite his criticism, he immediately asked to watch another episode. And another. And another.
Soon, watching Sailor Moon became a nightly ritual. Their father would make snacks – his cooking skills apparently extended far beyond cookies – and they would all gather together to watch. He had commentary for everything: the villains' plans ("Why are they always after energy? What about, I don't know, money?"), the transformation sequences ("Does time stop while they're doing all these fancy moves?"), and especially Luna's mentoring style ("She's awfully harsh on Usagi for someone who picked a fourteen-year-old to save the world!").
But he never missed an episode. And gradually, Toya noticed something else: they were all looking forward to these evenings. Even their mother, who had always been quiet and withdrawn, began to join in the discussions. Natsuo would curl up in their father's lap – something that would have been unthinkable before – and ask endless questions about the show. Fuyumi bloomed under their father's enthusiastic interest in her favorite series, sharing her theories about future plot developments and explaining the deeper themes she noticed.
And Toya... Toya found himself laughing. Actually laughing, at his father's running commentary and increasingly elaborate theories about the true nature of the Dark Kingdom.
"I'm telling you," his father declared one evening, waving a cookie for emphasis, "there's got to be more to this Queen Beryl than we're seeing. Nobody's just evil for the sake of being evil. Maybe she's got a really bad landlord or something."
The strange part was, life at home had become... good. Better than good. The tension that had always hung in the air like a heavy cloud was gone. The constant pressure to improve, to be stronger, to be better – it had vanished along with their father's memories.
Yet sometimes, late at night, Toya would lie awake, troubled by questions he couldn't quite articulate. Who was this person who looked like their father but acted nothing like him? Why did he sometimes catch their father staring at his own hands with a puzzled expression, as if they belonged to someone else? And why did he sometimes mutter strange words under his breath, words when he thought no one was listening?
Most troubling of all: why didn't Toya miss the old version of his father? Shouldn't he feel guilty about preferring this gentler, warmer person who baked cookies and watched anime? The father who asked about their days with genuine interest, who praised their achievements – no matter how small – with authentic joy rather than measuring them against some impossible standard?
One afternoon, Toya found his father in the garden, carefully tending to some flowers that had long been neglected. He was humming again, something that sounded like a lullaby Toya had never heard before.
"Dad?" he said, the word still feeling strange but becoming more natural with each passing day.
His father looked up, smiling that warm smile that had once seemed so wrong but now felt increasingly right. "Yes, Toya?"
"Are you... happy? Like this, I mean? Not remembering who you were?"
His father sat back on his heels, considering the question with a seriousness that reminded Toya, just for a moment, of the old Endeavor. But then he smiled again, and the resemblance vanished.
"You know," he said, "the doctors keep telling me I should be frustrated or upset about not remembering my past. And sometimes I am – I look at photos or hear stories about things I've done, and it feels like they're talking about someone else entirely." He paused, looking at the flowers he'd been tending. "But mostly, I feel... peaceful. Like I've been given a chance to discover who I really am, without any expectations or preconceptions."
He turned to Toya, and there was something in his eyes – something warm and understanding and so different from the cold ambition that used to burn there. "And I'm discovering that what makes me happiest is being here with you all. Making cookies, watching silly shows, keeping our home clean and beautiful... these simple things feel right in a way I can't explain."
Toya felt something catch in his throat. "Even though you were a famous hero before? Even though you were the number two pro hero in all of Japan?"
His father reached out and gently ruffled Toya's hair – another gesture that would have been unthinkable before the accident. "Being a hero sounds amazing, and maybe those memories will come back someday. But right now, being your dad feels like the most important job in the world."
That night, as they all gathered for their usual Sailor Moon viewing session, Toya looked around at his family. His mother was actually smiling, something she'd rarely done before. Fuyumi was eagerly explaining her latest theory about the Moon Kingdom to their father, who listened with complete attention. Natsuo was half-asleep in their father's lap, clutching a cookie and completely at peace.
And their father – this new, gentle, cookie-baking, anime-watching version of their father – was gesturing excitedly as he debated with Fuyumi about whether Tuxedo Mask's random rose-throwing appearances made any tactical sense.
"I'm just saying," he argued, "if you have the power to throw magical roses, surely there are more effective ways to help than just showing up at the last minute with some vague encouragement and then disappearing!"
As Toya watched them, he realized something: maybe it didn't matter who this person really was, or why he was so different from the Endeavor they'd known before. Maybe what mattered was that for the first time in Toya's memory, their house felt like a home. Their family felt like a family.
And if sometimes their father said strange words, or looked confused by his own reflection, or seemed amazingly skilled at things the old Endeavor had never shown interest in – well, maybe that was just part of who he was now. This person who baked cookies, watched magical girl anime, and loved them without conditions or expectations.
As if sensing his thoughts, his father looked over at him and smiled that warm, genuine smile that had once seemed so wrong but now felt like the most natural thing in the world. "Toya! Come tell Fuyumi why you think Luna might be a secret villain. That theory of yours about her suspicious timing with the transformation items was really interesting!"
Toya smiled back and joined the discussion, letting himself sink into this new normal. Tomorrow, there would probably be more cookies, more cleaning, more debate about anime plot points. And somehow, that seemed perfectly fine.
More than fine – it seemed right.