Chapter Text
The first call that would change Shouto’s life came on a breezy afternoon, not that Shouto was allowed outside to feel the wind. When his father paused training, all Shouto felt was relief that the barrage of fists and fire was over - he did not yet know what strife this one offer would soon bring.
As Endeavor exited the room, he accepted the call. The Hero Commission were not ones to be kept waiting.
“Enji Todoroki speaking.”
The voice on the other end was formal, almost to the point of sounding bored.
“Endeavor, yes. We at the HPSC would like to extend an offer to you - or, rather, your son, in light of his recent… accident.”
Endeavor grunted, and the woman continued to speak.
“We have resources that could help bring your son to his fullest potential - particularly his Quirk. Make no mistake, we do not doubt your skills as a teacher, but with only one adult in the household, there is a risk of the ice side of his Quirk not developing properly - we’d like to fix that.”
“What would this offer entail?”
The woman hummed thoughtfully.
“Training sessions, three times a week, here at the Commission offices, along with some minor procedures to enhance his existing abilities. You would, of course, be provided compensation for whatever contributions this leads to in our research.”
Enji Todoroki was not one to believe in the phrase “too good to be true,” nor was he one to balk at the words “child endangerment,” so, of course, he replied,
“Shouto will begin attending as soon as possible. Please forward the details to my secretary.”
And then, the first call that would forever alter Shouto’s life ended with the click of a calloused thumb on a small phone-screen button.
-
Shouto liked the visits to the office at first. They meant a break from his usual training, his usual pain.
But that was before. That was before the needles and the restraints and the feeling of too hot too cold burning chilling torture in his bones.
That was before the spars - the spars where he had to listen to his opponent scream when his red feathers met the red of his fire.
He could use his Quirk on either side now - his father called it a “Quirk Awakening.”
The scientists called it “a miracle.”
The voice in the back of Shouto’s head said it was a miracle he was alive- that he hadn’t burned himself alive or cooled his cells to absolute zero as he screamed for it to stop.
There were things, about his new abilities, that the scientists weren’t too pleased with, however.
Scales now flitted up and down his thighs, shoulders, and back. His pupils were now somewhat slitted, his teeth were unnaturally sharp.
Shouto mused that the more power a Quirk had, the more it pulled the user away from true humanity. Hawks could move over two hundred miles per hour, effortlessly dodging Shouto’s attacks, yet he could only do so because of his bird-like body.
His father thought it was his mother’s fault. She wasn’t a heteromorph herself, he would have never married her if she was, but her father had been, for lack of a better term, a dragon - one with a strong ice Quirk.
A month after he grew the scales, when he was six (only six, just six), his father had them removed.
Shouto would never forget the feeling of his skin peeling off, he could never forget - because they grew back. The removals became monthly appointments, monthly reminders that no matter how hard Shouto pretended, he was irrevocably different, broken.
The one thing he enjoyed about the Commission was training with Hawks. (Not sparring with him- never sparring. How could he enjoy the scent of burning feathers and flesh?)
Hawks was, quite possibly, the most creative person Shouto has ever met. Not in an artistic sense - he couldn’t even draw a stick figure - but in a Quirk sense. Hawks was the one to suggest that with a controlled jet of fire and hot air, Shouto could, theoretically, fly.
And fly he did.
Something about being high up made breathing easier, made the beast that had been awakened inside of him along with his quirk rest easier. He still didn’t like sparring, didn’t like getting hit over and over with no break unless he forced one, but it was better in the air. When he got beaten, at least he wasn’t getting beaten into the ground.
The Commission taught him other things, as well. He learned what arteries and veins he could cut without permanently injuring his opponent, and what spots were best if he was going for a kill. He learned how to flip a grown man on their back, how to use an opponent’s momentum against them.
Later on, Shouto would look back and realize there was one thing neither the Commission nor Endeavor thought to teach him.
Morality.
-
When Dabi returned to his childhood home for the first time since the death of Todoroki Touya, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but he definitely did not expect to see Shouto- the golden boy, Endeavor’s masterpiece- attempting to claw their father’s eyes out during a spar with a set of claws.
From the ensuing lecture, he only really caught snippets of “feral” and “unsightly” and “beastly.”
What he did catch- god, it was pretty obvious- was that Shouto had, somehow, turned into a heteromorph in the four years since Dabi had seen him.
What the fuck. What the actual fuck.
Dabi didn’t know why it changed things so much, why something in him shifted at the sight of his youngest brother trying to maul their father. But something had changed.
As he hurried out of the grounds, his quest of further infiltration abandoned, he began to plan.
-
From the ages of five to eight, not much in Shouto’s life changed. He trained at home, he trained at the HPSC, he sped through the work his tutors gave him, and the cycle repeated.
When he was eight, however, he got the second call that would change his life, that would change a great many people’s lives, however indirectly.
When he was eight, a black flip phone appeared on his windowsill, with a note that only said “Call me.”
The only contact was a private number saved as “Blue”.
Shouto, having nothing better to do and only a half-functioning sense of self-preservation at best, pressed “call”.
It rang once, twice, before a scratchy voice picked up.
“Damn, didn’t think you’d call so quickly. You’re full of surprises, Sho.”
“…Who is this.”
“Take a guess- I’ll give you a few hints. Blue fire, burned alive, and I know where the gaps in your security cameras are.”
Shouto’s eyes widened a fraction.
“Touya?”
The teen on the other end hummed.
“Got it in one. Though, I’m going by Dabi now. Don’t exactly want to get carted back to the hellhole you’re in right now.”
“Why are you… Why did you give me this.”
Dabi laughed.
“Us fucked-up masterpieces gotta stick together, right?”
A crash sounded through the speaker, and a crackling that Shouto had come to associate with especially hot fire began.
“Shit- Come back here, asshole!- You need anything, call me.”
A beat. Then,
“I’m not helping you with homework, though. That shit sucked.”
A beep signaled the end of the call, and Shouto was left in a dark room staring at his first piece of freedom, with no clue as to the adventure his life was soon to become.
For now, Shouto his his new phone under his mattress and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.