Chapter Text
Everything just – aligns. All at once, like someone snapped a series of lenses into focus, and Touya finds himself staring at a dim, staticky television screen in some derelict bar unable to breathe and thinking oh with all the weight of a meteor behind it.
Shouto is small and tired, standing stoic as some Pro drops a medal around his neck. His breath clouds the air in front of him, and tendrils of frost have crystalized across his cheek, trailing down the side of his throat into his uniform. The camera suddenly zooms back, pulling his baby brother into a small box in a corner of the screen in favor of showing rapid-fire clips of fighting.
Its – blue. And then a – a flash of red, bright orange-yellow. Touya jerks upright in his seat.
The next scene has his blood roaring in his veins, because some green-haired kid is throwing his arms around Shouto and, just as the clip ends, Shouto begins to lift his own arms.
He knows with a marrow-deep certainty that this kid knows. That Shouto – that Shouto trusts.
Touya leaves his drink unfinished beside a handful of bills and is out the door before the segment is even over.
A day later, and he would’ve – he wouldn’t have been able to back down. Or – no. He’s not giving up. He’s just – he’s adjusting. Because if –
He can fix it. Fix it all. It isn’t too late. And maybe –
He forces himself to breathe.
He can do this.
X
The house hasn’t changed. At all. And it makes his skin crawl, his scars itch, bile rise in his throat. He’d checked the news fifteen times before approaching the front door.
Endeavor did not do home security; there were no cameras to record his presence, no alarms to alert the Number Two hero of what was about to happen. Endeavor is busy – called to Hosu to help handle the aftermath of Ingenium’s fall. By the time Endeavor finds out, it’ll be too late.
He hopes.
The house seems to still, after his knock, as if it too is holding its breath.
The door slips from Fuyumi’s nerveless fingers and slaps against the wall beside it the minute she catches sight of his face. There is a moment of silence and Touya does not know how to break it. If he even can.
She’s – she’s the same as ever, he thinks faintly. He’s never met anyone, other than Mom, who can embody that – that feeling of comfort. Like he’s home. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
She reaches out, presses chilled fingertips to the scars beneath his eyes, and breathes his name like it’s something breakable.
“You died.”
Oh, he thinks. That…oh, that answers…
It must show on his face, because her expression crumbles – and he squeezes her hand hard enough to hurt.
“I need you to – go get your stuff. Natsuo, Shouto’s too.”
“I don’t –“
“We’re leaving.” His says it rapid-fire and sharp, and Fuyumi is still for one long moment before she nods. She’s shaking when she pulls away from him.
“What’s your plan for Mom?” She asks, though, and Touya kind of wants to claw his own skin off with the amount of emotion writhing in his veins.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“I was gonna kill him.” The confession startles him. It doesn’t surprise his elder sister.
“But Mom won’t get justice if we do.” He pauses. She’s right. But that hadn’t…
“We’re gonna tear him down. All his talk of legacy – we’re going to ruin it.” It’s the closest he can come to formulating his thoughts on the matter. And after another moment’s hesitation, Fuyumi nods, and disappears.
When she returns, she shoves a heavy duffel bag into his arms, and she is dragging a confused Natsuo behind her.
He’s – fuck, he’s taller than Touya is. Just as bright-eyed and open as he was when he was young, but…
He hadn’t let himself even consider this. Seeing them again. And, god, it hurts.
“Who the—”
“We’re all set. What now?” Fuyumi interrupts, and Touya moves off the porch, his sister and brother following. He waits until they are clear of the last step before lifting a hand, blue flames flickering to light at his fingertips. Natsuo lets out a strangled sound.
“Touya?!”
The house goes up like kindling. All the precautions Endeavor had put in place had been safeguards against as quirk as powerful as his own. Never one more powerful.
It’s – satisfying. In a way not much else has been, in his life.
It’s a start.
X
He debates about it, and chooses the most dangerous route for the sake of his siblings. He has not seen Shouto since the kid was red-faced and eerily silent, and he knows Endeavor never would have allowed pictures to remain in the house, especially after – after Mom.
So, he takes Natsuo and Fuyumi to the ratty little apartment he owns, one he knows Endeavor won’t be able to track them too – not because of ability, no, but because of pride. Enji is rich and prideful and he thinks very poorly of his children. He would never even think of the possibility of a Todoroki living in the slums.
He’s – almost nervous. It’s a dump. Barely furnished, and it’s drafty. But Fuyumi relaxes in a way he realizes he’s never seen her do, even back before it all went to shit.
Natsuo holds him back, makes him promise repeatedly to return and Touya almost snaps at the kid – would’ve, if he wasn’t so terrified he’d come back and they’d be gone.
He makes it to the UA campus after classes have ended. He’s reasonably sure the fire has hit the news now, and if UA’s teachers were competent, they’d have held Shouto back. So he breaks in.
It’s – horrifyingly easy, and it sends a series of uncomfortable twists flipping in his stomach. He’ll…have to do something about that.
Fuyumi had given him a map. Or, shown him one that she’d stolen out of Shouto’s welcome packet. She’d wanted to surprise him one day, when Endeavor was gone and she could get out, she’d admitted.
Touya makes good use of it, and raps sharply on the door to class 1-A before pushing it open.
Shouto is facing him, standing awkwardly in front of a desk. Behind the desk is a man with bandages wound around his eyes and long, dark hair. Touya regards the two of them for a moment, and then smiles, all teeth, at his little brother.
“’Sup pipsqueak.”
He ignores the adult reaching for the scarf on his neck, keeps his posture and his voice easy.
“…Do I know you?” Shouto asks, and he looks confused, but not – not hostile.
“This your teacher?”
“Who are you?” The man in question growls. Touya sorts through what little he’s been able to glean about UA in the past – holy fuck, twelve hours? Eraserhead. Underground Pro. He only knows because he’d been a cohost for the Festival. All other mentions of the man are null and void.
“Do you trust this old man?” Touya asks and doesn’t let his gaze drop from his brother’s. Shouto’s eyes widen with understanding before his expression shuts down completely.
“I trust Aizawa-sensei.” The admission is halting, and the kid’s nervous now. Touya can feel a chill radiating from there. He grins in response, grabs the nearest chair and drops into it, all long limbs and laziness.
“Todoroki Touya.” His name is uncomfortable on his tongue. He’s been – he thinks he’d started to forget to think of himself as Touya. Up until that Festival report.
Shouto lets out a strangled sound.
“That’s impossible.”
Touya lights a hand up in response, and Shouto makes a blind grab for the desk behind him. Eraserhead tenses, stiffens like he’s been struck.
“How?”
“Turns out dear old dad isn’t quite as good at murdering children as he’d hoped.”