Chapter Text
Shouto had been feeling hot and cold ever since he entered class, but he brushed it off, thinking it was probably just his quirk acting up. So when Midoriya—sitting in front of him—suddenly turned around to talk, bouncing his legs excitedly about the fight between All Might and one of the villains last night, Shouto only half-listened.
It was reasonable, Shouto thought. Because All Might almost never patrolled at night, it might have been Midoriya’s lucky day—or night. Or perhaps All Might wanted to give his protégé a piece of action for his birthday. Either way, Midoriya was geeking out.
“You know we have eyes too, Deku? We saw what you saw,” Bakugou snapped from Midoriya’s right, unknowingly voicing Shouto’s own thoughts.
“Oh, but it was so cool, Kacchan! Did you see the uppercut? It was basically a critical move!” Midoriya continued, now looking at Bakugou, whose brows scrunched even deeper as he bickered back, jabbing a finger toward Midoriya.
Shouto didn’t say a word. An insistent pounding had begun building in his head, slowly growing more aggravating. He chose to tune Midoriya and Bakugou out completely, retreating into his own world. When it became unbearable, he rubbed his temples with his thumb and index finger.
Aizawa-sensei entered the classroom, and as everyone quieted down, Shouto felt the pounding in his head ease slightly. But as soon as Aizawa-sensei began explaining today’s topic, a shiver slowly crept into his bones. Of course, he ignored it entirely and tried to focus on the subject instead.
He never knew Class 1-A had a second chalkboard…
He blinked twice, and the second chalkboard slowly faded.
This had never happened before. Was he hallucinating? Shouto wondered, unease settling in his chest. He kept running through the possibilities of what might be happening inside his body as the shivers intensified.
Suddenly, the bell rang.
The sharp sound startled him. How long had he been tuning out? Before he could fully gather his thoughts, Aizawa-sensei called out, “Class dismissed. Todoroki, stay behind.”
Two heads immediately turned toward him—Midoriya and Bakugou. Midoriya gestured wildly with his hands, silently asking what was wrong. Shouto only shrugged in response.
Eventually, the rest of the class filtered out, Bakugou dragging Midoriya along while Midoriya kept trying to look back.
Aizawa-sensei then gestured for Shouto to come to his desk.
Shouto slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood, but the moment he did, the classroom tilted. He swayed, grabbing onto a nearby desk for support, struggling just to take a step forward.
That earned him a concerned look from Aizawa-sensei. He quickly closed the distance, steadying Shouto and guiding him into the chair in front of his desk. A cool hand settled against Shouto’s forehead.
That was odd. He felt cold—so why did his skin feel hot? Shouto couldn’t think of any explanation besides his quirk acting up again.
“I knew something was up. You’re burning up, Todoroki,” Aizawa-sensei said, scrutinizing him with his droopy eyes.
Shouto didn’t say anything for a while. Then he murmured, “I think it’s my quirk, Sensei.”
“I think not,” Aizawa-sensei replied, settling back into his chair. “You’ve been out of it since the lesson started, and you can’t even walk straight…”
Shouto did consider that the pounding in his head and his poor balance were new symptoms, ones not usually tied to his quirk.
“You’re sick, Todoroki,” Aizawa-sensei said, practically spelling it out when Shouto remained silent.
“What?” Shouto asked, genuinely confused. He almost never got sick anymore. How could it have happened without him noticing?
“Yes. It’s not because of your quirk,” Aizawa-sensei emphasized, only making Shouto more puzzled.
As Shouto ran through other possibilities in his head, Aizawa-sensei suddenly stood and gently pulled him up from his seat. “Come on. Recovery Girl.”
Shouto blinked, startled out of his thoughts. But after going through every explanation he could think of, he came to the same conclusion—there really wasn’t another possibility. So he quietly followed Aizawa-sensei.
As they walked, Aizawa-sensei wrapped an arm firmly around Shouto’s back, likely feeling him sway.
What should have been a quick trip became much slower, every step feeling heavier for Shouto. Aizawa-sensei was practically carrying most of his weight, as Shouto couldn't help but lean heavily against his side.
When they arrived, Recovery Girl was sitting at her desk, watching them enter.
“Todoroki Shouto from Class 1-A,” Aizawa-sensei explained. “He seems to have a fever, but I’ll let you examine him thoroughly.”
Shouto wanted to protest. He probably just needed sleep—from the lack of it after that night patrol. But why was Aizawa-sensei acting like it was such a big deal?
Despite the arguments forming in his head, Shouto didn’t even have the energy to stand on his own. Aizawa-sensei guided him toward one of the beds.
He gently helped Shouto climb onto it and lowered him down. As soon as Shouto’s head hit the pillow, another wave of pounding struck, and he squeezed his eyes shut, brows scrunching.
Shouto didn’t realize he had hissed until Aizawa-sensei asked quietly, “Does your head hurt, Todoroki?”
Shouto cracked one eye open, giving the smallest nod he could manage without making the throbbing worse.
“Alright—alright, we need to examine you,” Recovery Girl said, stepping into Shouto’s peripheral vision before suddenly placing something in his mouth.
Shouto almost crossed his eyes trying to look at it, which earned him another sharp pound in his head. He immediately regretted the movement. It was a thermometer.
After a moment, the device beeped a few times before Recovery Girl pulled it out.
“38.9°C,” she read aloud. “That doesn’t quite match your core temperature…” She looked at Shouto thoughtfully.
Aizawa-sensei simply stood to Shouto’s left, watching.
Recovery Girl began unbuttoning Shouto’s uniform shirt, which sent another wave of shivers through him. He clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. She noticed his trembling but continued, placing her stethoscope against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
“Heartbeat’s normal,” she said eventually. Then she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “The outside of your skin is burning, but you’re cold underneath,” she concluded.
“You’re running a fever. It’s causing your quirk to regulate improperly—and the migraines.”
Huh. So his quirk had been acting up after all. Shouto had been partly right… though he had completely ignored that Aizawa-sensei was right first about him being sick. Without realizing it, a faint smirk tugged at his lips even though his eyes remained closed, growing heavier by the second.
“What’s so funny, Todoroki?” Aizawa-sensei asked, sounding faintly amused as he helped rebutton Shouto’s clothes.
Shouto’s eyes fluttered in response. Aizawa-sensei looked blurry and far away, so he closed them again, not even processing what he had just been asked. He turned onto his side, facing Aizawa-sensei, curling in on himself. He felt so cold… and hot.
“Uh-uh, you need to drink this first,” Recovery Girl scolded as she walked over to where Shouto had buried his face.
“I’ll help,” Aizawa volunteered, taking the fever reducer and pain medication from her hands.
“Todoroki, don’t sleep just yet,” Aizawa-sensei said, patting his shoulder lightly to rouse him from the space between reality and dreams. Shouto couldn’t tell which one he was in anymore. At Aizawa-sensei’s gesture, he pushed himself upright groggily.
As he blinked up at Aizawa-sensei, his mouth was gently opened and two bitter pills were placed on his tongue. Before the taste could fully register, water was tipped carefully to his lips, washing the bitterness down as he swallowed slowly.
“Alright. Now he just needs proper rest. I won’t use my quirk—it would only exhaust him more and make it harder for his quirk to stabilize,” Recovery Girl declared.
Shouto felt his head being guided back to the pillow. He curled into himself again, trying to find some kind of warmth as he slowly drifted off once more.
He felt a brief second of fabric being draped over him, warmth immediately seeping in—only for it to be pulled away just as quickly.
“No, he can’t have any extra layers right now, or his quirk won’t regulate properly,” Recovery Girl said, removing the blanket Aizawa had placed over his shivering student.
She was the expert, but Aizawa still felt sorry for Todoroki. He could even see faint puffs of cold breath escaping his student’s lips.
All Aizawa could offer was a quiet gesture of comfort, his hand resting gently on Todoroki’s head for a moment before he stepped back, leaving him in Recovery Girl’s care and hoping he would recover soon.
Shouto felt a firm hand running through his hair. The simple motion made him feel… warm. He relaxed into it, drifting deeper into sleep.
Shouto slowly surfaced from the sounds drifting into his awareness.
“Why didn’t Shouto tell us he was sick?” a higher-pitched voice reached him.
“Tch. Does he ever tell us anything about himself?” a firmer, irritated voice replied.
Shouto slowly opened his eyes. When it didn’t bring another wave of pounding, he opened them fully.
Right beside his bed stood Midoriya and Bakugou, still bickering—until Midoriya noticed Shouto was awake.
“Shouto! Are you feeling okay?” Midoriya immediately leaned in closer to look at him.
Shouto instinctively leaned back into the bed, avoiding the sudden closeness.
“Why are you suddenly this weak?” Bakugou added, arms crossed.
“Kacchan!” Midoriya shot him an offended look, which Bakugou answered with a flat, unapologetic stare.
“It’s just a fever…” Shouto said at last, lifting a hand to his forehead as he realized sweat had formed there.
Now that he noticed it, he could feel his back damp with it too, making him shift uncomfortably against the sheets.
Seeming to have heard their conversation, Recovery Girl approached Shouto’s bed from her desk. “Ah, let’s check you again—give me some space!” she added, shooting a look at Midoriya and Bakugou. Both boys shuffled aside from the bed.
Recovery Girl slipped the thermometer into Shouto’s mouth once more.
When the device beeped, she took it out.
“37°C. Your body’s starting to regulate,” she said with a nod of approval, though she still pressed a hand to his forehead to double-check. “Much better, but not fully back to normal yet.”
Midoriya and Bakugou watched the whole process quietly.
“You need to eat something to strengthen your immune system,” she added, briskly making her way back to her desk before returning with a bento box, which she handed to Shouto.
“Thanks…” Shouto replied, unsure if he was actually hungry.
He ate anyway, with Midoriya hovering nearby, repeatedly asking if he felt okay, while Bakugou grew increasingly irritated by Midoriya’s nonstop fussing.
Shouto nodded along, assuring Midoriya he felt much better as he chewed the last of the teriyaki.
After a while, Recovery Girl returned. She looked pleased when she saw the empty bento. “Good. One more dose, and you can head back to the dorms.”
Midoriya clapped his hands quietly at the announcement, grinning from ear to ear. Bakugou just gave Shouto a thumbs-up, his expression as flat as ever.
Recovery Girl handed Shouto two more pills, which he assumed were the same as before. He swallowed them quickly with the water she passed to him.
“Alright, now take your friend back to his dorm,” Recovery Girl told Midoriya and Bakugou.
“You still need rest, and don’t strain yourself. No heavy activity yet,” she added, pointing a sharp finger at Shouto as he slowly got up from the bed.
“Alright…” Shouto replied curtly, even though he felt fine—almost normal. He could feel warmth radiating from his left side and coolness from his right like usual. That had to mean his quirk was stable again.
As Shouto stepped down from the bed, Midoriya quickly slipped an arm behind his back as if he might collapse at any second.
Shouto cringed. His back was probably still sweaty. He tried to shrug Midoriya off. “I can walk fine.”
“No, you just recovered! You still need help!” Midoriya insisted as they headed toward the door.
Bakugou followed behind them, Shouto’s backpack slung over one shoulder. In his other hand was Recovery Girl’s discharge note, which she had specifically ordered them to give to Aizawa-sensei.
They walked through the dorm hallways, which were mostly empty—probably because it was lunchtime, judging by the clock Shouto had seen earlier in Recovery Girl’s office. He was quietly grateful to avoid any extra attention.
When they arrived in front of his room, Shouto reached to unlock the door, Midoriya still clinging to him as if it were absolutely necessary to keep him upright.
They entered, and Midoriya helped him over to the bed, even though Shouto had no intention of sleeping again.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Midoriya asked, still hovering and offering to help with anything.
“I’m fine, Midoriya. You guys should go eat lunch,” Shouto said, trying to reassure them. Not that Bakugou seemed to need any reassurance.
Bakugou dropped Shouto’s backpack from his shoulder and grabbed Midoriya by the collar as his patience visibly thinned. “Tch. Icy-Hot’s fine. He said so himself. Now let’s get out of here before I starve to death!”
Midoriya hesitated as Bakugou dragged him toward the door, but he still managed to wave goodbye. Shouto gave a small wave back in return.
Then he was left alone.
The quiet of the room settled around him, and he became more aware of how uncomfortable he felt, the sweat now sticky against his uniform shirt. Deciding he needed to freshen up, he headed for the shower.
He came out feeling much better, dressed in a white T-shirt and red shorts, a towel still draped around his neck.
That was when he noticed Aizawa-sensei standing inside his room, lingering near the drawers.
Shouto startled but quickly masked it as Aizawa looked over at him.
“Ah, Todoroki. The door was unlocked,” Aizawa-sensei explained shortly. He’d probably been knocking while Shouto was in the shower.
“Came in to check on you.”
He walked closer and placed a hand against Shouto’s forehead. “Good. You’re feeling better.”
Shouto nodded, absently wiping dripping water from his hair with the towel around his neck.
“Still, like Recovery Girl said, you need proper rest. So, no Hero Training today—and no patrol tonight.”
Shouto’s eyebrows pulled together slightly. He felt fine—normal, even. Sitting around the dorm all day while everyone else trained felt… wrong.
But he didn’t argue. He just nodded again.
That earned him a brief ruffle of his hair before Aizawa-sensei turned and left the room.
Now he was stuck in his dorm for the rest of the afternoon. And the night. The thought irritated him more than he wanted to admit. Shouto didn’t like being idle when he could be improving.
So he did the only productive thing available—he worked on his homework. At least that made him feel somewhat useful.
But even that didn’t last long. Half an hour later, he was done.
Shouto glanced at the clock and realized it was still early in the afternoon. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
How was he supposed to spend the whole day trapped in his room when he could feel his quirk building up under his skin?
He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. Maybe the best thing to do… was just sleep.
He did love sleeping—he couldn’t deny that. And after being sick, maybe extra rest would help. If he turned in early, he could wake up more refreshed.
So he closed his eyes. Sleep took him quickly, pulling him into a deep, dreamless rest that eased the tension from his mind.
Until a faint beeping sound slipped into the darkness.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
At first it blended distantly into his sleep. But it kept going, sharp and insistent, until it dragged him back to consciousness. Shouto’s eyes opened slowly.
The sound was coming from his phone on the bedside table. He reached for it, squinting at the bright screen.
An alert…
He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his mind—then noticed the time. 21:27.
He frowned. He’d only meant to take a short nap… but he had slept through the entire afternoon.
The beeping continued. It was a Villain alert. And it had been going off for a while.
That meant no one from the agency had responded yet.
Everyone must still be out on their assigned patrols, Shouto reasoned, his thoughts sharpening as the last traces of sleep faded.
There was only one logical thing to do. He tapped the screen and accepted the alert. This was an emergency, after all.
He stood up and stretched, feeling every bone in his body practically begging to use his quirk. He was clearly not sick anymore, he told himself as he pulled on his hero suit.
Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t mind. After all, he was only going out to help because no one else had picked up the alert.
Once dressed, he slipped out of his room. The dorms were quiet—most of the students were either on patrol or busy elsewhere. Either way, Shouto was glad he could walk through the halls without running into anyone.
It almost felt like he was sneaking out. But this was an emergency. Someone had to respond. That was more than enough justification for his actions.
He exited the school grounds unnoticed. As soon as he was far enough from the buildings, he released a path of ice beneath his feet and propelled himself forward, skating toward Hosu City—the villain’s reported location displayed on his phone.
The wind rushed past him as he sped through the streets. It only took about ten minutes at his pace.
But when he finally slowed to a stop, he felt… Unnaturally sweaty. Shouto wiped his forehead with the back of his glove, frowning slightly. He brushed the feeling aside.
He focused on his surroundings instead.
This part of the city was darker and far quieter than it should’ve been. Some street lamps flickered weakly, while others were completely dead. There were no signs of pedestrians or traffic.
Only the faint sound of rats squeaking somewhere in the alleyways.
According to the alert, the signal was coming from the building right in front of him.
It was a bar... Its sign buzzed faintly, half the letters burned out.
Shouto had just stepped closer when suddenly the door burst open—It would’ve slammed straight into him if he hadn’t moved on instinct, shifting aside just in time.
A tall man dressed in black emerged from the bar, an odd-looking hat casting a shadow over his pale, gaunt face. He was smiling as he counted the cash in his hands, most likely stolen from the bar. Shouto was sure he had never seen this villain before.
The villain hadn’t noticed him.
Shouto moved from behind the door and immediately froze the cash in the man’s hands.
“I’ll be returning that to the rightful owner,” Shouto declared.
The villain looked sharply at him, then down at his frozen hands. Slowly, a chilling smile spread across his face.
“I know you… You’re that old hero’s son.”
He began walking toward Shouto, and Shouto raised his guard, both arms positioned in front of him.
“You’re not supposed to be here, kid,” the villain said, tilting his head mockingly.
Shouto didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked on the villain, tracking his every movement.
“Oh well,” the villain laughed. “This is going to be fun.”
He flexed his hands, cracking the ice apart. Then he swung his right arm—and it morphed into a large blade.
Shouto took that as permission to attack. He blasted fire toward the villain, who quickly dodged, raising his sword to shield himself from the heat.
Shouto didn’t stop. He followed with another burst of flames, then sent ice shooting toward the villain’s feet.
But the villain whipped out his left arm—and another blade formed. He crossed both swords, blocking the fire and ice at the same time.
This isn’t going to work, Shouto realized.
The villain rushed forward, swinging both blades. Shouto jumped back to avoid the slashes, the tips of the swords slicing through the air where he’d just stood.
He dropped low and slid across the ground, passing under the villain’s legs. In one smooth motion, he sprang back to his feet and fired another blast of flames from behind him.
But the villain was fast—unnaturally fast. He spun around and blocked the fire, then leapt to Shouto’s left side in the same motion.
Shouto reacted instantly, raising a wall of ice to stop the incoming blade. The sword struck and shattered the ice within seconds.
Shouto jumped away before the follow-up strike could land. He countered with a rapid mix of fire and ice from different angles, but the villain blocked every single attack with precise movements.
Shouto’s breathing grew heavier. His chest tightened as exhaustion began creeping into his limbs.
But he didn’t stop. He kept attacking, trying every possible angle, refusing to back down.
Until he felt the familiar pounding in his head creeping back in…
Shouto squeezed his eyes shut and hissed, then forced them open again just in time to dodge the villain’s next strike.
He tried to counterattack—but his fire and ice sputtered weakly, no longer blasting with their usual force.
A burning sensation crept deep into his bones, followed by the relentless pounding in his skull. Shouto swayed on his feet.
The villain saw the opening.
He closed the distance in a flash. Before Shouto could steady himself, the blade swept sideways across his torso—starting at his right chest and dragging down toward his left abdomen.
Shouto’s eyes widened. Sharp pain bloomed instantly. He felt the warmth of blood soaking into his suit…
He tried to attack again, but his quirk faltered, too weak to respond.
Shouto dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up. Blood dripped steadily to the ground as the pounding in his head grew louder and worse.
I was careless…
His vision blurred as the world tilted. Lightheaded and fading fast, Shouto collapsed onto his side, his eyes slowly sliding shut.
The last thing he heard before darkness took him was the faint sound of his opponent laughing.
Dabi was walking through the streets of Hosu, a small bag of newly bought gear on his left hand. He had just finished a transaction at one of the city’s darker markets.
So far, Hosu had been a great place to pick up equipment and make deals. Most black markets didn’t offer good prices—or good quality. That was one of the reasons Dabi had been staying in this district for the past few months.
As he walked, the night air felt unusually cold. Dabi pulled up his hood and hummed under his breath, in a decent mood after getting what he needed.
When he turned the corner into a side street, something caught his eye.
Thin tracks of frost stretched from the mouth of an alleyway and stopped just short of the street...
Dabi slowed. He didn’t know anyone around here with an ice quirk. That alone was enough to spark his curiosity.
He stepped into the alley, moving quietly. No one was in sight, but the trail of ice continued farther in—leading behind a large dumpster.
Dabi approached, more intrigued than cautious now.
He peered inside. At first glance, he thought it was just another drunk passed out in the trash. He’d seen plenty of those.
But then the details clicked into place. The frost clinging to the metal. The hero costume. And that unmistakable split of white and red hair...
He rolled the limp body over—and froze.
Staring back at him was the unmistakable face of Todoroki Shouto…
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The kid was unconscious.
Cold air puffed weakly from Shouto’s mouth with every shallow breath. As Dabi’s eyes scanned him, he spotted a long, sideways slash running from Shouto’s right chest down toward his left abdomen, dark red soaking through the torn fabric of his hero costume.
“What the hell happened to this twerp…” Dabi muttered.
He leaned for a closer look. Ice had formed around the wound, thin and uneven, like Shouto’s body had tried to freeze the injury on instinct.
“Tch. Sloppy…” The ice wasn’t thick enough. It wasn’t sealing the wound properly.
Shouto’s breathing hitched. His body trembled faintly, cold mist still escaping his lips. Sweat dampened his face, mixing with what might’ve been tears.
Dabi Scoffed. “Shit. Why am I the one who had to find you like this…”
They’d never had a single decent interaction. Not one. But finding his brother dumped in an alley, bleeding out—left a bitter weight in Dabi’s chest, and he hated it.
He considered walking away. Someone else would find him… Probably.
But this part of Hosu wasn’t exactly friendly. And the kid didn’t look like he had much time...
Dabi stared down at Shouto’s pale face, twisted slightly even in unconsciousness.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Fuck it.”
He dropped the plastic bag of his newly bought gear from his left hand as he moved to pick Shouto up.
Dabi paused, eyeing the wound again. Throwing him over his shoulder would be easier—but that would tear the gash open even more.
“Tch.”
So instead, he slid one arm carefully under Shouto’s shoulders and the other beneath his thighs, lifting him into a bridal carry.
“Damn… you’re heavier than you look.”
It took more effort than he expected to get a good hold on him. Once he had Shouto secured against his chest, Dabi bent forward awkwardly and snatched up his plastic bag with his left hand.
The moment he straightened, he felt it—the heat radiating through Shouto’s body even through his costume.
Shouto’s face lolled against his chest, unsteady puffs of cold air brushing against Dabi’s collarbone with every weak breath.
Dabi started walking fast. He didn’t need anyone spotting him carrying an injured hero through the streets. Luckily, his run-down apartment was only a few blocks away.
By the time the building came into view, his arms were already starting to ache.
The apartment complex looked as abandoned as ever—flickering lights, cracked walls, no one lingering near the entrance. A perfect hideout, just how he liked it.
He stepped inside. The lobby—if it could even be called that—was empty.
Then he remembered that he had to climb a couple of stairs...
“…Mother fucker.”
Dabi adjusted his grip and started climbing. Each step felt heavier than the last, Shouto’s weight dragging at his arms while he tried not to jostle the wound.
He muttered curses under his breath the entire way up.
His room was on the third floor. If it had been any higher, he might’ve actually considered leaving the kid downstairs.
“…You owe me for this, shithead.”
On the last few steps, Dabi had to stop himself from practically wheezing. By the time he reached the hallway, his arms were burning.
His room was in the fifth unit down the row.
Balancing Shouto’s weight, he awkwardly tried to fish his key out of his hoodie pocket, eventually giving up and dropping the plastic bag of his newly bought gear on the floor with a loud rustle.
“Hold still, damn it,” he muttered, even though Shouto was barely moving.
After a few failed attempts, he finally got the key in and shoved the door open with his foot.
He picked the bag back up, stepped inside, and without even bothering to turn on the lights, he lowered Shouto onto the couch first.
“Shit…” Dabi breathed out, rolling his shoulders. “What the hell do you eat to be this heavy?”
He flicked the light switch on.
Now that he could see clearly, he noticed Shouto was shivering violently, teeth faintly chattering.
Dabi dragged a hand down his face. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”
He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. Finding him was one thing. Actually dealing with a half-dead hero bleeding on his couch? That was a whole different level of problem.
Still grumbling under his breath, he headed to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.
When he came back, he dropped to the floor beside the couch with a tired thud.
"Don't you dare ruin my couch,"
He started unbuttoning Shouto’s shirt, peeling the torn fabric away from the wound. The ice clinging around the gash had slowed the bleeding enough to keep it from being immediately fatal.
Dabi let out an annoyed smirk. “Heh. Still playing the perfect creation, huh, Frosty?”
Dabi realized his sarcasm wasn’t going to work if Shouto was still unconscious. So he leaned closer, letting a low, simmering heat from his palms to melt the ice surrounding the wound. Once it melted, he could finally see the full extent of the injury.
Blood still coated Shouto’s skin, diluted now with melted ice. Dabi grabbed some gauze, already rinsed with water, and wiped away the mess so he could actually work.
He didn’t need to stop much of the bleeding—his brother’s quirk had already slowed it down—but the wound still needed to be disinfected.
The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was long as hell. And it was definitely going to sting…
Dabi grabbed the iodine, soaked a fresh piece of gauze, and brought it to the edges of the wound.
The second it touched the upper part of Shouto’s chest, Shouto flinched hard, his back trying to arch off the couch even though his eyes stayed shut.
Dabi didn’t stop. “Tch. It’s a miracle I’m even doing this,” he muttered.
He kept dabbing the iodine along the edges of the cut. Shouto’s body jerked weakly with each touch, his face tightening as tears slipped from the corners of his closed eyes.
“Stay still, drama queen. That means it’s working.”
Even so, Dabi found himself pressing a little more gently every time Shouto flinched.
Dabi wiped the iodine over the last part of the wound, the section that stretched across his brother’s left abdomen. It earned a small whimper from Shouto.
Dabi glanced up at his face. His eyes fluttered restlessly, sweat and tears streaking down his cheeks.
“You look like shit, Frostbite,” Dabi muttered.
Now that he was finally done disinfecting it, he placed thicker gauze pads over the length of the wound, covering it completely. Shouto had gone a little calmer, now that Dabi wasn’t prodding at the injury anymore.
Once that was set, Dabi grabbed a roll of bandage. He needed Shouto sitting up to wrap it properly.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he grumbled.
He stood and hauled his brother up by the shoulders. Shouto slumped forward immediately, his forehead bumping against Dabi’s arm as he sagged without resistance.
“Dammit—your forehead’s burning my arm,” Dabi hissed.
He braced Shouto upright against the couch with one arm while using the other to start wrapping the bandage around his torso.
Around the chest first. Then lower, around his abdomen. It took more bandage than he expected—After all, the wound was long, stretching sideways across most of his torso.
Finally done, Dabi laid his brother back on the couch, lowering his shoulders carefully with both hands. But before he could pull away, Shouto suddenly grabbed his right hand.
“Shit—you scared me!” Dabi snapped, looking down at his brother, whose eyes were still closed.
Then, Shouto did something Dabi couldn’t comprehend—something that made him go completely still...
He rubbed his cheek against Dabi’s hand, over and over, as if satisfied with the contact.
“The fuck are you doing…?” Dabi muttered, completely thrown.
“Hot… no… c-cold…” Shouto slurred weakly, barely moving his lips.
And then it clicked. Was he… using Dabi’s hand to warm his skin...?
Shouto let out a soft breath and finally stilled, his face still pressed against Dabi’s palm as he shifted to face him.
“You’re gonna be embarrassed as hell if you remember this,” Dabi muttered, though he didn’t pull right away. He could feel the heat radiating from Shouto’s cheek.
After a moment, he gently slid his hand free. Shouto didn’t resist.
Dabi carefully shifted him back onto his back again—sleeping on his side would put pressure on the wound.
When he grabbed his brother’s shoulder, he could feel the boy shivering. In fact, he’d been shivering ever since Dabi brought him here.
“I might as well be a doctor after this,” Dabi muttered, rolling his eyes.
He headed to his room and came back with a blanket. On the way, he grabbed a bowl of water from the kitchen sink and a small towel.
Back at the couch, he set the bowl down first, then draped the blanket over Shouto. His eyes still fluttered restlessly, but he seemed a little calmer now.
Dabi wrung out the towel and placed it on his brother’s forehead.
“This Shit's supposed to help, right?” he muttered.
He didn’t actually know—especially not with Shouto’s weird half-and-half quirk—but he tried anyway.
Shouto’s eyes fluttered under the cool cloth, but his expression eased slightly.
That was everything Dabi could think of, so he was about to leave the kid alone. Just as he turned to head to his room and mess with his new gear, he heard Shouto mumble again.
“’M okay… I can… fight…”
Tch. Hero complex.
“Shut up. You can’t even sit up,” Dabi shot back, irritation slipping into his voice.
He walked off anyway, annoyed that half his night had been wasted taking care of that brat.