So listen up, this thing was supposed to be done like yesterday, so I had the entire weekend to study. Unfortunately, that nice little plan got derailed and went off a cliff on wednesday cuz I found a fuckin' pidgeon. I was minding my own business after school when I found the lil thing tucked in against a fence, spazzing out. It was obviously sick, so I used my sweater to wrap it up and then walked to my dad's work nearby so I could go home, or go to the vet depending how bad it was.
It perked up during my walk, so I let it go. Worst mistake of my life. It flew off wobbly into traffic, clearly nowhere near well enough to be on it's own. So I ran after it like a moron, screeching plus ultra inside my head while I was chasing the fucking pidgeon because I was gonna die of embarrassment at the fact that I'm rushing out into slow traffic after a drowsy bird like a crazy maniac which I guess I am, but still. I managed to catch it in the end, but still. Urgh. It's saturday, and it's recovering really well. Tame as f too, it likes to sleep on my computer due to the warmth it generates.
Silly bugger.
Anyhow, rant over.
The next morning, waking up felt like crawling out of the mud only to get lost in the fog.
Izuku gazed with unseeing eyes at his hands resting against his chest, the long, slender fingers inexplicably pale and thin against the soft dark fabric of his shirt. The green-haired boy was curled up on his side, hands and knees drawn in, toes curled tightly and head tucked into his chest while the covers were pulled almost over his hair. He hadn't moved from this position since falling asleep last night, and his muscles and bones were letting him know by feeling aching and cramped.
It wasn't only due to the tight, tucked ball position he'd sleep in that his body hurt, however.
There was something more.
The realization came to him at a snail's crawl. A piercing cold had spread across his limbs during his slumber, numbing his blood and leaving him dazed and disconnected from reality. There was a certain sense of inherent wrongness that came with this feeling; Izuku knew he wasn't supposed to be feeling this cold, that he shouldn't feel like his limbs would creak and strain and break if he dared as much as stretch.
And his flames.
Where there used to be a rumbling beast in his rib cage there was only a tiny, candle-like flame, barely there enough to be recognizable. It tugged at the edges of its cage, tiny kitten licks that were so different from the anxious clawing of before.
A distant part of Izuku knew that this wasn't normal, that the spread of frigid numbness overtaking his body should be alarming him, but he was too tired to care. What happened last night was slowly returning to the forefront of Izuku's mind and for a moment, he considered just laying here for the rest of the day, tucked in bed, sweating cold under the covers, each breath ragged and wheezing as it left his lips.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Izuku's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, threatening to close fully. Before the interruption, it felt like his room was the only thing that existed; almost as if the world beyond the door and it's troubles never was to begin with. Endeavor, Shoto, Inko, everything -just gone, leaving him to doze in his bed.
Safe, or as safe as he could be in this house. What a somber thought.
"Izuku?"
He couldn't mistake that tiny, meek voice. The tired child poked his head out from under the covers, calling out softly; "It's unlocked."
"Thanks." The door slowly slide open, revealing Fuyumi standing hesitantly at the door frame. She was wearing a thick wool blouse and a long, dark blue skirt that reached below her knees. "I was wondering if you could have breakfast with me."
Not like I'm getting fed otherwise. Izuku smiles at her gently.
"Sure." He told her as he rose from his futon, tucking the covers back on the bed. Then he went stumbling for his closet, fighting the dizziness that came with moving so quickly in the morning. "What time is it?" He called over his shoulder as he locked the closet door behind him.
"Huh, around seven thirty."
"So you're not going to school?" He asks her as he wrestles to put clean shirt and pants on. His face felt stiff from last night; the makeup the strange ladies had put on stuck to his skin like glue. He needed a bath.
There was no answer for a long time, which confused him. Having dressed, he exits his closet only to find his sister standing there, expression uncertain.
"Izuku," Fuyumi began slowly. "It's saturday."
The smallest Todoroki blinked.
"Oh."
He hadn't even noticed, which was unusual. Izuku remembered how he'd kept track of his school days almost religiously, making sure to study ahead of time for the small tests the teachers would give them.
That reminded him…
"Fuyumi?" The green-haired boy questions, voice low. "When...when do you think I will go back to school?"
The edges of Fuyumi's lips twitched downward. "I overheard Father talking on the phone. He will assign you private tutors for that too."
Izuku stared. "...for school? For all of my school years?"
"Yeah."
Something drops in his stomach. "Oh." His fingers twitch anxiously at his side. "Okay then. Thanks for clearing that up, sister."
There's a tiny part of him that's laughing at himself. Of course. Of course. He didn't know why he thought he would still go to his old school; that his father would let him keep some remnant of his time before.
Still, no school at all? Likely, until Yuuei? There's a part of him that wonders, terrified, if he's even going to be allowed outside until then. It's nausea-inducing to think about.
"No problem." Fuyumi hummed, her hands clenching and unclenching on the helm of her blouse. She did that a lot when she was nervous. It was a tick they seemed to share. "Are you coming? I need some help setting up the table for the three of us."
His heart did a painful jolt in his chest, much like a spooked bird.
Three?
"About that. Is…" Izuku pauses, hesitating. He carefully wets his lips, feeling his throat . "...is Shoto in the kitchen?"
Fuyumi tilts her head. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. "No, he's still in his room. He's having breakfast there. Natsuo's eating with us."
"Oh. Alright." He stood up. "I -let me get ready. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
Fuyumi nodded gently. "Hurry though, you don't want the food getting cold." She chided him mildly, turning away to leave as he gets to up to change.
When Izuku leaves his bedroom, he walks past the fallen All Might figurine without sparing a glance.
.
.
.
"You're getting better." Hiroi-sensei notes as Izuku's fire sits obediently on top of the six candles around him.
The man is kneeling in front of him, just outside the ring of candles. His eyes barely strain from the flames, watching the wax slowly melt down the side of the candles. Izuku sits in the middle, head bent low, silently fighting the pangs of nausea that follow him summoning his fire.
"There's barely any abnormal heat coming from your flames. If it wasn't for the color, I'd say it's regular fire." He purses his lips at the obsidian lights standing still and lifeless on top of the candles. "You've gained control over it, so quickly. Good job kid."
Izuku accepts the praise with a nod.
He doesn't have the heart to tell Hiroi-sensei that it wasn't a matter of control, but of power. Will and strength are things Izuku has been lacking more and more these days and since that disastrous encounter with Shoto, there was hardly a time where he didn't feel like the ground was going to crack open under his feet and swallow him whole. That his body felt on the bring, the frigid cold nestled in his bones threatening to tear his icy flesh at the slightest movement and his blood turn to solid ice in his veins.
It had been only five days since that even with Endeavor, and Izuku was reaching the end of his rope.
He's just so numb.
Did he have some latent ice Quirk he wasn't aware of, something like Natsuo or Shoto? No, not possible. Rei was the parent that provided the genetics for ice-type Quirks, and even if it was another facet of the mutated Quirk he possessed. It might have something to do with how cool the flames had felt the first few times he'd summoned it.
As Hiroi-sensei starts droning on about possible fire-based techniques, all deviating from what Endeavor could do, Izuku discretely swipes his fingers on top of the nearest candle.
It's only a passing brush, but it's enough.
The green-haired boy nearly hisses as he pulls back, the tip of his digits stinging something fierce. Ice cold, like the depths of a frozen lake.
Now he gets why the fire was so still.
He shouldn't have expected anything else.
Really, which part of his Quirk was normal, Izuku thinks somberly with a shudder he barely suppresses. Tuning into his teacher's voice, he obediently follows Hiroi-sensei's instructions and lights three candles behind him with a flick of his fingers. It's easier to move when pulling the fire forward, to let the energy flow from his aching, carved chest, down his arm and through his hand. It helped Izuku aim when doing activating his Quirk, allowing him for more precise movements that what simple eye contact could.
His tutor nods in approval, but he barely notices him.
What Izuku doesn't miss is the way the wax melted under the fire, slowly sinking down the length of the candle until it pooled around the iron base in tiny, bubbling lakes of wax.
...and he certainly doesn't miss how when Hiroi-sensei hovers his hand over the fire, the little flames stretch towards the limbs just a tiniest bit, dancing with the smallest bit of vigor they had left.
.
.
.
One thing he likes about the Todoroki property, Izuku decides, is the garden.
It has five tall trees reaching out for the skies, and perfectly cut bushes and aesthetically placed stones. The main piece of the garden is the pond that sits in the middle, stretching across part of the terrain like a long, silver snake lined by tiny round rocks. A tiny waterfall churns and bubbles quietly off to the side, casting ripples on the calm, mirror-like water.
Koi swim just under the surface, their bright scales and complex patterns glinting under the afternoon sun. The smallest was the size of his fist, while the biggest was as long as his arm. Occasionally the colourful fishes would curiously follow Izuku's shadow as he walked near the edge of the pond, their long, wing-like fins trailing behind them like little ethereal capes as they silently begged for food like the tiny slippery gluttons they were.
Izuku likes it for its seclusion. Apart from himself and the occasional gardener, nobody came here. He wonders why, seeing how beautiful and serene the place was. It was too well taken care of by the staff to not be used. The curious child couldn't help but silently wonder for whom it was built for.
Was it for sweet, gentle Fuyumi, a place for her to rest her kind soul?
Or maybe it was for Natsuo, to quell his fiery heart?
For Shoto, to give him some respite from the expectations and responsibilities that came with being the prized heir?
Or Touya, a place to hide, the reason why he never saw him?
Maybe, just maybe it was instead for Endeavor, a remnant of a time when he was still the hero Izuku had believed him to be and not this strange, towering being that sets his nerves aflame with terror?
Or was it for poor Rei, the monster as described by Endeavor, the loving mother Shoto grieved for?
It didn't matter in the end, though. It wasn't like any of them ever visited this place. Shoto isolated himself to his room, only leaving to eat, train or stretch his limbs. Izuku barely saw him anymore, and he didn't want to. The confrontation the night of the...event...had left him apprehensive of even stumbling into the dual haired boy.
Fuyumi was the most present of his family members, but she was either at school, curled up in the living room or her bedroom reading, or cooking in the kitchen. She barely got in his way and had a sixth sense when it came to leaving just before Endeavor entered the room. Having yet to develop that skill, Izuku learned to watch her reactions from the corner of his eyes.
Despite his young age, Natsuo was rarely home. Izuku generally knew if he was because half the time his older brother was on the property he could hear him shouting at their father. On those nights, he rarely got any sleep.
Endeavor was easy to pinpoint on the property, his voice carrying through walls with the strength of a rumbling storm. And if it wasn't his voice, it was the heavy footsteps that foretold his arrival.
As for Touya, Izuku had yet to meet him. He thinks he hears the door of what Fuyumi told him was his bedroom open and close at night, and someone shuffling inside, but those cases were far apart. If it was Touya, the teenager was like a phantom, barely coming to the house only out of sheer necessity.
Izuku wanted to meet him but after experiencing firsthand Shoto's stinging anger, Endeavor's quiet displeasure, Fuyumi's defeated meekness and Natsuo's brash, outraged spirit, he was unsure if meeting the oldest of the Todoroki siblings would be a good thing.
He's my sibling, he thinks as he kicks a small pebble into the pond, watching it sink under the water. The koi swirled around the disturbance in a shimmering cloud of scales, curious and hungry.
It was dizzying to think about, how many people his family now contained. Before it was just him and Inko, the fatherless Midoriya duo who spent their nights curled up together in one bed watching movies, Izuku's freezing toes curling into his mother's belly under the thick covers and eliciting more than one choked laugh from the woman before she would slip away to get him wool socks because maybe you don't feel it, but your feet are cold, Izuku!
He let out a broken whine at that, hands rising to wrap around himself.
He misses that.
He misses her.
He misses the small house, his stuffy bedroom, his overcrowded classroom, the smell of food in the morning when he passed by the vendors on his way to school. He missed Inko waiting for him at home, chatting with Aunt Mitsuki on the phone who hissed and stomped and roared like a dragon when she was angry. He missed Uncle Masuru helping him with his kanji in the kitchen, peeking over his journals to watch him do homework on the kitchen table.
Izuku let out a shuddering breath, swaying. He hiccuped once, twice, the corner of his eyes stinging no matter how hard he fought against it, no matter how much the cold seeped from the dark and threatened to freeze the tears solid. But even on the greatest expanses of ice there was water underneath and ultimately, it rose up to overthrow the cold. The tears flower freely.
There was just so much that he longed for. He missed so much, he missed-
"How about Exploboy?"
He couldn't stop the grimace even if he tried.
"Kacchan, that sounds like one of those counterfeit hero toys." Izuku gently told him, remembering the time he found a cheap plastic 'Too Might' action figure in a old vendor shop. Aunt Mitsuki barely talked him out of buying it out of sheer amusement. To this day, he didn't understand why someone would go for such lengths to make a fake toy line.
"Fine then! At least it's better than All Might Junior!"
Oh.
Oh he did not.
"Hey!" Red bloomed on Izuku's cheeks as he whipped his head around, his notebook forgotten. It fell to his lap, remaining open on the unfinished page about the blond at his side. "It's a work in progress!" He squawked in outrage.
How dare Kacchan tarnish his name choice?! Izuku knew it was kind a bit on the nose, but when he got his Quirk he'll have a better idea of what his hero name could be!
"Exactly!" Kacchan exclaimed as he waved his arms around, palms crackling with smoke and fire. "Until I find a better name, I'm going with that!"
"Well…" Izuku fidgeted, looking away. Trying to make his friend see reason was like trying to steer a rampaging bull through a busy street. "Kacchan….it sounds silly...not scary…"
Kacchan rears up, gleaming blond hair in disarray and expression fierce, looking offended like one of those colourful peacocks Izuku once saw at the zoo. Smoke and sparks dance at his fingertips, lighting up his face in a red-orange glow.
"Oi! I'll make you eat those words!"
Izuku takes off with a yelp and a mild crackle, notebook tucked tight under one arm.
How long had that been, the same boy thinks as he walks down the dirt path circling the property. A year and a half, at most? Before Izuku had that dreaded doctor's appointment that changed everything. Sometimes he wished he never pressed Inko into setting up a appointment.
Those had been good times. When Kacchan was still nice, still fierce but not sharp and as angry as he was now. When his Quirk was still only beautiful little bright sparks like firecrackers and not small, burning explosions that bruised Izuku's skin and left him to walk back home alone wearing dusty, dirty clothes.
Not for the first time, Izuku wonders how he's doing now.
Probably didn't even miss him.
Probably glad the formerly useless dead weight was gone. That the dangerous, weak-spined child was out of sight.
Don't forget his eyes, a gentle, soft voice murmurs in his ears, kind like Fuyumi and familiar like Inko. He cared. You could see it. He didn't want you gone.
Izuku stopped, expression tightening as he bit his lower lip. His hands crisped at the helm of his shirt; something wet slid down his cheeks.
Kacchan didn't care enough to stop this, though.
None of them did.
He shrieks.
The tree next to him bursts into wrathful onyx flames.
.
.
.
Inhale.
Exhale.
(It feels good.)
.
.
.
"Do you have a death wish?!" He flinches as Endeavor's finger digs into his shoulder, a sharp jab that feels more like a brand than anything else. "You could have gotten yourself killed -you could have burned down the entire property. I thought I made it clear you were not to use your Quirk outside of training-"
(Fire dances in his belly. Stronger, but still weak. It hisses angrily at his father's reprimands.)
Did they have that conversation? Or did Endeavor just talk over his head and thought Izuku heard it? Try as he might, he doesn't remember.
Maybe he forgot.
Izuku found that he was doing that a lot, lately.
Things just...slipped by.
"-what happened to that?!"
Silence. Izuku didn't dare look up from the ground. He focuses on trying to keep a steady breathing cycle, but it's hard with the guilt and fear tightening around his throat, a familiar noose that threatens to suffocate him. He stands there in shameful silence, the faint taste of ash still on his tongue.
The garden stands behind him, half smoking. It's missing a tree, a few shrubs and a entire rock. The ground was painted in black scorch marks that twist and streak across the floor, turning the tiny pebbles lining the edges of the water into strange bubbling masses that still sizzle and smoke even after Izuku realized what he was doing and cancelled the flames.
(It rests under his ribs. Still cold, still painful, but less so.)
The koi had vanished into the depths of the pond. Steam gently dances on the water's surface. It's both beautiful and sad to look at.
"Izuku."
"I'm sorry." The child finally murmurs, fighting against the instinct to keep looking at the floor as he lifts his gaze to meet burning turquoise.
From behind Endeavor's mass, Izuku can see Fuyumi and Shoto standing at the front door. His sister wasn't looking at him, her hands on her mouth and eyes wide with terror as she takes in the brutalized garden, a expression so stark on her gentle face that it fills Izuku with even more shame.
Shoto's looking at him. His bandages are gone, leaving both of his eyes -one a steely grey and the other a familiar turquoise- to glare holes into Izuku's head. There's a scar covering most of the left side of his face, the new, pinkish-red scar tissue clashing with the paleness of his skin. Izuku knows a burn injury when he sees it, but it's one thing knowing what it was, and witnessing the damage Rei has left on her son.
Suddenly, there's not much beauty left in the smoking, ruined garden. Now it's just sad.
He did this.
With his Quirk.
It was his fault.
(And it could have been so much worse.)
Fighting back tears, he takes a deep breath -it rattles in his chest, not enough, nowhere near enough- and speaks louder and stronger than before; "I lost control. It won't happen again."
His father's nostrils flared.
"See to it. I'll have words with your tutor about this."
Izuku winces.
And Hiroi-sensei thought I was doing well.
As Endeavor stomps back to the house, Shoto and Fuyumi already darting inside to avoid the dark cloud hovering over their father's head.
.
.
.
After burning down part of the garden's shrubbery, he'd been sent to his bed without supper. In all honesty, he's surprised his father didn't look to punish him further, but after a thorough tongue-lashing, Endeavor merely dismisses him.
Izuku didn't mind it though; it was warranted.
What he did was reckless. He acted like a idiot, letting his emotions get to him again. He lost control of his Quirk, again.
There's little sleep for him that night.
He tosses and turns on his futon, tries curling up under the covers, throwing them away, sleeping on the bare floor -it's no use. No matter where he turns to, he thinks of ash fluttering in the wind, of steam dancing across smooth water like a little troop of mysterious, ethereal dancers….of Shoto's glare, and the bright color of his burn.
Using the moon's light as his guide, Izuku lifts his arms over the covers and stares at them. He wiggles his fingers, spreading them in the air, watching the tiny shadows they made against one of the bedroom wall.
He gazes at his arms silently, imagining them covered in the same pitted and shiny scar tissue as Shoto's face. He could almost see it, twisting around his forearms, his Quirk branding him from the inside out.
But…
It takes but a thought, to make black flames envelop his arms.
Slick and serpentine, the tongues of onyx fire curve and flutter gently to a invisible wind, weakly glittering with speckled purples and swirling greys that were barely there before. Izuku watches the obsidian fire, only faintly feeling the coldness of the flames. There's no pain; his skin doesn't crack and blister and burn, remaining smooth and unmarked by the flames.
There's just cold.
(How unnatural.)
Sighing, Izuku dismisses the fire and lets his hands drop.
He closes his eyes. Sleep continue to elude Izuku, so he just lays there, hands folded on his chest, and waits. At some point he closes his eyes instead of just staring up at the ceiling, counting the shadows the tree leafs made from outside the window, but he quickly loses track and it dissolves into mindless staring.
Time passes.
The shadows grow longer and longer; the room becomes bathed in lighter and lighter colors until ultimately, it's the sun's soft golden rays that take over the smooth silvers and blues of the moon. Izuku is brought out of his meditative state by the sounds of the living waking up.
He hears Fuyumi shuffling around the house, Natsuo's boisterous voice piercing the calmness of the morning, the roar of the car marking his father leaving the house for work. He can't pick up any sounds from Shoto's room, nor Touya's (as usual), but he knows his older brother is up as soon as the sun peeks over the horizon, doing morning stretches and preparing for his afternoon sessions with their father.
I should probably get up, too.
Hiroi-sensei usually held his classes at the same time as his father, but Izuku couldn't lay in bed any longer. He throws the cover off and moves to stand.
He had to get up now. It's better to get started early while he still had-
The world tilts.
For a moment he lays there, cheek pressing against the tatami mat, eyes staring unseeing at the wall. There's a spot of yellow near the base where the All Might toy still sits, abandoned and forgotten. The tiny plastic blue eyes seem to drill into his skull. Silent, but faintly warm with their familiarity.
(When was the last time he watched the debut video? It felt so far away…)
Izuku stares back with his own, dull grey ones. The smile, the damned smile was getting to him, he knew it. It made his spine prickle and the cold twist in his gut, electrified.
When All Might's gaze becomes to much for him, he closes his eyes.
Inhales.
Exhales.
(Why was it getting harder and harder again it was easier yesterday-)
He pushes himself up.
.
.
.
He should tell someone.
He really should.
(He doesn't.)
.
.
.
Endeavor's words with his tutor were enough to send him into overdrive.
If Hiroi-sensei was faintly amicable before, he's a shut door now. Izuku barely arrives to his designated training room before he's forced on the matt and in a candle circle again. The workout is even more gruesome than before.
The physical exercises Hiroi-sensei had been previously steadily adding into their routine was skipped entirely in the favor of going straight into Quirk training.
If he had to guess, Hiroi-sensei was panicking.
By their third training after the garden incident, it's all but confirmed.
"I don't understand why it happened." Hiroi-sensei murmurs more to himself for what felt like the fifth time. Izuku doesn't even try to interrupt him, choosing instead to focus on his work because the faster he was done, the faster they could move on. "You were being good. You've never lost control of your Quirk before, especially not to this scale."
I know, Izuku thinks somberly, but he doesn't voice it out loud.
Had his father threatened to fire Hiroi-sensei?
"I should add meditation to the list of exercises you need to undergo. We can't let it happen again, understood?"
Izuku only nods in response.
Hiroi-sensei's training was grueling.
He has him turning his Quirk on and off continuously on the candles -has him making his fire dance from whisk to whisk, leaping across them like frogs across a pond -that thought makes him wince- and exhausts him by making him keep his fire on for hours on end to test endurance.
It's easy training compared to what you will do when you're older, Hiroi-sensei informs him as he stands in the middle of the room, quietly biting down the bile that threatens to come up. You will do better in time.
Izuku just keeps quiet.
He didn't have time.
And he doesn't have the strength to keep it down, either. Izuku glances at the clock, hung up over the main door. There's less than a hour left to their training. I can do this.
His stomach twists uneasily in his belly, another warning. It's not the first time, but there is something different. Some lone instinct in him tells him that. He has to get out of here before he makes a mess of things, again. They'd only recently repaired the floor, and the garden was still a mess. He couldn't afford another screw up.
Without his teacher's permission, Izuku cancels out the fire on the candles.
For the briefest of moments, he just stands there, hands on his knees. The candles' tips still smoked, long phantom wisps that twisted in the air like ethereal snakes. The youngest Todoroki can barely hear his tutor impatiently asking him what was wrong, why he stopped the exercise early.
Then he stands up and turns to look at his teacher.
"May I be excused?" There's a hushed silence that falls over the room at the unexpected demand. His tutor peers at him, wrinkling his nose in distates.
Izuku nevertheless holds his exasperated gaze, not letting any emotion show.
"Fine." Hiroi-sensei hisses out after a moment, scowling in exasperation. "I will have words to your father about this."
Izuku only bows in response. "Thank you, Hiroi-sensei." The words taste like gravel in his mouth -no, metallic. Discreatedly, he licks the roof of his mouth.
Definitively metallic.
Izuku leaves the training room as fast as he could. He doesn't realize where his feet are taking him until he stumbles into the bathroom, opening the door with a soft push. The green-haired boy wobbles to the toilet, standing over it.
He stares at the porcelain, unseeing.
His knees give out before he can stop it; he's only able to grab onto the edges of the toilet, eyes squinting closed before his stomach curls in such a painful way he nearly cries out and suddenly something warm and metallic crawling up his throat and hitting the water. It sloshes, a unpleasant sound that makes the nausea even worse.
It makes Izuku retch again.
He'd never felt so awful before. Was he sick? Was he dying? Quirk Strain, maybe? He didn't know, he didn't know and it hurt so much…
When he opens his eyes again, he stills.
There's red in the toilet.
Izuku stares for the briefest moment before he closes his eyes and whimpers, the corner of his eyes stinging. He tries to bite down on the rising panic, but he can't. There's no way he can lie to himself when he just coughed up what looked like half a cup of blood.
I have to tell someone. He thinks, trying to fight the hysteria.
Just like that, something ugly rears up in his head and sneers.
Who will you talk to?
Endeavor, he thinks immediately, then he has to fight the grimace. No, not father, he'll just be mad, he'll just be disappointed-
If he wasn't clutching the edges of the toilet, he would be holding his head and trying not to weep in frustration. Things were so much easier with Inko.
But she's not here, is she?
Izuku's mind blanks. Any further thought of telling someone fizzles out with that dark, rancorous thought.
She let you go.
Numbly, he reaches out blearily for the level and tugs it down. The toilet flushes, taking with it the sea of scarlet.
It's fine. The trembling boy thinks as he watches the evidence disappear. I just have to be more careful.
The fire sways like candlelight in his chest, lethargic.
I have to be better.
.
.
.
He doesn't get better.
.
.
.
Days pass.
Waking up is harder and harder. Half the time Izuku just wants to sink under the covers, curl up in a nest of warmth and stay there forever. Most often than not, he only wakes when Fuyumi is at the door, asking him to have breakfast with her and Natsuo.
He always says yes, but a growing part of him never wants to open that damned door ever again.
Training is difficult. He develops the habit of excusing himself four fifths into his sessions, the nausea and growing numbness keeping him from working as hard as he wished to. His tutor doesn't like it but since Izuku has yet to burn something again, Hiroi-sensei can't scold him.
Much.
Not that Izuku cares for his opinion. It's harsh, but he's running a very tight ship at this point, juggling training, avoiding Shoto and trying not puke his guts out in the middle of the hallway for all of the Todoroki to see.
That last one, he's failing miserably.
This night's no different. He's pulled out of a restless slumber by the familiar twists and churns of his stomach. It only takes him a moment to realize what was happening and then he's off, ripping away his covers and crawling to his feet. Silently panicking, he slams the door a bit on the way out; the sound makes Izuku wince.
What if someone heard?
The exhausted, sickly boy nearly whirls back to hide in his bedroom out of fear of someone leaving their bedroom and seeing him, but the rumbling of his stomach told him wouldn't be very happy to be ignored. And so Izuku goes, trying not to make a lot of sound as he rushes down the hall.
He's a mess of disorganized limbs when he stumbles to the bathroom and drops to his knees hard in front the toilet, gagging and gasping through each wet cough. The sick boy barely manages to aim his head at the bowl to keep from making a mess of the tiled flooring. He doesn't think he has the strength in him to clean if he did.
The taste of metal in his mouth brings tears to his eyes and Izuku sobs through the retching. He tries to be quiet, but it's impossible when he's gagging and wheezing through mouthfuls of blood.
Limbs shaking, stomach twisting knots in his belly, he waits for his body to calm down. His throat burns from vomiting, and his fire bubbles uneasily from where it's lodged under his ribcage. For a moment, Izuku thinks he was going to pass out like this, bent over
Finally, blessedly, it stops after what feels like a eternity.
He lays on his knees, head swimming. Saliva and blood gather on the corner of his lips. There's nothing left in him to give him the strength to stand, so he sits there. Rests his cheek against the edge of the bowl, closes his eyes and tries to coax his breathing into something livable.
Something moves behind him.
Slowly, Izuku opens his eyes.
There's orange shadows on the tiled floor.
"You're sick."
His father says it as a simply statement, and the edges of Izuku's lips unwillingly twitch upwards. An understatement, seeing as he's just about coughed up a lung and a half. Izuku wonders if someone could live without one.
If it stopped this, he certainly would.
His father's heavy footsteps edge closer to him; Izuku moves to stand simply out of reflex, not wanting to give his parent the excuse for another deluge of comments about his appearance. His knees fail him though, and his legs wobble dangerously halfway through the motion, about to give out.
Izuku never hits the floor.
A hand comes down on his shoulder, steadying him. Startled, the young boy is stiff but docile when his father kneels down, loops a massive arm under the back of his knees and lifts him to sit on the bathroom counter.
It's not the first time Izuku has been picked up by his father, and it reminds him of the last time, when the cameras were flashing and there was nowhere to hide from the masses. Except, there are no lights here, no cameras, not people to look at them and sing Endeavor praises. It's just the two of them and one really bloody toilet. Izuku didn't even have the time to flush it.
The marble feels cold against his skin. Against his will he fidgets, tilting slightly on the side as his sense of balance fizzles in and out of working order. Instead of worrying about that, he focuses on his breathing pattern. In, out. He does his best to keep it regular.
In front of him, Endeavor pulls away to peer at the toilet, a gnashed hiss reaching Izuku's ears as the man discovers the scarlet color of the water.
Izuku's too out of it to feel same. His swaying only stops when he feels one of his father's hand wrap loosely under his chin, keeping him still. Lightheaded and floating away, a glassy-eyed Izuku barely registers what was happening.
He yelps when light blinds him in the eyes.
"Hold still," His father mutters forcefully as he flicks a small flashlight between glazed green eyes. Izuku whimpers and fidgets, but the pro-hero's hold on him was steel. What was he doing? "How long?"
"Warm." He croaks instead, eyes sliding shut again. Blinded, Izuku reaches for the fire that he knows are on the man's face. Maybe if he touches it-
A finger taps him on the forehead, startling him and making him reach for the offending digit instead. "Izuku, focus." His father snaps in that familiar, reprimanding voice. He's still, however, surprisingly quiet for a man his size. "How long have you been sick."
Izuku lets the answer roll on his tongue for a moment. The metal taste had yet to fade.
There's no way he can hide it anymore.
"A while," He finally says with a wheeze, looking at his knees. Endeavor lets out a muffled noise that sounds suspiciously like one of the curses Kacchan likes to use. "...a week, 'ore? I dunno." Distantly, he's aware that he's slurring.
"You need a doctor."
"'Kay." Izuku croaks back placidly.
His father tells him something else, but it's around the moment he starts talking that Izuku's body it had enough and he's drifting again.
By the time Endeavor carries him to the car with rushed, hurried steps, his breaths had become short and wheezing. Something wet drips down the side of his mouth, but he's too sleepy and exhausted to wipe it off.
It just keeps dripping, down down down...
-Izuku follows.
.
.
.
"His white blood cell count is down." The doctor speaks over Izuku's head, but he's barely aware of it at this point. He's swimming in and out of consciousness. "He's also way too thin for his age. Dangerously so. That and combined with his deliriousness, it's like his body is in a constant state of distress. It's starved for nutrients."
Izuku lets the words drift over his head like clouds, keeping his eyes closed. He can hear his father's fire flickering somewhere to his right. So close, he can almost sense it.
Warm, warm fire.
His own lurches unsteadily in his chest, fluttering its wings anxiously and he whines as he tilts to the side of whatever he's laying on, trembling hands reaching from under the blanket for the source of the flames. It's stupid, but like in the bathroom, he can't help it.
His actions don't go unnoticed. Endeavor only needs to use one hand to press him back into the bed. Izuku's too tired and feverish to try again; he doesn't need to, however. His father's hand remains on his chest and he curls up under it, shuddering as it's warmth seeps into his bones.
Not enough.
Nowhere near enough.
He needs, he needs-
(What is it?)
The words, the knowledge stick to the back of his head like gum, unwilling to form, refusing to come to light. Izuku's stuck between a state of knowing and not knowing, and if he was even the slightest bit more aware it would have driven him mad.
"What illnesses could have brought this?"
"Well, there's…."
Izuku knew he should be listening. In any other situation he would, avidly, but not now. Not in the state he's in.
He keeps phasing in and out and he knows he should be panicking, but at this point, honestly, he was just tired.
"You mentioned his Quirk, yes?"
A grunt. "Indeed. I believe this might be Quirk Strain. My son has grown weaker since he started training his fire. His tutor can verify this."
Oh? Izuku grips onto awareness with desperate claws. Had his father noticed? Hiroi-sensei had to have told him about the skipping, was that why he didn't get reprimanded about cutting his training short?
"Interesting," A shuffle of paper. The doctor's speaking again. "Have you considered…"
His uncertain hold slips.
No-
Izuku is out before he can stop it.
.
.
.
People come and go.
At least, he thinks they are people. He only sees shadows at the edge of his blurry vision, moving around him and speaking in quiet tones. It's like looking through a thick fogged window at nighttime.
He should be scared, but there's very little awareness left in Izuku. He can only lay there, curled up under a mound of blankets, limbs tucked in as he fights to breathe. Fights to keep that small, flickering flame alive inside him.
But it's cold, so cold, and there's no warmth left, there's nothing but a dying candlelight lodged in his ribcage. He tries to feed it, to give it air, but it's tiny and weak. It was like trying to feed a tiny bird with a big spoon. It just didn't work.
Still Izuku tried.
He had to.
"Hold on, Izuku." Someone murmurs at his side, sad and heartbroken, during the times where Izuku is just the tiniest bit aware. Fuyumi.
The fever drags him back down before he can manage to croak out even a single word of comfort. It's a struggle, to poke his head out of the water, to hold on just long enough to catch a wisps of who was around him. Once, Izuku thinks he feels a hand on his own, small and only moderately warm, trembling, but he's too out of it to discern who it is.
He has to focus on breathing, no matter how hard it was.
To keep the tiny flame, the smoking coals that once used to be a blaze, going in his heart. It's nigh impossible.
He exhales-
there's
no
kindle
Darkness.
.
.
.
The next time he wakes up, there's someone he doesn't recognize in his bedroom.
It takes a lot of effort, but Izuku manages to flutter his eyes open.
His sight was blurry and he could barely see over the large, strange plastic thing clasped over his mouth, Izuku can tell this person was male, and young. Too small to be Endeavor, too big to be Natsuo. Nowhere near slender enough to be Fuyumi, nor bearing Shoto's characteristic mop of hair.
This wasn't a stranger, though.
Izuku could tell due to the familiar shade of his dark red hair.
"You poor thing," He hears Touya murmur softly, wonder and sorrow all wrapped together in his voice. There's warmth fanning over his forehead as the older boy breathes. He's sitting at the edge of the futon, long legs folded at his side; Izuku feels one of his hands being picked up. "All burnt up, aren't you?"
Silence stretches between the two of them.
It takes a while for his brain to translate those sounds into words, and give meaning to the man's phrase. When it does, Izuku tries to formulate a question, but his tongue is lead in his mouth; there's no strength left in him to even move it. He can only let out a low croak and make his fingers twitch in the teen's grasp.
How does he know?
How does he know the right words that Izuku's mind couldn't muster?
He's only distantly aware of how the man turns his wrist delicately, cradling his hand in his. His face is blurry, but in the darkness Izuku could discern the sharp curve of his jaw and the soft angle of his cheeks. A teenager at most, but his hand is positively massive compared to his.
And warm.
So warm.
Izuku tries to nuzzle closer against the source of that relief, but there's things on him that he can't focus on, that he can't describe, that are just as strange as the object on his face and he whines, forlorn.
The man chuckles.
"It's okay," Touya reassures him gently, bowing his head close. Izuku could see his eyes now. Turquoise like Shoto, like Endeavor -but kind. So, so kind. He melts even further into the bedding. "I'll fix you up, little brother. Just sit still, darling."
For once, Izuku doesn't mind following a Todoroki's demand.
He lets Touya hover over him, holding his hand carefully in his own. Through a blurry vision, he watches as his eldest brother's fingers slide down the curve of his arm, following the trail of blue veins that stands stark against paper thin, white skin.
Again and again, he repeated that motion., then switches to his other arm. He's more careful with that one, as there is one of the weird equipements Izuku couldn't name on his forearm, digging his skin. A needle? It's strange that he can't feel it, but as worn out as he was, it's expected. Izuku half-dozes against his older brother, barely holding on through the warmth of his touch.
Touya exhales softly, sounding almost wistful.
Then there's blue dancing at his fingertips, casting bright halos over his face.
There's not enough strength in Izuku to jolt at the appearance of the cerulean flames, but he's able to let out a tiny, wheezy gasp. It earns him a soft chuckle and a wry smirk from the older Todoroki. Izuku watches at Touya's digits bruise under the stark flames, as if unable to support their presence.
He wants to voice out his concerns, but those blue eyes gaze down at him, demanding attention. Then they flick down, to the blue fire, and mindlessly answering the silent request, Izuku reaches.
Black twines with blue.
He's pleasantly surprised by how easily the fire responds to his call. It blooms from his chest, up his veins and joins Touya's brilliant blues like a lost partner on his arm. It's dark and stiff to begin with, still cold and dead, but slowly, as the blue flames mold against Izuku's quirk, it begins to wake up, grows from glacial to cold to chill as it wiggles and dances around elegant sapphire with more and more strength.
And Touya's flames, they grow dimmer and dimmer.
Izuku watches quietly through bleary, squinted eyes. Touya didn't seem to mind, his deep blue eyes gazing at his hand on Izuku's arm. His fingers seemed unharmed by the black fire -Izuku had learned to tell when it did, it felt like a sixth sense- but his own Quirk didn't seem as careful judging by the redness of his pale skin.
The youngest of the duo wants to tell him, wants him to stop hurting himself, however lightly, but the quiet, persevering intensity of Touya's presence keeps him quiet. His brother seemed set on this; and Izuku, he was in no position to argue.
Soon there's nothing but black remaining, the remnants of Touya's fire swallowed by the onyx flames.
His older brother doesn't seem worried. Instead, a satisfied smile stretches across his lips, accentuating the gauntness of his face. "There," He whispers, more to himself than Izuku, who's starting to drift again.
This time it's different, though. This time he feels heavier, more grounded. More here.
Touya pulls his hand away, and uses his other one to tuck Izuku back under the covers. He reaches out into the darkness and tucks something hard and lukewarm in his left hand, to which Izuku holds on to obediently.
There's the faintest smell of something burnt, but he can't locate the source. Izuku tries to lift his head, curious; Touya gently tugs him back down. The soft, smooth chuckle of amusement he lets out caresses Izuku's ears, and he knows then and there things would be fine.
He was going to be fine.
He trails his finger over the item in his hand. Even without looking, the young boy recognizes the feeling of two pointed shapes atop of a tiny, plastic head.
(Someone cares.)
"Sleep, little firecracker."
Izuku closes his eyes and falls back willingly into the darkness, the weight of Touya's hand resting heavy atop of his head.
.
.
.
"You shouldn't be up."
"I'll be fine," Izuku murmurs simply in reply as he walks across the living room, taking measured steps as he moved. There's barely any tilting, and he feels no nausea. It's the best he's felt in days. "I feel better. Besides, I don't want to stay in bed all day!"
Natsuo only squints in reply, untrusting of his word. That might be because Izuku was on several different kinds of painkillers, but it's not like it's a huge issue. It's been a solid eight days since their father found him retching in the bathroom, and two since Touya came to him at night.
He had yet to see his eldest, most mysterious sibling again.
(Izuku's not disappointed. He's not.)
"I doubt that." Fuyumi replies from the couch, watching him worriedly. "You're pushing yourself, if father finds out-"
"He's probably the bastard who's pushing him to do this." Natsuo hisses from the kitchen.
Izuku falters. "Don't…." A sigh. "...father hasn't said anything. I'm doing this on my own."
"So much doubt, little brother, so much doubt."
"Believe what you want, Natsuo." Izuku replied, unperturbed. He's grown used to Natsuo's bite. Hours hearing him scream his lungs out at Endeavor were slowly desensitizing him of the spiteful side of his older brother's personality. "I need to get better. The faster I'm up, the faster I can start training again."
There's a thud and a muffled curse from Natsuo coming from the kitchen. Fuyumi makes a grimace. She hesitates only for a moment before asking; "Izuku, are you sure father-"
The smallest Todoroki nearly misses his next step, only barely catching himself with a hand on the top of the couch. Fuyumi jolts, her book nearly tossed aside as she half-rises to help him. Izuku waves her off as gently as he could.
"He's not." Izuku says a bit too forcefully over his sister's voice. "I can't skip out on training. I need to master my Quirk."
"Fuck that, you haven't even started school work with your tutors!" Natsuo reprimands him from the kitchen. He's peeking his head out into the living room now, his mop of white hair shadowing his narrowed eyes. "You'll have Yuuei to train your Quirk, why are you putting so much focus on that?!"
"Because I need to." Izuku shrugs as he starts practicing again. "I just do."
This time it's Fuyumi who speaks up. "That isn't a answer."
Izuku shrugs, refusing to reply verbally.
How could he? He couldn't find the words to explain to them that he didn't know, exactly, why he was so insistent on this. That the reason he was pushing himself so hard after being sick for so long was due to some instinct engraved in him, something that was part of the bundle of impulses that led him to using his Quirk for the first time. And this strange phantom hung at the back of his mind like a ominous vision, telling him to get up, Izuku, and do something before it's too late.
Because he was running out of time. Since his Quirk activated, he's been on a time crunch he hasn't been aware of and he needs to move, fast.
(The ground was starting to sink under his feet.
Soon enough, the noose would begin to strangle him.)
.
.
.
He knows his siblings mean well, but he couldn't stop.
Whatever his oldest brother did, Touya only bought him time, and he wasn't around to ask how. Izuku had to push through without him, and fast. There's something under his skin, something bad he's missing about his Quirk.
And he has to figure it out.
Soon.
.
.
.
"You're better."
"Gha!" Izuku nearly falls over at the sudden voice next to him, the sharp yelp his older brother manages to drag out of him probably shaving a few years off his lifespan. Whirling, the green-haired boy turns to look at the sudden intruder in his bedroom.
Unperturbed mismatched eyes stare back in return.
Shoto.
"Thanks?" Izuku manages to choke out, so startled by the older Todoroki's appearance.
His brother stares at him for the longest while, grey and blue eyes flicking up and down his form, examining him. Having been under the scrutiny of Natsuo and Fuyumi for the past few days, Izuku knows a judging gaze when he sees one. He's trying to figure out if I'm gonna fall over.
Good thing he's not. He has gotten better -not as good as before his Quirk manifested, but he wasn't vomiting blood anymore, so he guessed that was good.
"...I'm glad." Shoto mutters and he suddenly blinks, his neutral expression slipping into surprise, as if he was taken off guard by his own words. Izuku opens his mouth to thank him again, but the older boy is out the door before he can even get a word out.
Once again, Izuku is left alone.
Still, he smiles.
Then he gets back to work.
.
.
.
Inhale.
Exhale.
You can do this, Izuku.
.
.
.
Ultimately, he can't.
.
.
.
"You're not focusing!"
Fire burst forth on the tip of the candlestick. Izuku chokes down on the bile.
Today was worse.
So much worse.
He had half a mind to call off training entirely, but he can't muster the words to form on his lips. Izuku knew it was wrong, but a stubborn part of him wanted to push through this, wants it to be over, wants to fight through the weakness before the something that was making his skin crawl happened.
Izuku didn't understand. He had been getting better, had he not? It's only been two weeks, why was the cold back? Had he reached that invisible finish line he'd been dreading?
If this kept up, his father was going to have to drive him to the hospital again. His stomach drops at the thought. Endeavor was definitely going to be disappointed. Between the garden incident and the trips to the hospital, Izuku wouldn't blame him if he thought he was more of a burden than anything else.
Then a traitorous, painful thought slams into him. What if his father sends him back? What then? What would happen to Inko, what would Izuku do to her-
"Focus! You're not trying, Izuku." Hiroi-sensei is in his face again, jabbing a finger at him. Fire crackles around his fingertips, restless but restrained. There's little worry in his voice, only annoyance. "You were doing so well, too. What's going on with you?! Are you sick again?"
I don't know. I don't know.
He's barely aware of Hiroi-Sensei grabbing onto his wrist and all but yelling at him, gaze filled with reprimand. His eyes failed him, his vision tilted and blurred in a way that was intimately familiar. Izuku felt like all the strength he had left was focused on keeping him upright.
Even blinking is slow, taxing work.
Izuku stares up at his teacher's arm, transfixed.
He barely hears it's owner reprimanding him. Not over the thoughts swirling inside his head, so fast and disjointed he barely understood them.
No.
Maybe.
It hurts.
If I...
There's two Izukus in his head, tearing at each other, reaching for the wheel. One's small and weakened, skin cold and clammy. Sickly. The other's feral and angry, banging against the walls of his cage like a angry, starved animal.
That's the one who's winning, he realizes numbly. Izuku can't even scream in warning. He's locked inside his own body, staring at his teacher's gesturing hands with wide, blank eyes. It's right there, the answer's right there-
He remembers Touya's gentle touch, the warm of his fire.
How his flames had-
(Suddenly, he knows.)
"Are you listening to me?"
Izuku reaches with his mind and pulls.
Every fire needs kindle.