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Shoto needed sleep–
He patted around his bed for his phone, only to find nothing. With a reluctant sigh, he mustered up every ounce of his strength to reach for the lamp near his bed.
–whether that be a nice, long nap, or an eternal sleep. He needed it.
It'd been three weeks, five days, fourteen hours and forty-five minutes since he had more than five, non-consecutive hours of sleep.
He's tried everything— over the counter medication, meditation, exercise, movies, music, everything.
With a source of light finally in the room, he saw that his phone had been on the floor the entire time. Realizing he must've kicked it after his episode, he plucked it off the ground as he struggled to get up off his bed.
When he'd first collapsed in the middle of training with Aizawa– mind you, closest he'd gotten to rest in over two weeks at that point– the school made him go to the hospital to spend the night.
As Shoto opened his bleary eyes the following morning to the sight of some of his concerned classmates, he realized he'd need to tell them the truth. The reason why he barely had been able to get a wink of sleep for the last couple weeks.
Night terrors.
More often than not, his dreams escaped him by the time he woke up gasping for air in the middle of the night— but there would be times.
Few times, sometimes. He'd remember.
They were never pleasant.
So, when the doctors had made everyone leave the room to try to find out the root of the problem, what the night terrors were typically about...
" I don't remember."
He lied.
But– it's not as though he'd been ashamed.
It's just.
Things didn't make any sense.
They'd just gotten Touya back, like, really got him back. He'd recovered enough to be able to talk to them for over an hour at a time now, and in a few more weeks he might even be able to leave the hospital occasionally!
His mother was also finally released from the hospital she resided at, and moved in with his sister.
Natsuo actually attended family dinners and outings now, and his father– well. He was...kind.
Kind was never a word he thought he'd use to describe his father, at all.
His family was finally, finally complete again. It was everything he'd ever wanted– so...why did he start to have bad dreams about things now?
He rarely got night terrors as a kid, yet back then it was only about his father. Now, his dreams focused mainly on his siblings— his parents there occasionally.
Which, once again, made zero sense.
He made his way to elevator which as much energy he could, which wasn't any at all.
He stood in the elevator for a few moments before he realized it hadn't moved an inch. He looked around the elevator, wondering if he forgot to bring a key or something–
And then it dawned on him after a few more seconds.
He didn't press any buttons.
Rubbing at his eyes and mentally smacking himself over the head(he had to energy to do it in real life), Shoto moved to press the button for the first floor.
'It's gonna be a long night...'
.
.
It was past midnight, and usually he would be the only person down in the common room. The overwhelming quiet of nights like this had been something he was quite used to by now, yet it was nothing he'd grown fond of.
Surprisingly, when the elevator door pinged open, his vision was flooded with bright lights, and he was greeted by the sight of a stressed-out-looking Shinsou vigorously scribbling at a piece of paper.
As he ventured out into the room, Shinsou didn't even look up.
They'd never really talked before, and the look on Shinsou's face as he tugged on his hair in frustration told him tonight probably wouldn't be the night.
So, he lightly weaved throughout the room, around the couches, and made his way to the kitchen without so much as a word.
Part of him wanted to offer help– but his sleep deprived, muddled brain took him two whole minutes to remember he had to press the buttons on the elevator so it would take him where he needed to go, and it did not infact read his mind.
(Wouldn't it be great if it did, though?)
When he at last reached the kettle, there was already steaming water in it.
He glanced behind him to see Shinsou take a sip of what he assumes to be coffee.
'He wouldn't mind if I used some of the water, right?'
He'd just refill it, it was no big deal.
So, he took out his mug and poured the boiling water– a cat themed gift from Kaminari in their first year, by the way– and stirred as he stared blankly into the ripples it made.
The only sounds in the joined spaces were soft clinks and frantic scribbling.
Shoto chugged the coffee after a few minutes of allowing it to cool, chucked it into the dishwasher and berudgedly made his way upstairs.
As he made it back to the elevator, he wondered if he was forgetting something again.
.
.
.
It would be another few nights later before he found that his mind ran too much for his heart to stop beating so fast.
Too much so that he'd go down to the common room to find a wide-awake Shinsou, Math homework sprawled out on the coffee table once again.
This time, Shoto hadn't been in the mood for coffee.
He'd actually intended to try to take a nap on the couch, out in the open and way safer, but with Shinsou there– he had second thoughts.
Before he could turn to go back in the elevator though, Shinsou let out a loud, obviously fake cough.
Shoto's eyes snapped to him as he gestured to a couch opposite of him.
"Not here to stop you from doing you, man. Sit down if you wanna sit, I don't own the place."
Shoto hesitated at first, but the thought of going back to his room, all alone, did not compare to the idea of being in someone's company.
So, he took seat. It felt a little odd being around someone in his pajamas, but Shinsou didn't seem to care. They sat in silence for a while, Shinsou writing and Shoto drifting.
"You didn't refill the kettle."
"..Huh..?" said Shoto, drowsily.
"The other night," Shinsou began, finally placing his pencil down in order to stretch from his place on the floor, "you said that you'd refill the kettle. You didn't."
"Oh." said Shoto, a little dumbfounded.
So he was forgetting something.
"Does...sorry. Did that bother you?"
"No. And, you don't need to apologize. Mr. Aizawa just told me that you've been having issues remembering things lately, so I should remind you of stuff any chance I get."
Shinsou looked at him, and him at Shinsou. All he could muster was a slight nod as his eyes finally shut fully.
Shoto could've sworn he heard himself murmur something, but what? He had no clue. Maybe he could ask Shinsou about it.
.
.
.
.
Hours later, and Shoto found himself being slapped awake.
He jolted as he was met with Kaminari's face way too close for comfort.
"Why are you in my room...?" Shoto questioned, blinking multiple times over in hopes he was just seeing things.
"Uh, dude. Your room's like three feet away. You're outside. Woke me up because you were snoring so loud!"
Shoto felt around for his bedsheets, only to find the roughness of nylon, brown carpet.
He was in the hallway.
On the floor.
"Oh. Sorry. I must've fell asleep...could you like. Move? Please?"
'Wait— didn't I fall alseep on the couch..?'
Kaminari seemed to realize he had knelt too close to his face, so he hopped back onto his feet.
"My bad! Anddd I was just kidding," He chuckled, offering a hand. It would be ungrateful of him not to take it.
"I was on my way to the bathroom when I went, 'oh look a lump on the floor! Hope it's not Todoroki' ha ha..ha."
Kaminari's laugh was obviously forced, and his joke didn't even make sense. With a little bit of a struggle, Shoto was back onto his feet and dusting off his pajamas.
"Sooo, you uh. 'Fell asleep' in the hallway. That doesn't seem very healthy man– when was the last time you had, like, a full night's sleep?"
That was a good question. A question Shoto refused to truly acknowledge the answer to at the moment.
"I uh, I don't. Really remember? It's not a big deal or anything." Shoto stammered– now that he was awake, he felt how chilly the hallway was.
Was anyone else as cold as he was right now? He was practically shivering.
"He-eyyy man? You good? You're shaking–"
"I'm f-fine. I just. Need to go b-back to my d-dorm. G'night Kam.."
Shoto interrupted himself with a serious of harsh coughs. Kaminari looked almost mortified as he rushed to his slowly collapsing classmate.
"Okay, okay. This is okay- you're gonna be okay! Let's just call Mr. Aizawa and–"
"No!"
Kaminari's mouth twisted shut. Shoto's voice was raspy, and his outburst was immediately followed by an onslaught of more coughing.
(When was the last time he ate anything and it stayed in his system? Or drank something other can coffee? He tried tea and eggs the other day, but ended up doubled over his toilet for over an hour. He doesn't like the taste of water anymore..)
"Pl-please...just. Help me get to my dorm? If-if you want. To he-help m-me..."
"O..okay. I can do that– just. Hang in there..!"
The short journey felt like miles.
His door was already unlocked, so Kaminari just dropped him off on his bed and made sure he was 'all tucked in'.
However, he hesitated to leave.
"... You sure you don't want me to tell anyone about this? Not even Midoriya? Or, or Shinsou? I know you guys are getting kinda close–"
"Pl..ease. Just leave. I'll.. be fine."
Kaminari stared at him for moments more, as if he had a lot more in him to try and convince him otherwise– but, he just sighed and wished him a good night.
As he shut the door, he paused for a second.
"Hey man, just know. We're here for you. We know things have been hard since the whole..thing. With your brother? So...if anything is up, we're all right here."
The door clicked shut.
Shoto was fast asleep.
.
.
.
.
Kaminari never brought up the incident the following day. So, neither did Shoto. He believed it was for the best.
None of his classmates or teachers approached him on it too, so Shoto believed that Kaminari stayed true to his word
Things followed the same blueprint the following night(minus the whole Kaminari thing). Then the night after that. And the night after that.
Small talk from Shinsou, awkward silence, Shoto falling asleep and waking up two hours later to a dark common with Shinsou nowhere in sight.
It was on the fifth night, when Shinsou had been propped up on loveseat watching television instead of manically doing Math homework due in six hours, that Shoto finally said something first.
"...Do you have trouble sleeping too?"
Shinsou glanced over at him, then back at the tv.
"Mhm, a little. Mostly I just have a really messed up sleep schedule. Fall asleep at 4. Wake up at 11, do homework. Go back to sleep at 3am. Wake up at 6. Rinse, wash, repeat."
"Oh. Okay. Cool."
That explains why Shinsou was never around by the time he woke up. He actually slept at night.
Good for him.
"And uh... what about you? If you don't mind me asking." Shinsou asked, voice a little small and cautious, as if approaching a wild animal or something.
"...Nightmares."
"Every night?"
"..Yeah. Most nights, atleast."
Shinsou didn't say anything at that, instead letting a (slightly) uneasy silence wash over them.
"If you ever need someone to talk to about it, i'm right here. I have my fair share of nightmares too. Messed up families, crushed aspirations, all of it. And if you think I haven't already been terrorized by it, try me."
They locked eyes for a moment, and Shoto was searching for a hint of a lie.
He found no such thing.
"...Okay. I'll think about it."
Shinsou grinned, a real one, and threw his legs on the coffee table(Iida would throw a fit).
"That's all I needed to hear."
.
.
.
.
.
Blink
Something felt off in the mirror again.
Blink
He'd been staring at himself for who knows how long now, yet he couldn't place a finger on it.
He heard the bell ring a little while ago— so lunch was over. His friends must've left by now. To go to class.
Yes. Right. Class.
He should probably get there too...
But. Something was off with his face.
Shoto stared at the reflection, tilting his head. As expected, it followed suit– but. It felt...different. It felt more mocking than he remembered doing it.
It was also a moment slower than him.
Is that normal? Are mirrors usually delayed?
Or is it just him?
It would make sense if it was. Something was always wrong with him.
Like his reflection right now.
Wrong. Very wrong. Always something wrong with Todoroki.
The Todorokis, a Todoroki, that Todoroki, this Todor–
"OI! WHAT'DYA THINK YOU'RE DOIN'!?"
Shoto jumped, hands slipping off the countertop. He didn't even realize he had been holding himself up. He turned around to face the intruder, only for it to just be Bakugou.
He clenched and unclenched his hands as he realized they slipped because still had soap on it. The faucet was on, too.
"..ourth time—ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING!?"
"Um..yes? Sorry. I- I have to..wash my hands.."
At Shoto's words, Bakugo's entire demeanor shifted. Like a cat being released from being dangled over a bathtub full of water.
Usually, Bakugou was in a constant state of 'chihuahua on edge', but for once, his stance didn't look like a prickly dog looking to pounce at any moment.
Shoto whipped around, shoving his hands under the running water to frantically scrub at his hands.
'1..2..3...7..10...25...32..'
"...Hey. They're clean."
Steady footsteps approached him from behind, but Shoto didn't look to see what it was– whatever it was this time would disappear before it got to him.
It always did.
'...62...138—'
Hands. On him. His shoulders. His arm. Grabbing.
They've never touched him before.
Are they getting stronger? Does he need to fight back?
He'sneverusedhisquirkonthembef—
POP
"Todoroki." bakugo snarled, sweaty fingers letting go of his hands. "Kill the fire, and calm the hell down. Kaminari said you've been acting off your rockers later, but he didn't say it was this bad."
It was then Shoto realized he had accidentally activated his fire quirk, causing a small explosion to set off on the surface of his skin.
He was bleeding.
Bakugou reached forward, turning the faucet off. He then grabbed Shoto by his collar and began to drag him out the boys' bathroom.
Shoto could barely make out the words that Bakugo muttered angrily under his breath, but he's pretty sure it was an onslaught of curse words and bad nickmames directed at him.
"Wh..where are we going?"
"Recovery girl."
"But–"
A loud explosion made his ears ring, and a pissed of Bakugo stopped in his tracks to glare at him.
Deciding this was a battle not worth fighting, Shoto let him drag him all the way down to Recover Girl's office.
"First this bastard misses class, then he friggin–"
They were stared at. A lot.
.
.
.
Like the incident with Kaminari, the one in the bathroom was never brought up again.
(Atleast, not to his face.)
Laying in his bed that night, Shoto's mind wandered to what Shinsou had said.
His mind had been made up since the moment he made his offer, Shoto just didn't want to seem desperate.
It was already bad enough that he spent the hours of 8-12 staring at the ceiling, waiting for an appropriate time to go down to find his late night buddy.
Atleast now, he'd have a reason.
__________________________________________
One might think Shoto would be hesitant to take up Shinsou's offer, but he was quick to realize he didn't have an issue telling a practical stranger his entire life story, with all the nitty gritty details.
(He was actually quite good at it.)
Meeting with Shinsou every night slowly but surely started to change him.
For one, he finally started to learn about social cues and how to not only notice them, but give them back!
Just the other day, he engaged in sarcasm with Sero, and he felt not a hint of confusion in the entire exchange.
Shoto felt pretty good about their whole arrangement, and for a while, the sleep he was regularly missing out on went almost unnoticed.
Almost.
Something was chasing after him— and it was fast. He had to keep running, but there was nowhere else to go. He skipped training so his father made him spend the night in the forest.
Leaves crunched and branches tore away from their kins as he ran for his life through the woods.
Whatever it was– it was gaining on him. He needed to run run run.
He was barefooted, his feet hurt. He thinks they're bleeding, but it's too dark to see any blood.
Shoto greedily sucked in as much air as possible everytime his lungs allowed him to breathe, but it left him in a coughing fit everytime.
Crunch.
Snap.
Fwip.
Don't fall, just keep running–
"What the hell Shoto?!"
....The Thing can talk?Could it be, it was his father this whole time? Had he come back for him? Did he feel sorry? Did he finally realize that Shoto was just a boy who wanted nothing but to live a happy life with his parents and siblings?
Was that too much to ask...?
Shoto felt as though he was running in place.
"...No. It's not– Listen. I don't know what's going on in your head right now– but you need to wake up so I can help you. The moment you stop running and open your eyes, I promise the monster will go away."
What if this was just a trick? Or maybe, a test? His father always gave him tests he could never pass– maybe. Maybe this was all just a test to prove he's worthy of being Endeavor's son.
But...
Does he want to be?
"...You promise...?"
"Promise."
With that, Shoto finally let go of the darkness.
Shoto jolted awake, hands immediately coming to grab at his chest.
"It's okay man, I got you. Just keep breathing–"
Shinsou slowly released his hold on Shoto and allowed him to slide down the wall, unto the floor.
Shoto groaned as his feet dragged along the carpet, and squeezed his eyes shut once more.
"You stepped on glass. I think you bumped into the vase on your floor, but I have to go check it out. I think the blood trail you left all over this place will be enough to guide me to the cause, though."
Shinsou joked; maybe to make fun of him, maybe to lighten the mood, maybe to distract him from the pain that was just settling in.
He was knelt to be at eye level, hands propped on his knee as he watched Shoto take slow, deep breaths.
"I need to go get a first aid kit, okay? Will you be able to sit on your own?"
Being alone sounded scary– but. If only for a moment, Shoto thinks he could manage.
Shoto mustered up a nod, sniffling as a tear slowly fell from his face. How long had he been crying?
"I promise i'll be right back, don't panic."
After waiting for a nod of acknowledgement from Shoto, Shinsou jumped to his feet and ran down the hall to locate one of the emergency first aid kits they had around the dorms.
(Kaminari, and Bakugo. Two sides of the same coin.)
True to his word, Shinsou turned back the corner no more than two minutes later.
In no time, Shoto's wounds on his feet were bandaged.
"Alright, now we need to call someone."
Alarms wailed in Shoto's head at the thought of Mr. Aizawa finding out about this.
He was supposed to be a hero, saviour to all those who needed him. Yet here he was, crumbled to the floor because of bad dreams.
"Hey. Enough of that. Every good hero has atleast one ghost that haunts them at night, every hero. You have nothing to be ashamed."
Shinsou placed a hand on his shoulder, a small bit of warmth in the shivering cold of the night.
"...My ghosts are my family."
"And that's okay. Not everyone's ghost will look the same, sound the same, be the same. At the end of the day, they all haunt. And that's all they need to be scary."
Shinsou peered into his eyes, and it was if he was searching his soul, "I'm here. We're here. No one expected you to be able to move on from what happened— heck, it was traumatic for us to watch it all go down on the news. I can only imagine what it was like for you to be living it."
None of his friends, besides Midoriya, knew the full extent of his father's abuse. Despite the broadcasts of when it all went down.
(Even then, Midoriya barely knows the half of it.)
Shinsou might just be the first.
Shoto took one deep, deep inhale.
"...My father bought my mother in a quirk marriage, forced her to have children, then locked her in a mental hospital when she hurt me as he then proceeded to neglect three of this four children, and focus all of his negative attention on me as he beat and trained me to surpass All Might, and despite his wicked ways, today they all live as none of that ever happened and now I feel like if i'm wrong, or slow, or just. Broken. Because I can't, for the life of me, bring myself to see things the same way that they do. As a matter of fact, ever since my brother started making a recovery, i've been having these terrible nightmares about how now that he's back, my family won't need me anymore and I should've just never existed so they could've had this the entire time. And these dreams have been keeping me awake at night and I haven't had a full night's sleep in ages and I feel like i'm going insane."
Exhale.
Shinsou's wide eyes mirrored his own. That was the most he talked in weeks. Maybe even months. Maybe ever.
"I...didn't think we'd get this far. Wow. Okay, okay. Thank you– for telling me. All that- ohmygoshIdidn'tthinkthiswouldwork..."
"Oh gosh. Did I say too much?!–" Shoto's heart quickened; he made his classmate too uncomfortable and now he was gonna hate him–
"No! No no no no! This is wonderful, actually! Everything i've ever wanted–sorta– I just. Didn't think it'd be that easy to get you to open up to me, off all people. I thought I would've had to drag down Midoriya in his All Might onesies to get you talking—" Shinsou paused mid-sentence, realizing he had just been rambling too.
"Sorry. Adreneline. You were really hard to catch."
Shoto snorted, eyes landing on the trail of blood leading up the staircase.
"I have to clean that up, huh."
"Not if you let me call in an emergency with Mr. Aizawa? I can tell him it was just good old-fashioned sleepwalking. No nightmares mentioned."
"...You'd do that for me..?"
Shinsou's eyes softened, a small smile forming on his face. He held his hand out, pinky out.
"Isn't that a bit child-ish?"
"Pinky promises timeless, dear Shoto."
With the roll of an eye, Shoto reach his hand out and locked pinkies with Shinsou.
"Whatever you tell me, I won't tell anyone else." he said, "and also, friends?"
"...Friends."
.
.
.
"Repeat after me,
I."
"I."
"Am not."
"Am not,"
"My father."
"M..my fa..."
"I."
"I.."
"I."
Shoto huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms as he leant back into the sofa. Or– that's the graceful way to say it.
It was more that he sagged. Drooped into the fuzzy couch and slowly seeped into every crevice it had to offer.
He had no idea how they got here. One minute he had not so accidentally spilled that his parents were in a quirk marriage, and the next Shinsou knew his entire tragic backstory and was making him repeat silly affirmations every night.
Ridiculous.
"I still don't see why this is important all." said Shoto, head lulling to the side.
After two more weeks sitting in this room together late at night, he'd say the two of them had become pretty familiar with eachother. Atleast— Shinsou knew a whole bunch about him.
"For the 70th time, Shoto. Affirmations are an important part to understanding and affirming your identity," Shinsou huffed back, throwing his legs over the arm rest of the couch adjacent to him.
"There's nothing wrong with my identity. I know who I am."
"It look Midoriya of all people breaking his entire body or something to get you to realize 'It'S yOuR PoWer ToDorOki!' Obviously you have some kind of identity crisis going on."
"First of all— that long time ago. I should have never told you that. Besides, i've come a long way."
"Oh reallyyy," Shinsou dragged, propping himself up on his elbows to glare into at Shoto.
"Yes, really."
They stared at eachother for a blank moment, before Shinsou shot up from his lazy spot on the couch. He slipped down to the ground, folded his legs and tapped the space next to him.
"Alright then, tell me who you are Todoroki. And you can't say anything soba related."
.
.
.
He had nothing.
The only thing else that came to mind was, 'Son of Endeavor', but that wouldn't really help his case.
"Nope, it wouldn't."
Crap. Did he say that out loud?
"Yup, you did." Shinsou deadpanned.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, Shoto dropped his head into the crook of his elbows and let out a loud sigh.
Shinsou stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating his next move, and then he too let out a loud sigh,
"Okay, let's get this straight. Your dad? Flaming garbage. You? Not flaming garbage. Why? Because having the same dna does not make you the same person— ask any scientist about it!"
"But it's not just dna," Shoto huffed, voice muffled by his elbows and his proximity to the coffee table, "it's soul."
Shinsou stared at him, eyebrows quirked and mouth agape. He looked like a fish out of water, like if he was about to argue, but then decided the whole thing was not worth it.
"Y'know what. This isn't working— let's try something different. What about, instead of trying to separate you from Endeavorr‐" Shinsou placed his index finger on Shoto's forehead, guiding him upwards to look at him, "how about, we try to make it so Endeavor isn't such a bad person to be compared to!"
"...Not possible."
"Well, I tried."
Shinsou retracted his finger, causing Shoto to be returned to the table with a loud thwack!
Once again, silence stretched over the room. Their back and forth on this topic had been going on for several says now, yet Shinsou hadn't been able to completely hammer it into Shoto's head that he was his own person.
His person, with his own actions, his own morals, his own past, his own likes and dislikes, his own face, his own eyes, his own hair, his own power.
Just him.
Shinsou brain racked for another way to put it— but Shoto beat him to breaking the silence again.
"Am I wrong for feeling jealous about a family that never wanted me."
"...Did you always want that family, or to be part of it?"
"Yes."
"Then of course not."
"...Okay."
"Y'know," sighed Shinsou, bringing his hand to rub his neck, "maybe i'm trying to jump ahead here. Let's work our way from the top to the bottom, starting with your most recent problem. We can deal with the childhood trauma later, okay?"
Shoto finally peered up from his cage of arms.
"..You know you don't have to do this, right?"
"Hey, I offered my help. Trust me, if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't be here right now."
That, for some reason, made Shoto smile. This is what friends did, it would seem. And he was glad to have someone who took that role seriously.
He hoped that one day, when he was better, he could do the same.
With a reluctant sigh, Shoto finally sat up once more. Hands folded on his lap, he straightened his posture and looked Shinsou head-on.
"Hit me."
"That should be my line— but alright then." Shinsou smirked, "So, Mr. Todoroki Shoto. The one and only, the original copy, the one unlike any other—"
"Is this Present Mic talk?"
"—Yes. Don't interrupt. Tell me!
What's it like when you visit home now? You told me things were different?"
.
.
.
Some days later during lunch, one of the times he and Hitoshi ducked their respective friends and hid away in one of the stairwells, Hitoshi had jumped nearly two feet in the air as he finally had a way to describe him.
He compared him to a kid who finally opened one of his rare collectables to actually play with it for the first time.
His entire life before, his own self was stuck on a shelf collecting dust, only to be marvelled at for what or who it signified, and never for the fact that it too is a figure of its own value, something that deserved to be loved for what it was and what it could do.
It was a difficult to understand analogy at first, Shoto was never allowed any kind of toy, but after asking Midoriya about how "collectibles" worked, he realized that Hitoshi was once again right.
Shoto didn't want to be a toy left on a shelf— he had values of his own. He just needed to find it.
So, Shoto experimented. Listened to old and new songs, tried many different foods, went on walks, went to petting zoos, scowered the internet(bad idea) and spent the following two weeks discovering himself.
Things were good.
His friends were happy for him.
Everything would have been fine–
.
"You're a failure, Shoto. If only Touya hadn't been cursed to be unable to bear his flames. He could have been perfect. Our family could have been perfect.
Without you."
His father stood ominously above his curled body– red eyes glowing in the dark of the training room–just like when he was a kid.
Except, he wasn't a kid. His limbs stretched too far, and his body spilled over the edges of the mat, no matter how small he tried to make himself.
.
"Why couldn't you be more like Touya, huh!? If you hadn't been born Touya wouldn't have been outcasted from this family! Now look at him!" his sister's contorted face cried from the foot of his bed, clawing at his bedsheets as he tried his best to fight both hers and the hands of the unknown figures in his room.
.
After a long night of nightmares, Shoto sat huddled up in a pile of blankets in the common room waiting for the sun to rise. Aizawa-sensei came in to drop off a box of items they had requested a while back and found him wide awake at 4am, drenched in sweat and tears.
He made him tea and sat down with him in silence.
.
His mother gripped onto his body tight, rocking back and forth like a mother nursing a newborn baby, except he wasn't a newborn. His limbs stretched too far, and his body barely managed to fit in his mother's lap as she steadily rocked.
"Oh my sweet, sweet Touya. How i've missed you..." her airy voice filled the silent room, that wasn't his name, but he felt like it should be. Would things be better if it were?
.
There was another time Aizawa-sensei had found him after a bad nightmare. This time, it was closer to midnight and he was in a less appealing condition.
Translation, he was puking his guts out in the kitchen sink while his entire face had been bloodied.
Aizawa hauled him off to recovery girl and had him take the day off in there.
He never asked any further questions, though. Just strongly suggested therapy and offered an ear if needed.
They both knew he'd never take that offer though.
.
—If it weren't for the nightmares. The reason why he started to stay up late in the first place. The reason why he found himself wandering into the common room all those nights ago.
They never stopped. He'd just been distracted from them.
He still couldn't sleep at night. And though he had Shinsou around, there'd be times where he didn't. And those nights were...scary. To say the least.
Relentless, uncomfortable, sometimes morbid nightmares, and they'd all start the same.
His family, except for him, seated at a dinner table. Laughing. Happy.
Even Touya was there– scarless. No hint of the villain he'd one day become.
Then, a baby would cry, and everyone's eyes would snap to his mother.
Anger.
Touya would then burst into tears and run out of the dining room as a baby appears in the middle of the table, red and white hair perfectly split in the middle.
His father rose up in excitement, his mother's face dropped in horror, and his siblings would disappear altogether.
From there, things would descend into utter chaos.
To Shoto, it was a senseless dream. But he knew what what every single second of it meant.
The things that would follow the initial dream is what always had him waking up in a cold sweat— from torturous training with his father, to his siblings all ganging up on him to throw him in the fireplace.
Shoto just wanted sleep, was that too much to ask for?
(Nightmares did not in any way, shape or form mean believable. They still shook him awake at night– and that's all that counted.)
__________________________________________
He almost visited home today because of a voice call from Fuyumi.
She sounded...concerned. It was almost believeable.
He would have caved in– he was about to. But then, he heard a voice. Touya's voice. Whatever he said made Fuyumi giggle and mute the mic.
He was home, and no one told him.
Shoto waited in the awkward silence, like a dog waiting for his owner to bring it food.
Five minutes passed, then ten.
The mic finally unmuted and Fuyumi's apologetic voice flooded his room.
"Oh Shoto! I'm so, so sorry! I got distracted, where were we?–"
"Forget about it."
Click.
To Shoto, they had moved on from him. It sounds silly when he says it out loud, but it makes sense.
He feels so selfish to think about it.
His mother smiled freely whenever he was around now, too focused on the one she never thought she'd get back instead of the one who waited to for her.
His siblings got their brother back– the one they grew up with. The one that they loved.
Then. Then there's his father.
His father stopped calling when Touya was back in his arms. No training check-ups, no voicemails, no emails. Nothing.
When he goes home, all he gets is a nod and a smile. It's not as though he...missed his father.
No, that would be ridiculous.
Everything was just clear now. Shoto was always meant to be a tool. Touya was his son. Touya might've made him love Natsuo and Fuyumi, too.
But Shoto just had to mess it all up.
Touya was born to Enji and Rei, Shoto was made by them; manufactured.
Touya was his parents' blood, flesh and soul—Shoto was sweat and tears.
Touya Todoroki was skin, Shoto Todoroki was plastic.
Eventually, Touya rotted. Shoto was meant to last forever, outliving everything and everyone around him, killing it slowly but surely.
.
.
.
.
"I have some bad news."
Shinsou had cornered him on his way to History class, dragging him into one of the empty club rooms.
"Mr. Aizawa wants me to start doing night patrols with him, and so I won't be able to meet up with you at night anymore."
Oh.
"Oh."
Shinsou grimaced at his words, or lack there of, and placed his hands on either of his shoulders.
"We're still friends, okay? We'll meet up every lunch time, and. We can talk to eachother every single morning on our way to school! As a matter of fact, we'll walk together!"
Okay...Shoto could work with this.
"Alright. That's cool."
To be convincing, Shoto mustered up his best 'please believe me' smile. It seemed to have worked when Shinsou let out a breath of relief.
"Okay, cool. Just know— I am not abandoning you or trying to run away from our friendship."
...Is that what Shinsou thought of him? That he was so clingy he'd be that quick to believe that Shinsou was, "abandoning" him just because he couldn't hangout every night?
Had Shoto gotten so pathetic?
"—...Todoroki...? You there man?"
Shoto blinked back to reality, realizing he had completely zoned out mid-conversation.
"Right, yes. I get it. I'll...talk to you later. Whenever, that is. Goodbye."
With that, Shoto hurried out the room and down the hall to class, not stopping to hear whatever it was Shinsou was trying to to tell him on his way out.
Guess he was back to square one now.
__________________________________________
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Shoto was all alone now.
Shinsou had patrol. No one else would be downstairs if he went. No matter where he was, be it in his room, or face first in the carpet of the common rooms, he'd still be alone.
To be fair, Shoto managed to fall asleep for three hours tonight, from 11 pm to 2 am.
It was now 2:37, and his dream wouldn't stop replaying on his mind.
He was on a hill. His family was on the ground glaring up at him.
They yelled mean, mean things at him—spewing insults and curses. Telling him he should've never been born. That their family(their family) could've been perfect without him.
Then, grey clouds filled the sky, and suddenly Shoto couldn't breathe. His eyes watered shut, and he gasped for any amount of air as he fell down to his knees.
Smoke.
Shoto pried his eyes open, gagging when bile rose in this throat and threatened to claw its way out.
The air was thick. So, so thick. He could barely see.
But there, at the very bottom of the hill, his family.
He was surrounded by blue flames. Burning.
But, they were smiling.
Shoto wanted to scream out what was left of his lungs to ask why? How could they be so happy when Touya was killing him?
He wheezed his last breath, and carried by the wind was a whisper. A murmur.
"Because this was all your fault, Shoto."
And they were right.
Gosh, were they right.
Everyday that passes, everytime he has to visit home and see the entire family together, happily.
Everytime he thinks back to how hard they had to fight for things to be so normal.
Everytime Shoto just thinks about how it could've happened sooner if it weren't for him.
If Shoto hadn't been born, his father would've given up. He'd have finally opened his eyes to see that all he needed was right there.
His father had something real, something genuine. They could've been a family. Instead, he had to give it all up for the likes of a toy. Something he could play with; mould and craft until it was his perfect masterpiece.
Touya would've still been his favourite son. His first born— his baby.
His mother told him the stories. About how she'd never seen him look at anyone else the way he did at Touya– even after his quirk developed.
She didn't say it, but Shoto knew that him being born is what sent Endeavour off the deep end.
The idea that his dreams could come true made him drop the reality he had right in his hands.
Touya would've done everything to be his father's hero.
__________________________________________
Seven weeks, six days, five hours, and forty-three minutes.
Since the nightmares started.
Since he visited Touya's hospital room and found his entire family there, joking and having fun with one another, and when they saw Shoto entered the room, Natsuo had belted out, "Oh! Shoto! I didn't even realize you weren't here yet!"
Seven weeks, six days, five hours, and thirty-two minutes since he sat in that hospital room, and watched as his family was the happiest he'd ever seen them to get their precious Touya back.
They didn't even look at him.
Not then, not when Dabi had first revealed himself, not when the family had made the decision to take Touya back into their care, their home, their lives.
They never once looked back at him to see the way he had been cracking.
That moulded clay that was made to last forever was about to crumble, and they didn't care.
He didn't care.
Because he had his real son back.
Shoto was no longer wanted— needed.
And the moment they let go of him, he fell from the highest shelf and shattered on the ground.
Even in his final moments, he was a hazard to everyone around him.
His friends grew concerned, every time he left class the moment bell rang, every day that they searched the school during lunches and breaks, never to find him.
Todoroki Shoto was becoming a ghost, too.
.
.
.
.
He hasn't left his room in days..
He can hear them say— but he pays them no mind.
They're just voices. Nonsense, all of them.
So what if he missed a couple classes? Skipped a couple meals and hadn't showered in a while?
No painting is worth varnishing if was no one ever looks at it.
He began to miss the days he was able to fall asleep on the couch— even if it was just for a few hours— two. Sometimes three.
He hadn't slept a wink in the last three days.
His eyes hurt– and his room was cold.
Part of him wished the voices that nagged him were the ones of his friends— maybe then he'd listen to them.
But no, they weren't his friends.
They'd lie and pretend to care but then they'd say mean things.
His real friends hadn't said a word to him at all.
Maybe they sent messages...?
But Shoto stopped hearing the purr of his phone a long time ago.
"The battery must've died...i'll charge it after I get some sleep."
Shoto turned and tossed, yet the sleep never came.
__________________________________________
Tonight's nightmare had him staring at himself in the mirror of his bathroom.
For the first time in weeks, he looked...different again. He tried his hardest to look for Shoto in his the reflection, but he couldn't stop seeing everyone else.
His mother's hair.
His father's eyes.
His sister's tears.
His brother's anger.
What should have been Touya's life.
Nights like this one had him wondering if anything about him was truly his anymore.
Was it ever..?
So, he formed a small icicle on his finger tips, and brought it to his father's eye. The left one. Can't miss it.
He dragged his finger down down down, then up up up again.
The ice dripped along his hand and into the sink, despite the fact that his ice didn't melt.
A muted sound came from beyond his bathroom door, almost like a knock, but he paid it no mind. It was then he realized he was bleeding— which was...odd. To say the least. Dolls didn't bleed, did they?
That's what all his friends called him in his dream–nightmare? Memory.
(When was the last time he slept a full night? This week he probably slept about three hours alone. It was already Friday. Recovery girl gave him meds to take but he keeps forgetting. He keeps forgetting alot of things, if he's being honest. He hasn't eaten since Sero's self-proclaimed Taco Tuesday, so it had been a couple hours. Maybe he should fine something to eat. He had to be ready for the big exam tomorrow.)
Todoroki stared at himself in the mirror, finally seeing what his mother did all those years ago. His hands seek his face, digging, scratching– searching.
For what his sister said she saw in him that night they admitted Dabi—not quite Touya again– into the hospital.
She said he was a teen, barely a child, or maybe it was the other way around, who did nothing wrong. That none of it was his fault.
She was a liar.
He dug beneath the layers of his mother, his father, his friends and his siblings, trying to find that innocent teen Shoto.
(Or maybe he dug just to prove that he was just hollow, plastic, doll. Maybe he'd find nothing at all.)
He did find something, though. More and more and more blood.
His blood.
His.
Blood.
His blood.
His blood.
His blood?
Whose blood was this.
His father's? His mother's? Or maybe, Tou— . .
Oh No. Oh please, no no no.
"...Touya...?" he gasped as he looked at his hands, caked in blood, as he realized the terrible terrible thing he'd done.
He killed his own brother and stole his life. His happiness. Shoto clutched the side of his head as he collapsed into a wet heap on the floor.
His eyes were blurry– he thinks it's because of the blood.
He breathed. In. Out. In. Out.
This wasn't Touya's blood. Touya was still alive. Somewhere. Somewhere far. With his family. And they were happy. Without him.
(Without you.)
Well, there's not really much of a difference, was it?
Not one that can be seen.
He could see that– everytime he looked in the mirror. It's why he had stopped for so long in the first place.
Todoroki was wrong to believe Hitoshi's words had fixed him. That anyone had fixed him.
He is his blood. He could never change that.
But oh, how he wish he could.
Shoto hated nights like this. He hated the blood. He hated the way everything made him confused. But it was okay— he learnt how to get the best of it sometimes.
He discovered a way to ground himself and bring him back to reality.
The blood dried, and the knocking had stopped a long time ago. Foot steps retreated, hurriedly in a way.
He thinks the blood began to seep through the door. The room felt colder, but only slightly.
He felt too warm to notice.
He braced his head against the door, nursing the small piece of ice that accidentally found its way in his arm— a complete accident of course.
Shoto felt like a collectible again. Stuck on a shelf, waiting for a kid to realize it's still a toy, not some kind of magical thing that would save everyone and make his father's dreams come true, ready to be played with against his father's wishes.
Or, maybe he was more like...
His eyes flickered to the small, portable storage shelf that his sister had gifted him a while back.
On it sat a candle his father bought for him the other week when they all took a family trip to go see Touya. Unused.
A candle.
What was a candle? Wax, and a wick.
Wick burnt for the delight of others.
For light. For warmth.
Until, eventually, either the candle burns out– or it's stopped from burning. Preserved? Put back on the shelf, left to wait until its owner needs it to shine again.
"....to..shine."
So, he waited. Like a candle left in a dark room, surrounded by all it needed to keep burning.
(Blood seeped, through his clothes. The door.)
The room was dark, yes, so it's light had a purpose. With all the lights turned off, a source of light was needed.
(Everything hurt and he just wanted it all to stop.)
Someone took it off the shelf, and took their time to light it, so it was wanted. For now.
(Why was there so much blood?!)
The candle's flame was tame– not big and reckless and scary– it finally couldn't hurt anyone.
(Maybe...maybe this was for the best? He...felt...sleepy. Not just tired. He felt ready to sleep.)
But there was something missing, whether big or small.
A candle that sits in a dark room would never know if they'd see the one who lit them once more– before it burnt out. The same one who lit that candle and gave it a purpose, has caused its demise. Too much of anything for too long is bad for you as they say.
A candle never burnt for itself. To be frank, if it did, Shoto's not sure if it would burn at all. So, he waited. Like a candle left in a dark room, wondering if someone would come to see him burn out.
Someone to watch him die.
See, Shoto could come up with metaphors and analogies too.
"Ha...ah...haha..haaaa..."
The door burst open.
Shoto finally slept.