Stygian Fire

by GreenFrisbee1

Izuku's Quirk manifest at the tender age of five. It's strange that he would have a fire Quirk given what his mother's Quirk is, but he chalks it up to genetics on his father's side. A week later, there's a (familiar) stranger in the kitchen, and everything changes.

5. Chapter 5

Me last chapter: Sorry it took so much time this was a beast of a chapter I hope you like it hahaha its the biggest one I'll make cuz there was a lot to go through-

Me today, sleep deprived, high on caffeine with a pigeon snoozing on top of my head: Oh my sweet summer child.

Yeah, I still got the pigeon. It's getting fat on bird feed and doesn't want to leave. Is this how you get a bird? This is how you get a bird.

Fuck.

Apologies for the monstrous delay, won't happen again . There was a lot I was dealing with this past two weeks and this chapter went through like 5 versions before I was satisfied. I have no sleep left in me. I smell all the colors now. Remember me my darlings, I want to be cremated.

---

The bench felt frigid under his hands.

Izuku stared emptily at the perfectly smooth, tiled white floor as he swung his legs back and forth, his movements leasured and winding. With his age and thin build, the tip of his red shoes barely scraped against the ground. Izuku didn't mind. If anything, the lack of contact had lulled him into a distant state of meditation by the repetitive movements.

Though if he squints just a little bit harder, he could spot the ash sticking to the soles and sides of his shoes.

(His shoes aren't the only thing that was dirty. It's on his pants, his shirt, his hair hi e-)

Tearing his gaze away, Izuku turns his attention to the window. It's still light outside, the blue of the sky just barely beginning to darken. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, branches full of green casting soft twisting shadows through the glass. Occasionally the sunlight would pierce through the leafs and bear down on his eyes, forcing the youngest Todoroki to squint and look away.

Izuku turns his attention to the farthest wall. White, barren, clean, it's unassuming and to another, boring, but it's what he chooses to focus on. He gazes deeply into the soft whites, letting himself be absorbed by it. People walked by the young boy; nurses, doctors, patients, visitors, all caught up in their own struggles, unperturbed by his presence. Too busy walking to their destination to acknowledge the five year old sitting alone.

He's not by himself for long. The door next to the bench clicks open, and out steps a familiar tall man with red hair and brilliant flames dancing on his skin. His footsteps echo like drums, forcing a small tremor out of the small child. The man walks over to stand at the middle of the hall, towering, in front of the window. His shadow drapes over him.

Not even a glance was spared at Izuku. The boy takes in a deep, solemn breath, refusing to look at him. Endeavor offers him the same courtesy.

A oppressive silence stretches on between the two.

The pro hero stares out the window, arms crossed, back to him. Izuku can't tell what he's feeling but the green-haired boy can sense the dark cloud hanging over his head. The hard lines of his shoulders were drawn in and tense; his hands were crisped on forearms, fingers digging into the dark business suit he'd been wearing when he rushed back to the house.

Green eyes flick back down. There's familiar, dark grey speck clinging to his father's legs. It's not dust.

He wishes it was.

"You're lucky that I made him sign a non-disclosure agreement." Endeavor's words drift into his ears, their meaning faded and lost to his mind. Izuku lifts his gaze to stare out the window.

His head feels tight, the pressure in his father's blank voice getting to him, but the rest of his body feels strangely lax. At ease. Relaxed. A sleepy state of fullness.

Shame boils under the ice, threatening to break through.

"I didn't mean to." Izuku tells him placidly, but it feels bland.

Empty. Like a lie.

Because it's not true is it-

It may be because it was one. Quirks like theirs didn't just activate on their own. A bit of smoke, a bit of fire, but never like this. Never to this level, and his father knows it.

"You didn't mean to." Endeavor stresses the word, hands clenching and unclenching at his side, his massive, intimidating body incredibly tense with the need to do something.

His father makes a noise not unlike a snorted exhale. It's the least dignified noise he'd ever heard him make. Izuku could see the fire flicking back and forth around his head, twisting angrily, betraying his emotions. They're bigger than usual, spreading over his neck and shoulders like they would in his hero gear. It's a wonder they aren't burning his clothes. "You didn't mean to. How could you have not meant it?"

There's no sound leaving Izuku's lips. At the vast, stretching silence, Endeavor spins around and stalks up to him, who's frozen stiff on the bench at his approach. Each stomp of his massive feet sends a unpleasant jolt through Izuku's heart, which wilts and twists and hurts when a thick finger digs into his shoulder in a familiar gesture.

Like a fish dragged up by a hook, Izuku's gaze goes up. All-encompassing turquoise eyes pin him in place.

Shoto's face flashes through his mind.

(Never Touya.)

"Izuku, you incinerated his arms."

The finger digs deeper into his flesh, and Izuku's world tilts at the familiar gesture of reprimand. It had been only days ago since the last time -he remembers the garden, the twisted, broken road, the mass of ash that used to be a tree and a rock, the steam rising across the pond-

-the screams, the blood, the ash dancing against his skin as a body falls to the tatami mat, shrieking, wrinthing two stumps that used to be arms and it felt, it felt so-

Izuku takes a deep breath. His gaze falls back to the ground.

Then he takes a second one.

Then a third.

Oxygen flows through his body, grounding him. It feels good, but it's not enough to keep his heart from trying to claw its way out of his ribcage out of self-disgust. He knows what he did. He knows what he did. And the ugly truth behind his Quirk. He knew and Hiroi-sensei...he…

The sot marks on his cheeks burn.

You know how his Quirk works, Kacchan's voice tells him spitefully. It was a familiar tone, one of bite and restless anger the blond boy would use when Izuku did something better than him at school. You took his arms. You might not have killed him but you stole everything from him-

He wants to defend himself, but nothing came to mind.

Because it was true.

Without his arms, Hiroi-sensei's work as a hero was over before it ever really began. He was never going to be able to use his powers ever again, not with the main way he used his Quirk gone. As far as Izuku knew -and he'd had plenty of time to study his tutor, though he never dared to note things down- Hiroi-sensei could only generate fire from his fingertips. Which meant that by burning his forearms to crisps, Izuku destroyed his career as a pro-hero.

He'd done what villains do.

The realization tastes bitter on his tongue. It hurts almost as much as the finger currently stabbing into his shoulder. It manages to pierce through the veil of dim warmth and fullness that had settled within his bones, and grip his heart cruelly.

"I didn't mean to."

lies lies lies

you did this

you liked it

"I find it hard to believe." His father answers, letting his hand drop to his side. Izuku's shoulder still ached. "I'm not a fool, Izuku. You've been more and more out of control. And now this-" His gaze flicks to the closed door, if only for a moment, but it still sends a stab of dread down Izuku's spine. "-I don't know what to do with you. You're turning into such a disgrace-"

The words leave him before he can even think it through. "Then send me back."

Endeavor pauses.

"...what?"

So quietly said. So dangerous.

For some reason, it's worse than him yelling.

If Izuku wasn't feeling so full and calm, lulled by the content feeling of the flames inside himself, he would have caved. If there wasn't a fire dancing under his ribs, warm and unburdened by hunger, he would have never spoken up in the first place.

"Send me back." Izuku repeats with a stronger voice, though slightly higher, slightly more hysterical. He still feels that terror, but it's manageable. The idea was now rolling, making its way around his head and Izuku would be a liar if he said he didn't like it. "I'm a mess, no? Then that means you don't need me. That means you can send me back."

That means I can go home.

(Inko Kacchan Masaru Mitsuki home home home-)

His father doesn't reply. He just stares, eyes narrowed. His expression, unreadable. Izuku could almost see the gears turning inside his head. He knew he shouldn't be asking. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. It was insanity. Inko would only be in danger and yet and yet-

(Let me go.)

"I.." Izuku lets the words roll on his tongue, testing them. He wishes he could force them down his throat, make them disappear, but they climb out of his trembling lips anyways. "...I want to see my mom."

He's finally managed to choke it out, and immediately regrets it.

"And what do you intend to do? Burn her too?" Endeavor finally answers, voice low, not even bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. "...like you've done for your teacher's arms?" He continues, tone edged with a viciousness Izuku had never experienced before. He'd never heard the man be so...so cruel, not even to Natsuo.

The green-haired boy flinches, barely fighting the urge to curl into himself. He was right, though. Of course he was. His father's words had some measure of truth in them. Today was just another example of how out of control he was.

How dangerous he was.

If he could do this to a fully trained pro-hero, what would he do to a vulnerable Inko? His mother was too kind, too soft, she had no training and her Quirk was neither water or fire based so if he did go out of control and there was no one else around…

Izuku lets out a wordless, pained noise. His toes curl inside his dirty, ash-stained shoes, and he barely keeps himself from shivering. The fire curls unpleasantly in his chest.

His father's head snaps to him at the sound, eyes narrowed. "What is it?" The now is not said, but clearly implied by the tightness in his voice. It was becoming clearer and clearer just how much his father didn't want to be here.

"Nothing." Izuku shakes his head, looking away from the adult. He didn't have the strength in him to look at his father in the eyes, not after- "I...I'm just tired." He lifts his head, but his gaze never passes higher than the invisible of his father's chest. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

A slow nod from the red-haired man is his only confirmation that his father had accepted the apology.

Green eyes turn away from Endeavor, resting on the door his father had just gone through. Because of his height, Izuku can't peer at the small window at the top. He's not sure he would peak if he could. His throat suddenly feels awfully dry.

Would he even…?

A pit grows in his stomach the longer he stares at the closed door.

"Can I…?" He wonders out loud, voice wavering. Unable to muster the strength or courage to speak any further, Izuku holds his father's gaze and jerks his head towards the closed door. "Can I see him?"

He's not ready to see the man whose future he destroyed. Izuku knows that. But he has to. He needs to face what he's done. He needs to look at Hiroi-sensei, look at what was left of the once proud man and say-

Please let me see him.

Please let me apologize.

Did he even have the strength to go through that door?

His father's expression darkens further. "Do what you will." He tells Izuku with a low voice, jerking his chin towards the room.

Most of the steel that had been in his voice previously was gone, leaving behind something angry and tired. Once ago Izuku would have thought he was imagining it, but now he knew the man long enough to know the signs. His shoulders stood a few inches lower, his fire was quieter and there was a cut on the left side of his face, likely from the hero work he'd been doing right before he'd rushed home.

Izuku's barely able to warble out a thank you in response. He slides off the cold bench, his fingers trailing over the metal as his feet silently touch the floor. Walking over to the door, his legs dragging as if he was waddling through mud, he rests a hand against the doorknob.

It wouldn't take much. Just a twist of the handle and a push. Just a bit of effort and he would meet his teacher again. It wasn't much.

(Lies.)

Izuku turns his head to look at his father. Endeavor was looking down at him, expression indecipherable. There's a dark look to his face, a pinching of his brow and a shadowing of his eyes that the green-haired child cannot decipher.

Time passes.

Izuku can't move. His hand trembles against the door.

Endeavor exhales. The number two hero shifts on his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Finally, after a moment of thought, the man lifts a arm and extends a open hand towards him.

Izuku steps away from the door and rests his hand within his father's. The large, strong fingers wrap around his frail limb, just shy of painful.

"Let's go home, Izuku."

Weak, Izuku thinks to himself as they walk together to the car. I'm a failure.

.

.

.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Fuyumi asks him through the door. Her quiet voice barely reached through the thick wood, full of concern and anxious worry.

Izuku merely grunts as he turns the faucets on, setting the temperature to scalding.

"I said I was fine." A beat. He feels a pang of guilt. "I can do this by myself. Thank you."

There's no answer. He hears Fuyumi's footsteps fade away.

He doesn't feel sorry. He doesn't. He'll deal with his older sister later.

He can't be around her right now. Or anyone.

Izuku turns away from the door and resumes undressing himself. His red shoes were kicked off and placed neatly next to the toilet, and he pulled his shirt over his head. He holds the fabric loosely in his arms, staring at the grey stains dotting the cloth. No burns in sight.

Swallowing, Izuku folds it carefully before setting it on the toilet seat. He goes to pull his pants next, but his gaze snags on the bathroom mirror and he stills.

He's still as pale as ever, but there's a healthy blush on his skin, making him look less like a walking corpse and more of a person who never goes outside. Izuku's attention is drawn to his frame. A bit of muscle had formed since his arrival, but he's mainly attracted to the fact he has lot a fair bit of baby fat.

The lady was right, he thinks as he pokes at his limbs. The veins on his arms stand stark against his skin. I'm too skinny.

There was no pain however. It wasn't as bad as before he-

Izuku bites his lower lip.

Finally, he dares to look up at his face.

Dead green eyes greet him. The gauntness has faded overnight. Or rather, within a few hours. The thought sent a shiver of dread racing up his spine.

It was nauseating to think it had only been hours since then, since-

Don't.

Don't think about it.

He can't stop.

You can't think about it.

He's so tired.

no no no don't-

Hiroi-sensei's face scorches the front of his mind, his expression twisted in a mixture of pain and shock and when he s he looks at Izuku with such horror-

his arms what did you do

A wounded animal sound rings out through the steam-filled bathroom. It takes a moment for Izuku to register that the shuddered, choked cry was coming from his own lips.

A lot more time passes before he realizes the pain on his face was from his nails digging into the flesh of his cheeks.

It's a struggle, to pull his hands away.

(He just wants to dig deeper rip into his skin tear it out tear it out tear it out he doesn't want this Quirk-)

Izuku's body trembles with barely restrained energy. It coils within his bones, digging into his joints, a pressure so strange yet so familiar he restrains it out of reflex. His arms shake as he leans into the bathroom sink, barely hearing the water running as the tub slowly fills.

He never tears his gaze away from the mirror.

There's a mess of black, purple and red on his face. His hair hangs limply on his head. Crescent moon cuts frame his dull green eyes. Blood drips down his cheeks, constrasting with the paleness of his skin, mixing with the sot and ash clinging to his flesh like a brand he will never wash off.

It doesn't feel like enough.

.

.

.

He's in the garden again.

The trees are without leafs, the rough bark darkened, calculated. Izuku runs his hands across the surface of their trunk. A low hum leaves him as black sot clings to the tip of his fingers in the wake of his touch, painting his pale skin in shades of black and grey. It's still warmth. The heat sinks into his flesh and leaves him wanting.

His feet carry him away, down the pebble path. Come here, something calls from beyond, coaxing. Over here. You need to come over here.

Izuku halts at the shore of the pond. Cold lapses at his toes and ankles, inviting. Yet he can't move, eyes staring off into the depths of the small body of water. Feet rooted in place. There a primordial instinct tickling at his hind brain, telling him to not move.

There's something in the water, and it's not the koi.

He can see the fishes, swimming just out of his reach. They flick their fins at him, long powerful bodies sifting through the cold water. It's not them he's worried about, but the moonlight blankets the surface of the water in a way that the only thing he can see is dark blue and opulent silver.

Leaning down, Izuku dips his hands into the water. The koi brush against his nails, their slimy bodies pressing against the limbs. Izuku tries to ignore their playful advances as he gently sinks his arms up to his elbows.

Clouded beneath the water, he watches as large, pale hands clasp around his own.

Izuku wakes in a cold sweat, all but throwing his covers of himself as he sits up in his futon. There's a scream lodged in his throat that refuses to come out, choking him, and for a moment he claws at his throat, gasping-

The fire flares beneath his skin and suddenly the blockage clogging his airways is gone. A pained rasp tears its way out of his throat; its followed by a sharp intake of air, then a second, then a third. Izuku sits there in the dark, shoulders hunched, body trembling. Fingers curl tightly around the sheets, nearly tearing them.

To his shame, he thinks he can smell smoke. Flopping back, he pulls the covers over his head while attempting to ignore the darkened burns his Quirk had left behind on the fabric. Closing his eyes, he tries to go back to sleep.

He fails.

Like everything in his life, really.

(Once a Deku, always a Deku.)

.

.

.

Izuku doesn't see Hiroi-sensei again.

According to his father, his training sessions are cancelled for the foreseeable future.

Instead, he gets tutors that start on his schooling. Writing, reading, mathematics, history. The first few days leaves Izuku's head spinning. They cover everything he would learn in school; the classes start early in the morning and end early in the afternoon, taking most of the day with them.

All too suddenly, he has homework again; he has a reason to read books beyond his own interests, he has more work to do than he'd ever had before, even back home. The material is different than before. He spends his evenings pouring over his assignments, practicing on his new notebooks dutifully.

Before he had only training to worry about, now it was school work instead, taking most of his time. Izuku's not bothered by the sudden change, though. It takes his mind off worse things. The teachers are boring but thorough, and he understands why the drastic shift in his lessons from hero training to normal school things, if not a bit more advanced than back with his mother.

It hurt, to think about her.

'And what, burn her too?'

(It hurt so much. Was this what Shoto felt?)

She would be proud, he thinks, of how fast he was advancing with his education. Izuku remembered the times he would rush home on swift legs, Kacchan barely keeping up with him in his enthusiasm. He would leave the blond at his house before darting to his own, clutching his latest test with a crisped hand as he banged the front door open while waving the paper furiously in the air. Those had been good times.

Those had been simple times.

Izuku wants nothing but to wind back time and go back to those days. Heh. Time manipulation. Now that would have been a nice Quirk to have. The possibilities floated through his mind like little sparrows, fast and fleeting, and his lips can't help but twitch upwards at the thought. A Quirk like that would be incredibly useful.

Instead however, he's stuck with the Quirk equivalent of a landmine that decided to go off whenever it wanted to.

Izuku groans, letting his head drop against the notebook he had spread out on the table. Fuyumi and Natsuo are too busy figuring out the new rice cooker to pay him any mind, which he finds reassuring. He doesn't think he could handle their overbearing presence for so long.

During the worst part of his illness -Quirk Strain, his mind mutters traitorously- they had treated him like glass and almost never let him move around the house on his own. Now though? He was mostly left to his own devices. Izuku has to wonder once more if their father had anything to do with it.

Probably.

Shoto was one burn victim in the family too many.

A small part of Izuku wants to bang his head against the table at the dark thought. Instead of giving in and earning himself a few new bruises and hopefully, a concussion, the youngest Todoroki decides to retreat to his room. Silently, he picks up his notebook, his pencil, his eraser and darts out of the room while Natsuo starts yelling as the steam stings his eyes.

He's not worried though; Fuyumi's there to assist him once he's done cussing up a storm. In a way, he was very much a mellower older version of Kacchan.

Pale fingers crisped around the edges of his notebook. Something sizzled. Izuku blinked, startled, then looked down at the source.

Immediately, he dropped his notebook with a yelp. It fell to his bedroom floor, distinctive hand-shaped marks seared on its front and cover. Smoke waffles up in lazy, swirling clouds. Izuku stares at it, shocked into a stupor.

When he comes out of it, he wants to scream into a pillow.

(At least he had the air for that now. For how long, who knew.)

.

.

.

He dreams of walking in the great garden, his only source of light being the moon that hung over his head, full and as pale as Fuyumi's hair.

He's alone, with only the sounds of nature as his companion. There's no cars rumbling in the distance, no tire screeches or muffled chatter that came with crowds. It's as if the world began and ended in this garden.

Izuku finds that he doesn't mind this. He watches that glowing moon as the hours stretched on, how it climbed higher and higher into the dark void of the night sky. How the stars shimmered with hidden secrets over his head, drawing his thoughts away from memories of ash and charred bodies and broken dreams.

He finds that he quite likes this version of the garden.

It felt peaceful.

Lonely, but calming.

He walks over to the koi pond, tossing his shoes and socks aside as he walks into the water. The fishes swim around him like little ghosts, nipping at his toes, looking up at him with dark, knowing eyes. Laying bare everything hidden under his flesh, the fire that flickers gently in his ribcage like a lit candle, soft and at ease yet interested.

Izuku stops as the cold water reaches his ankles. The moon bears down on him, coating his skin in a thin silver sheen that washes out of the colors of his pajamas. He wants to look up at the astral body again, wants to feel the moonlight on his face, but a uncomfortable feeling draws his attention to the water. The koi swim enticidly around him, waiting. Brushing their slimy bodies against his feet like a cat demanding attention.

There's something else in the pond.

Izuku squints as he focused on the strange intruder a few feet away. His breath stutters when the moonlight illuminates their shape.

Two arms float on top of the water, bobbing up and down as the koi brush against them, nipping at the exposed, charred flesh. Brushing their whisks against the white of the bones.

He stumbles out of the water backwards, uncontrollable tremors running up and down his body, unable to tear his gaze away from Hiroi-sensei's limbs. The koi were far from startled by his sudden movement, long scaly, dazzling bodies swarming around the severed limbs, nipping at the blackened meat, tearing small bits around the gaping wounds of the upper arms.

Red mixes the pond's water, slowly turning it soft, transparent pink. The koi's glittering bodies moved through this spreading cloud, disappearing in and out of sight like little ghosts.

No sound manages to crawl its way out of Izuku's lips beyond a tiny, choked breath as he watches the koi's fins slap around the surface. They look gleeful as they rip the waterlogged limbs apart.

They look happy.

He should join them.

Izuku wakes up screaming.

.

.

.

It's not the last time.

Insomnia, Izuku finds, is a ugly word. On his tongue, it tastes like ash should -dry, stale and dead.

.

.

.

Sometimes he sits cross legged on the floor in front of the dojo.

Izuku never opens the door.

Did they clean his training room? Did they fix the flooring? Did they clean the ash from the tatami mats?

He doesn't want to know.

Instead Izuku just lays there, palms on his thighs, green eyes fixed on the door. Sometimes, he can hear his father alone inside, the crackling sound of his Hellflame Quirk having become intimately familiar to him. As was the crackle of Shoto's ice, the sharp hiss of steam, the thud of a body hitting the floor, his father's grunted commands and his brother's hissed replies and painted groans.

When they use their fire, Izuku can see the shape of their bodies through the thin material of the sliding door. He can feel the heat too, but it's dull. The fire in his chest still strains in attention each time, interested.

He's not sure why he does this. Why he tortures himself like this.

He could be doing his homework. He could be reading. He could be helping Fuyumi around the house, or spending time with Natsuo, or studying in his room-

It's not going to get him back home. It's not going to let him see Inko again. It's not going to bring Hiroi-sensei's arms back. Izuku wasn't going to pretend that things were fine, that he could smile even if everything was going wrong. A full month and a half spent here had worn down his ability to do so.

Still despite this, he comes back here at every chance he has, at every slim window of time he can spare.

The floorboards creak.

Biting down the urge to jolt, Izuku turns his head to the left, looking for the source of the interruption. Shoto was standing a few feet away, his neatly folded training clothes held against his chest. There's a red bruise on the side of his face, and his hair is flat against his head, wet from his recent bath.

(That's one more thing Izuku learned here. With Inko, he never folded his clothes. That never stopped him from trying. He remembered gifting his mother sloppily folded clothes with a gummy smile. She always waited for him to be out of sight before folding them correctly -at least, she thought he was out of sight.)

"Shoto." He greets politely. His brother blinks, expression pinched with something Izuku can't decipher. "You finished training."

The older boy nods, lips pursing as he looks down at the folded clothes. "Yeah. Father...he had to leave early."

Izuku hums, head tilting back to look at the closed door. That explained why he didn't hear them. They were gone when I arrived.

"He said he was satisfied with my performance."

The smaller boy nods gently. "Really?"

"It's true." From the corner of his eyes, Shoto looks like he'd rather be eating a whole lemon than having this conversation. He has to wonder why his brother was still here if this was so excruciating for him. "We focused on my fire today. I -it doesn't come as naturally as ice to me."

If his heart clenches with something ugly at Shoto's words, Izuku tries to ignore it. "You'll learn." He reassures him, fiddling with his hands. His eyes never stray from the door.

There's a sharp, grumpy sound of distaste. "That's a given." I have to. It's strange, how easily it was to have a silent communication with his family. It was never that way with his mother. "What about you?"

The question takes him off guard. Blinking owlishly, Izuku turns his head and shoulders to the other boy. Wait, when did Shoto sit down next to him?

"Huh?"

"Your training," Shoto fidgets at his, fingers twitching on the folded fabric with the barely repressed urge to fiddle with the sturdy cloth. Izuku couldn't help but be drawn to the gesture, so much so that it takes him a moment to hear Shoto's hesitating voice; "-did father change your schedule? I can't hear you training anymore."

His eyes flick up and down the thinner boy's body.

"There's no-" He rose one hand at tapped at the blooming bruise on his face. It's nearly as red as the scar over his eye.

Izuku blinks.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Shoto doesn't know. Izuku realizes, throat dry. He doesn't know that I-

He doesn't even fight the wave of mad hysteria that crashes over him. Shoto doesn't seem to notice. His gaze is guarded but soft, softer than before Izuku's sickness. He would feel warm about this change if he wasn't feeling like he'd just been dipped into a icy bath.

"It's going well." Izuku finally chokes out, voice barely wavering. He mentally pats himself on the back for that one. He's learning to mask his emotions. It's useful; he wishes he had this skill before, it would have been a great help against the rowdier kids and Kacchan.

(Ruby eyes framed by blond flash through his mind, singling him out. A sharp grin, hands tightening around a bug net, challenging him to a dragonfly catching contest.)

"...father's holding off more training for now." Izuku continues to lie, his voice inexplicably smooth for the poison he's spitting out. He jerks his head towards the door. "At least until I catch up on my studies. I'll probably get another teacher then."

Since you mutilated the last one-

The answering wordless sound Shoto made was thick with doubt. Nevertheless, he keeps that skepticism to himself. They both know that there was only one kind of study their father favoured, and it wasn't something taught in class.

It's a wonder that the older boy let it slide. The conversation tapers off into solemn silence.

Shoto stays with him until he has enough strength to leave.

.

.

.

.

The garden's fixed.

There's a sapling where the old tree used to be. The pebble road had been replaced, the debris cleared and the bushes pruned and replanted.

Izuku stands in front of it and wonders how fast this one would burn.

.

.

.

There's a lady cooking in the kitchen.

Izuku watches her move around from behind Fuyumi, his sister as perplexed as himself. They watch this strange, this intruder from the doorframe, unsure of how to proceed with this interloper. At one point she glances at them, eyes sharp and narrow. Fuyumi's hands unknowingly end up on Izuku's shoulders, holding him close. He can feel his sister's nervous shivering.

She comes in every three days, arms stacked high with glass containers filled with strange stews and other foods Izuku can barely recognize. Each of them has a little note taped to them, with the name of the dish on top and how long they have to be reheated. Izuku can't read most of the words, but Fuyumi and Natsuo pool over them religiously.

The lady never speaks.

It's okay, because none of the Todorokis want to talk to her.

Maybe it's the tight, pinched expression or the high cheeks or the dullness of her eyes. Maybe it's how she walks like she owns the world, fast paced and determined, her movements quick and to the point. It could be how she's in and out of the house within twenty minutes, barely staying there long enough to take the old containers and place the new ones in the fridge. Izuku's lucky if he sees her at all, though he can always hear the tap tap tap of her elegant high heels on the expensive wooden floor.

She doesn't hold herself like Inko; none of her nervous, benevolent energy, none of her radiant warmth that sinks into his skin and makes him feel like he was worth something, like he was important and cherished. She has none of Mitsuki's brilliance, none of her loud, demanding fire that made even Kacchan in his worst mood apologize, and made Izuku feel safe. She's cold and stern. Alone.

A line separates this lady from them. There's a invisible bubble when she steps into the house, a aura of intruder that makes them shy away. And her actions only further deepen that boundary, to the point Izuku can nearly feel her presence through the walls, the click of her expensive shoes warning him just as well as his father's heavy footsteps. She never touches the kitchen itself. The clean dishes, the glasses, the utensils it's all the work of Fuyumi and Natsuo.

Izuku tries to help, but he's just too short and his arms shake too violently while holding the plates, even if he'd down to only one pill her day. It's a pointless effort.

"Don't worry, little brother." Natsuo tells him with a gentle push towards the living room. Behind him, Fuyumi had climbed onto a chair and was stacking the plates in the cupboards. "Let us take care of things, gotcha? Just focus on getting better."

At this, Izuku squints and looks at his retreating back, discouraged. He doesn't miss the hurried way he walks, but in his dejecture he can't bring himself to pointing it out. It wasn't the first time his siblings skirted around him like he was carrying a deadly plague.

He's not weak.

He's not useless.

He's not dang-

"Izuku, you incinerated his arms."

.

.

.

Well.

Maybe there's some merit to that idea.

.

.

.

It's been a month since the incident. Or at least, Izuku think it has. He's not keen on looking at the calendars anymore, not beyond what is required of him by his tutors so he doesn't miss assignment deadlines.

Slowly drumming his fingers against the paper, he looked down at his homework, lips pinched. Numbers dance on the sheet that he struggles to grasp. He knows the material -his tutor, a tight-lipped man with short crop blond hair and mean little eyes, hadn't let him leave yesterday until he managed to drill the calculations into his head in a session that passed the normal three hour mark and had him spending five hours lodged in the study room's hard chair, hands shaking from writing for so long.

It's only after he got it right several times that the man let him go to sleep. Fuyumi hadn't even noticed him not showing up for dinner. He's grateful for it.

His hand drops on the assignment as he tilts his head down, sighing. He couldn't do this. The numbers might as well be squibbles on the paper. He's pretty sure they're dancing to some invisible little tune just to spite him. Groaning, Izuku leans forward and puts his head in his hands, pressing his palms into his eye sockets. Hard. The bruises under his eyes twinge under the pressure, sore from lack of sleep.

(He's lost track of the last time he's had a full night's sleep.)

Maybe a walk would clear his head?

Izuku leaves the books and papers on his desk and stumbles away. That's a worthwhile thought. Certainly more productive than just sitting here trying to make sense of numbers that seemingly twist and spin under his gaze until they became a muddled mess. There was nothing to do here.

He hesitates as he reaches the door, looking back at his abandoned homework. He still has a few hours until his next lesson at 4. He could take a breather. It wouldn't hurt his progress; it wasn't like he was training his fire anymore. Studying could wait.

At the thought of his Quirk, Izuku's left hand finds its way to his chest. The flame's there, swaying gently within a nest of ribs. It's nowhere near as frazzled as before, but there was a certain sharpness to the way it occasionally flickered in his chest.

Not dangerous, but a warning.

(He didn't like to think about what he'll have to do, when the time comes.)

The door slides closed shut behind him as he steps out his room. His feet decides the way for him; Izuku drifted through the house, quietly skirting around the living room as he hears the television relay the news. Fuyumi is out with Natsuo to school, and their father was doing hero work.

Touya was a no go; Izuku hadn't heard a single noise from his room in nearly a month. He tried not to think about what it meant.

This left the only other living being in the house as Shoto, and Izuku didn't really want to deal with his older brother at the moment. It wasn't that he disliked the two-toned boy, but his sudden change of behavior since his illness had left Izuku feeling vulnerable.

When Kacchan was mad, it didn't take much to cheer him up again. A extra candy, a apology, a traded toy. The other boy would flip at the smallest of things, but his anger was very different than Shoto's or his father's; it burned bright and hot before dissipating in a burst of light, leaving behind darkening bruises and apologies stuttered through gritted teeth. It was temporary. Izuku never liked it, but it didn't eclipse everything else about Kacchan.

Shoto on the other hand was practically a stranger to him, blood be damned. Despite how subdued the pale boy became after Izuku's Quirk just about tried to kill its wielder, he wasn't about to forget how their relationship had been beforehand. Shoto had been so angry after that conference, and the way he had looked at Izuku -it made him want to die of shame, to just stop existing if it meant never subjecting himself to such a glare ever again.

His rage was as cold as the ice he created and lasted just as long. The flip after the sickness was a relief, but Izuku couldn't -wouldn't- forget it. For as much as Shoto seemed to hate their father, his fury was just as blistering.

So Izuku avoided the living room, instead taking the hallway that led to the main entrance. He slipped out the front door, ignoring how his bare feet slid on the smooth wood. It's sunny outside. The sky's blue. There's barely any clouds.

The hard pebble hurt against the soles of his feet, but he ignored it with practiced ease. Months ago he would have considered it painful -if Inko by some work of the divine let him out of the house without proper shoes and warm, fuzzy socks- but now? He barely registered the pain. A small, twisted little part of him born out of nightmares filled with ash even welcomed it.

He reaches the koi pond. The fish are swimming lazily under the surface, but as his shadow passes over them they scatter. He has to wonder if they recognize him. Izuku hasn't read a lot about the species -or any fish, for that matter.

A year ago he'd asked for a dog, and even went of a bit of a rampage through his favorite library to learn more about them and the possible breeds he could adopt. Izuku remembered rambling on excitedly about the topic to Kacchan, who would nod along and then tell him that if he got a dog, it would probably be very small and meek like him, and if he did, he was gonna ask Aunt Mitsuki to get him the biggest dog they could find at the pound. Izuku to this day was skeptical that Aunt Mitsuki would go through with it, but he'd let it slide.

He'd showed enough dedication to the subject that Inko had even let him use the computer. Though at one point, she slipped out from his bedroom to go cook and when she'd come back, Izuku was curled up under the bed shivering and wide-eyed. The computer had been playing a barbaric battle between a villain with a telekinesis Quirk and two rookie sidekicks that were fresh out of Yuuei. It hadn't ended well.

Apparently, getting distracted watching hero fights was a very easy way to find videos that were definitely not suited for someone his age. Watching villains win while tearing heroes and civilians apart had left him quiet and forlorn for almost an entire week -until Kacchan had enough and dumped his juice over him while telling Izuku to get over it.

Which brought him back to the colorful fishes he was observing. Izuku's stomach dropped lower and lower the longer he stares at the tiny little animals, remembering the way they had scattered in a blind panic after he began burning down the garden.

He couldn't risk having another accident like that again.

(Phantom limbs floated at the edge of his vision, taunting him.)

And in truth, he wished he could just leave it at that and abandon this broken mess of a Quirk in a dark corner of his mind where it could never see the light of day. It was grim, to handicap himself in such a way, but that's what he thought when he was alone, lost in his thoughts with only the flickering, content flames curling within his chest like a pleased cat.

He wishes he didn't have this.

He wishes that he never hurt Hiroi-sensei. That he wasn't sick. That he was home, with Inko, with Kacchan, with Mitsuki and Masaru. It's a silent demand to the universe, a soft wish he occasionally whispers into the darkness at night in between nightmares, curled up in his futon that feels so different from his bed at home.

Most of all, he wishes his former classmates' jeers of quirkless had been true.

He leaves the pond behind, the sight of the rippling water and the koi swimming under its surface sending waves of cold sliding slowly down his back. He can't be here, not any longer than he has to. Where he saw beauty and calm before, the sight of the garden leaves him feeling lonely and bitter.

Was that why none of the Todoroki came here? Did they have their own bad experiences here, did they suffer too? Had his father's fire burnt the aging trees, had Shoto covered the pond with his ice? Had Touya danced through the winding path, clad in blue flames?

He couldn't picture that last one in his head. Touya brought feelings of warmth and comfort to Izuku. The idea of his fire used to burn the lonely garden, eating away at the plant life didn't compute.

The gravel crunches under his feet as he stops at the property entrance.

Izuku stares up at the massive iron gates, thoughtful. He watches the way they glint darkly under the sun. With the isolated location of the property, tucked in the higher, richer part of Musutafu, there's barely any cars that fly by. There are people, but they are few and far in between. Izuku doesn't look at them, however.

His eyes are on the gates.

Did he have, he wonders, enough fire left in him to melt the great doors?

Fingers twitch at his side, barely held back by long nights spent tossing and twisting in the dark, drowning in nightmares full of ash and blood. It would be easy. His Quirk had already showed how fast he could reach high temperatures, quicker and stronger than his father's famous blue fire, which he could only use sparingly.

Metal meant nothing to him. It would only be a matter of stepping forward, grabbing the bars and letting the fire crawl up the veins of his arms, spilling out of his fingers in grand torrent of quicksilver-black flames.

Unlike the rest of his family, he wouldn't have to worry about the heat. The fire could never harm him. Izuku knew that. He tested it; there was nothing to worry about. Not there.

But, where would he go?

Izuku continues to fixate on the gates, unperturbed by the wind brushing his hair over his eyes. Something coils around his heart, tight and asphyxiating him with nerves. He couldn't do this. Not that he physically couldn't, but the repercussions of doing such a thing...

He swallows.

No. He couldn't do it.

He didn't have anywhere to go. It was dangerous to leave. If not to himself -oh his father would have a talk with him, just the thought sent a glacial cold throughout his body- but to others. This was lunacy. Madness.

If he did this, he would be stupid. He would be selfish.

"Izuku?"

The world

stops.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked beyond the gate only to stare, feet rooted to the ground, at the figure shifting hesitantly on the walkway. A woman was standing on the other side of the gate, familiar green locks falling in disarray around a round face that was the exact copy of his own. She's wearing a small green dress and was clutching her purse tightly, though it slides out of her hands when their eyes meet.

Even the fire in his gut stops moving.

Midoriya Inko smiles at him, stepping forward. It's not the smile he knows, soft and familiar and welcoming she offered him each time he got home from school. This one was soft and terribly sad and why was she here she doesn't know she doesn't know she doesn't know what he d i d -

"Honey, are you alright?" Izuku watches her, frozen. She's reaching through the bars, something almost desperate in her eyes that is barely held back. A jolt runs through Izuku's body at the sound of her voice. It's been so long. "You're so thin -you haven't been eating, have you? Please, Izu -" There's a tiny, choked gulp of air as her fingers strain towards him. "Come here, please it's been too long, please, Izuku come here-"

She sounds desperate. For him.

(Melt the gates melt the gates get out go to her go to mom she's safe she's HOME-)

He doesn't reply.

He can't reply.

There's cotton in his ears. Ice in his blood. Horror in his heart.

The words twist in his head, from the sudden overbearing desire to tear the gates apart and go to Inko to something other, something older and darker. He can feel the wetness of his shoes and socks, the biting cold of the wind -there's a pond spreading in front of him, shimmering koi dancing beautifully around mutilated limbs. Beady, evil little eyes inviting him to their feast.

Only then, he doesn't just see Hiroi-sensei's arms. There's something else there, that he can't grasp quite yet.

(A body, green-haired like his own, floating face down in the water.)

"You can't be here."

His mother freezes, hands stilling in the air. "Izuku?" So soft, so hesitant. Gentle. Home, in every sense of the word.

If he was in a more rational state of mind, he would be tempted to melt the gates and rush into her arms. If it had been a few weeks ago, he would have done just that, with no hesitation. Just tear the walls apart with a revolted, furious scream and hands fill with fire and then go to the only person that felt like home.

But that was Izuku from a few weeks ago.

The Izuku of now cannot hear anything beyond the blind terror gripping his mind in a iron grip. Whatever Inko might say -and her mouth was moving- was drowned out by the simultaneous heat and cold spreading through his body, alightning him with horror he'd only felt the night he tore Hiroi-sensei's dreams down with a bloody, relieved smile.

"You can't be here," He repeats through the lead filling his mouth. "You can't -if -it's too dangerous. Y-You need to leave." Izuku swallows. The exhale he lets out next is shaky and rough. "You have to leave."

The way her eyes slowly widened nearly broke him.

"What?" She rasped. Green eyes darkened, wetness gathering on her cheeks. "I just got here-" His mother cried out and oh, how it hurt. "-I can't leave, I can't leave you no I can't!" She shakes her head violently. "I won't! Please, please honey just come here!"

Izuku knows that look. That desperate, stubborn terror darkening every corner of her face. It's the same feeling he felt every time he took a stand in front of Kacchan, no matter how bruised and bloody he was, no matter how ripped and dirty his clothes became. It's the look of someone who has nothing to lose.

(Melt the gates!)

She wasn't going to leave. Not on his own.

And as much as every piece of his body longs to tear the great gates apart and step into her arms, finally safe, finally home. Izuku learned better. He couldn't go with her.

So Izuku does the only thing he can think of.

He spins around and flees.

"Izuku!"

The wretched scream washes over him as he runs with all of his strength. It nearly makes him trip as he rushes back up the pebble road, his mother's insistent shouting and cries driving knives into his back.

His feet lead the way, for he can't see the path. The only thing he sees is Kacchan's face as he reels back, hissing while he clutched reddened fingers close to his chest and he didn't know they both didn't know how close he had been from-

Don't look back.

A garden bathed in black, silver and purple, steam mixing with smoke as it ascended higher and higher into the sky and father was yelling-

Don't you dare look back.

-Hiroi-sensei's hands reaching for him, pale and grey and so very dead.

Izuku stumbles through the front door; he all but slammed it closed behind him. Knees trembling, heart lodged in his throat, his back hits the door and he slides down, exhausted. There's sweat sliding down his neck.

He takes his head into his hands and inhales deeply, biting on his lower lip hard to stifle the mindless scream threatening to rip it's way out of his throat. He couldn't believe he did that. He couldn't believe he abandoned his mother outside the gates of the property.

He was a monster.

His toes curl at the thought, and he almost bites his hand to reign in the sudden burst of self-hatred that bubbles up at the memory of his mother's heartbroken expression. Who could do such a thing?

You protected her moron, Kacchan mutters in his head. You can't be near her. You can't leave this place, not unless you want to hurt someone. Again.

Yeah. His next inhale was better. That, that was logical. That made sense. He wasn't a complete monster. He was protecting her.

It didn't make him feel any better.

Izuku crawled to his feet, stumbling through the house towards the only source of sound beyond himself. He finds his way to the living room, where Shoto is curled up on the couch in a rare moment of peace, eyes narrowed as they watch a newsreel about a hero Izuku doesn't recognize. It's one of the few times Izuku sees the boy doing something else other than eating, studying, training or preparing to train.

The older boy glances away from the screen as the floorboards creak under Izuku's feet. Their gazes meet. Something dark passes through Shoto's expression as he looks at him up and down.

Neither of them speak.

Izuku fidgets, well aware of his state of disarray. "Can I?" Nervously, he gestures at the couch.

Maybe it's the look on his face, but Shoto nods wordlessly and shuffles aside, letting him take a spot next to him. Izuku ambles over, flopping down next to the older boy. At any other point, he would be excited to see a new hero, but not now.

Now he just feels exhausted.

There's a small spot of warmth where his older brother was curled up. Izuku sinks into the heat, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to concentrate on the news reel playing on the television.

He fails.

.

.

.

It takes him two weeks before he dares to take a step outside the main building.

He doesn't tell Fuyumi or Natsuo about how his mother showed up at the gates, or the fact he practically abandoned her there. He doesn't dare mention it to his father, either. He can't give him any ideas. The fact that his father hadn't mentioned Inko at all was enough to clue him in that she'd come here of her own accord, without telling Endeavor.

Izuku doesn't want to know how he would react if he did know.

He never steps near the gate again.

.

.

.

The fire is cold inside him. Clock's ticking again.

Izuku still dreams of dancing koi and severed arms. The water laps at his ankles, and he feels the cold down to his bones as he kneels down and reaches for the disembodied limbs.

.

.

.

"Where's Touya?" He asks Natsuo one day. He watched as his brother hunched his shoulders and walks away. Where is he? He asks Fuyumi another, and she shakes her head. "Do you know where Touya is?" He finally asked two days later to the second youngest Todoroki while they were sitting in the estate's library, working together on a writing assignment in a rare instance of sibling cooperation.

Shoto offered him a empty stare.

"I've never met him."

It's been a day and Izuku still couldn't wrap his head around the answer. It doesn't compute with what he remembers, what he knows of the eldest of the Todoroki brood. Why hadn't Touya met with Shoto before? His visit to Izuku during his illness showed at he had no qualms about showing up without permission from their father.

Touya had been kind to him. He'd helped him. A small part of Izuku's brain told him he would be dead without the red-haired teen's intervention, and Izuku didn't have anything to refute the claim. His illness had been that bad.

Knowing what he knew now, Izuku was starting to grasp just how separate his older brother was from the family. How distant. It was one thing not being around, but another to never have met your younger brother.

It made Izuku rethink the way he thought about the eldest Todoroki child. Would he only show up when he was bedridden once more? Dying? Or he wouldn't bother this time around? Izuku winces, clutching his chest.

It's not a nice thought.

He curls up tighter on the tatami floor, nails digging into the ground. He's sitting in the middle of Endeavor's training chamber, the closest he was able to bring himself to going into that room. If he just turned his head to the right, he could see the closed sliding doors leading to the second training room. The last time he did let his gaze wander, the hair at the back of his neck rose up and he ended like this, weak-kneed and sitting on the floor like a child.

(Wasn't he one, though?)

The sound of a sliding door drags him out of that dark, poisonous corner of his mind.

"There you are."

Shoto.

"You," Izuku pauses, wetting his lips nervously. "...you were looking for me?"

"Yeah?" There's nervousness in Shoto's eyes, but it disappears almost as fast as it came. "You weren't in your room. Or the library. O-or the garden."

Izuku couldn't bring himself to respond to that. He just stares stubbornly ahead, refusing to make any effort to move the conversation forward. Maybe if he stays quiet, a small part of him thinks childishly, maybe then his brother would leave.

(There's a familiar cold crawling at his extremities, a silent omen that makes him want to cry.)

"'m not stupid." Shoto grumbles, jaw clenching. "You're not training. Father barely looks at you anymore. Something happened." He's right, but it's not like he was going to tell Shoto the truth. If Endeavor wanted to spare his brother the truth about what happened to his tutor, then Izuku would follow in his footsteps. Bad enough already that Natsuo and Fuyumi were told something by the way they skirted around him like he was a loaded gun, and though he couldn't discern what they were told, he could make a guess.

Izuku has to look away.

"Where's your teacher?"

He can't stop the full body flinch. From the corner of his vision, he sees Shoto's eyes flash.

"When's the last time you met him?" His older sibling pushes, stepping forward. He's only a scant four feet away now, and Izuku would very much like for him to leave. He couldn't bring himself to say it though. He's too much of a coward to do so.

"Shoto." Izuku warns, turning his head away from the older boy. "Don't."

"Don't what?" The older boy snaps back, almost challengingly.

The fire lurches, and Izuku closes his eyes and breathes, trying to keep it calm.

It's fascinating really, how easily Shoto could push the right buttons, buttons Izuku didn't even know he had until now. They were practically strangers and his brother somehow made him feel more grated and bare than anything Kacchan ever did to him.

"Don't do this. Whatever you're trying to do, don't." Izuku tries to tell him, voice forlorn. "There's nothing good that's going to come out of it." The bags under his eyes sting. Izuku wants to press his palms into his eye sockets again, but hold it there until it starts hurting.

If Shoto wasn't here, he would be following through with that thought.

"I'm sorry, but I'm tired of secrets." Shoto crosses his arms and peers down at him, hands clenched. "I don't get you. You come here, you get sick, you get worse then you get better, but then you get worse again. I don't know what to think. You're confusing." That last part was muttered petulantly.

What are you worth to him?

Izuku's lips purses.

At this point, nothing.

"You're worse again." Shoto continues, unknowingly setting Izuku's nerves alight with panic. "Is this going to keep going? Is it part of your Quirk, or are you just weak by design?" Ow. Shoto probably wasn't aware of how much that last part hurt. It only made him feel slightly better. "Why do you keep hiding?"

Izuku jerks his head up, bristling. "I'm not hiding!"

"Yes you are!" Shoto snarls, eyes sharp. 'You're always hiding away!" Fire sparks on his left arm, licking up his elbow and slightly blackening his shirt.

The warmth washes over Izuku, and he freezes. There's no way he can resist, not this suddenly.

Against his will black fire rises up, crawling out of his veins to lunge forward.

Shoto screams.

A moment ago, Izuku is sitting there, watching his fire lunge for his brother's wide-eyed, terrified, vulnerable face. He can only watch how it lights up the pale skin, highlighting the angry red scar covering half of his face.

Then he's sprawled on the ground halfway across the dojo, choking and coughing as he spits out the remains of his dinner. The fire shudders in his chest, twitching erratically under his ribs, unsettled.

Trembling, Izuku looks up.

His father is standing in front of Shoto, arm still raised, fist clenched into a punch that's still smoking. The gloves of his suit is burnt and peeled back, revealing reddened skin. Blood drips down his knuckles. There's no black fire in sight -Izuku feels it return to him, frazzled and suffocated.

As for Endeavor's expression-

His father looks livid.

"Shoto." Enji Todoroki breathes lowly, almost gently, and Izuku's never felt terror on this level. It coils around him, digging icy claws into his bones, sending sparks of burning frost through his blood. "Go to your room."

It's said levelly, as if talking about the weather -but there's pure, sharpened steel hidden in his tone.

And that look on Endeavor's face. It was unlike anything Izuku had ever seen, and as his mind slipped down and became a jittery mess of jumbled thoughts and twitching panic, there's only one solid string of thought that come to him.

He's gonna kill me.

It was a hysterical thought, but somehow, it works.

Shoto hesitates from where he lays on the floor, curled up into himself in a meek attempt to shield his face from Izuku's fire. It wouldn't have mattered, no ice or fire his older brother could produce would have stopped it. If their father hadn't been there-

"Fa-"

"NOW!"

The two-toned boy jolts, scrambling out of the room at their father's unexpected roar. Izuku bows his head, heart thumping furiously in his ribcage. He can hear the thundering footsteps, heading right for him.

He heaves up to his knees, head bowing in a pointless attempt at an apology.

"Father-"

Endeavor's hand latches on his right arm.

It takes a moment for him to register the heat. Izuku screamed as flesh smoked and sizzled. Oh god he's- He struggled in his father's grasp, fighting like a fish stuck at the end of a line. It's hopeless.

"Please!" He shrieks through the tears, sagging in his bonds. He smells burnt flesh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop-"

Endeavor lets him go like he's carrying a plague, eyes wide as if he suddenly realize what he's doing.

With his father's hold over him broken, there's no strength left in him to stand. Izuku crumbles to the ground in a twisted heap of limbs, tucking his burnt arm against his chest. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and he had to fight to prevent his last meal from going up, again.

He didn't find it in himself to fault Endeavor.

He nearly…

I nearly….

"You could have killed him."

I know I know I know-

He's spinning out of control, his mind's breaking at its seams. Shoto's face floats to the front of his mind, the expression he made when Izuku nearly killed him oh god was it the same face he made when Hiroi-sensei had-

I'm a monster.

"I'm sorry..." Izuku croaked, hiccuping.

"If I didn't intervene," Endeavor breathed slowly, forcefully, as if he was holding back. Izuku didn't blame him. "...Shoto would have lost his head."

Izuku let out a pained, agonized wail and curled into himself in a childish attempt to block out the truth behind Endeavor's words. It hurt, more than the burn his father inflicted. He shivers on the floor, almost seizing from the force behind each of his sobs.

"You can't control it at all, can you?!"

"I can't help it!" Izuku screams, his voice tapping off as he struggles to bring enough air into his lungs. Everything hurt. He just wanted to lie there and die.

"This isn't just a loss of control, Izuku." Endeavor roars at him, foot stomping inches away from his head. The green-haired boy flinches, breath hitching. "This -this is beyond just losing your hold on your Quirk! Mutated or not, part of your Quirk is born from mine, and I never lost control the way you do!"

His words ring true. Izuku relaxes against the floor, his limbs trembling at his sides. Distantly, he's made aware of the smell of blood lingering in the air. He can't bring himself to look at his arm.

His father is a towering presence over him.

Waiting.

"Well?"

"It's just too much." Izuku lets the words flow out, the pain coupled by exhaustion taking away any restraint he had. "Sometimes there's not enough and it's too much, I need to...I need to…" The ugly words clog his throat, refusing to come out.

"Too much…?"

"I...I-I…." Izuku's vision swims as he tries to get his tongue back into working order.

What could he say? How could he say it?

He's not Touya. He doesn't have the same way with words, he doesn't know as well as his older brother. Once more, Izuku wishes he was here.

But he isn't, is he? And Izuku's alone.

All alone and in so much pain.

The next sob nearly makes him choke on his spit.

"Breathe." His father tells him sharply, voice deceptively calm like Shoto didn't almost lose his head and Izuku's arm wasn't smoking.

Izuku shakely nods, hiccuping. His arm hurt and he was starting to feel numb.

"Better? Now, speak. What do you mean by too much?"

"It's like a pressure, I-I can't hold it anymore." He sniffs. "It hurts." "S-Shoto...he kept pushing I just...I just had to let it out...I'm sorry…"

Endeavor growls above him. "Stop apologizing." He reprimands Izuku, who ducks his head low again. He hears a sigh; glancing up, he's treated to the sight of the pro-hero squatting down to peer at him more closely. With his bulk, he towers well over Izuku. "Tell me, Izuku." His father pauses, mulling over his words. There's a carefully crafted blank expression on his face. "What is your body telling you?"

Izuku's taken off guard by that. "I...I…what?"

Of everything, he wasn't expecting that from Enji Todoroki.

"Close your eyes and focus. What is your body telling you to do?"

There's a moment where he stares at his father, confused.

(The fire shudders in his ribs.)

Then the answer's leaving his lips before he can register what he's saying. "Burn." He whispers, breathless. His eyes flick up to meet the cold blue of his father. "I need to burn something."

I need to let go.

The flames churn in his chest, rabid.

Starved.

(There's little to no kindle left in this tiny, broken body.)

Through tears, he watches his father's reaction. Endeavor's expression is unreadable. Then there's a hand wrapping tightly around his uninjured wrist, making him cry out in panic before he register that there's no burn.

Izuku's head swims as he's dragged to his feet and escorted out the door.

A wordless noise of panic leaves him. "W-where-"

"Quiet."

Endeavor all but slams the door of the dojo open before stomping down the hallway towards the main hall. Izuku could barely hang on. His mind was stuck in tar, and he felt lightheaded. His father's hand dwarfs his, his grip a handcuff around his limb.

What was happening?

As they walk down the hall, Izuku struggling to catch up, the boy's panicked green eyes dart wildly around the room. His breath hitches as his gaze crosses with blue and grey peeking out from behind a door. Shoto was watching them, eyes wide and startled. His gaze shifts down to Izuku's right arm, held tight against his chest, soaking the fabric in ruby red blood.

He freezes. "W-what's going on?"

Endeavor's quick to brush him off. "Nothing that involves you, Shoto. Go to sleep."

Shoto's expression darkens.

"Where are you taking him?" He growls and oh that is not good.

Izuku wants to scream. Help me. Don't let him take me away. Kacchan's face floats in front of his mind, accusing, his expression only opening into something more when it was too late.

Then he remembers what he just did, what could have happened -now the burn on his arm doesn't seem like enough.

"Shoto." Endeavor barks, voice tight and dangerous. "Go to sleep, now."

"It's okay," Izuku croaks, barely able to stand on his feet. His arm hurt, the burn a growing pain that travels up his limb and spreads through his body. He could hear the blood dripping steadily onto the floor. "...g-go Shoto. E-everything's fine."

Apparently, that was the worst thing Izuku could have said. He didn't know why, but it seemed to strike a chord within his older brother. Shoto's face grew tight and pinched, and he stepped out of the room fully, planting his feet in front of Endeavor.

"Liar." He hisses, ignoring Izuku as he curls his hands into fists and glares at their father. "You're taking him away too, aren't you?"

Izuku blinks. Too? He has to scratch his head a bit for his mind to muster up the proper answer.

Right. Rei.

"Shoto, last warning."

"I'm not going to let you-"

"You're not going to let me do anything!" Endeavor roars. The fire on his face blazes brightly, nearly touching the ceiling. Izuku gasps and flinches away. "Go to sleep, I'll take care of things!"

"You can't take him away!" Shoto yells back with that anger Izuku was becoming familiar with, that danger that could only be overshadowed by their father. "D-don't. Please."

Endeavor's expression closes even further. "That will depend."

On what?

The man shoulders past Shoto, who barely catches himself from falling over. Izuku follows, having little choice in the matter as he was being yanked along by his wrist. It's nearly as painful as the burn running up the side of his right arm.

.

.

.

They're in the car.

Endeavor was driving, expression set and closed as he gazed out into the night. Izuku sits in the passenger seat at his side. A small, distant part of him mutters about the legality of it, but the throbbing ache of his arm keep his thoughts from straying.

His naked feet chafe against the hard leather of the seat. The thick seat belt digs into his chin as he curls up, tucking his injured limb against his chest.

The pain keeps him from passing out; the fear keeps him from screaming.

He's unsure of how much time they take until they reach their destination. The sky's dark as ink outside when Endeavor opens the driver's door and steps outside. Izuku can hear him moving around the vehicle, reaching for the passenger side. For a brief moment of hysteria, his one functioning arm reaches out and lands a hand on the door handle.

His father opens it before he can gather the courage to do so.

He's brought out of the car; his feet never scrape the ground as his father picks him up with one hand and begins stalking through the dark. Only his beard lit the way, casting orange shadows on a old dirt path and what looked like the ruins of a building.

It not the only one, either. The longer they keep walking, the more broken edifices appear. Small house to five-story buildings block the sides of the path. The windows of the stores are broken and there are vines growing on the brick facade of most edifices. Izuku tries to keep his breathing under control as Endeavor continues to walk forth, unperturbed by the lack of light.

Time passes. Izuku jolts slightly as his feet meet the ground again.

Blinking, he looks up at his father's face, which was closed off and indecipherable.

"I'm going to step away." Endeavor tells him with a low but authoritative voice. "You will let yourself go." A pause. Izuku gulps. Surely he didn't mean- "Do anything you feel like doing, and don't worry about the consequences."

The fire lurches in his chest, interested. Izuku gapes up at his father, wide-eyed.

"But that's dangerous." He manages to croak out.

His father's glare is flat. "Izuku, just do as I say." Endeavor reprimands him, stepping away. Izuku sways for a moment, but manages to stay up. "Let go."

Then he turns around and walks off in a hurried pace, vanishing in between the crumbling building. He leaves Izuku standing there clad in a thin shirt and pants, shivering in the nighttime breeze. Izuku watches him go in silence, the few words of protest his mind had managed to form dying before they ever left his lips.

He's left there, alone in the dark. For a moment, Izuku contemplates just sitting down, curling up in the dirt and sleeping, for however long his nightmares would let him until they inevitably came to visit.

Then he looks around himself, barely making out the shape of the old buildings around him. It looked like a old abandoned distinct out of town, likely destroyed from a villain attack where people never really got around returning and rebuilding it. Izuku had seen documentaries at sites like these, and he knew that they were more common than the average civilian believed.

This also meant that there was nobody around for, likely, several hundred feet around him. Only Endeavor and himself, in the dark, with moon rising high over his head. He was completely and utterly alone.

There was nobody here that Izuku could hurt.

The green-haired boy rests his unarmed left hand on his chest, feeling the rapid turns and twists of the fire in his ribcage. If anything, it felt excited. Izuku himself felt it too at the prospect of some ounce of relief. It's shameful. For a moment he thinks of kois and burned hands, but Izuku manages to power through them.

There's nobody here to hurt but himself, so if he wanted…

Izuku lifts both arms on either side of his head. Obsidian flames crawl up his arms, flaring and stretching like a content cat around him.

"Let go."

The cage snaps, and the black fire comes roaring out.

.

.

.

He dances amongst the ash, black fire twisting around him. Trailing up his arms, drifting fingers of blue and purple over his skin, brushing his hair with white. Abandoned old buildings crumble away around him as flames grow like vines on it's walls, eating away at the bricks and the dirty, rotten wood underneath. Grass yellows under his feet; cracked pavement blacken and break under the unbelievable heat Izuku was radiating, though he barely acknowledges it.

He's more focused on the painful release of tension growing from his heart and spreading through his body like a big, agonizing sore he hadn't been aware of until now. Such was his focus, he never noticed how the fire formed around him, how certain buildings were crushed before they were incinerated, that each one of his steps made the earth tremble and the flames roar.

The ash rises up around him like freshly fallen snow, clinging to his naked skin.

Izuku feels warm.

He breathes.

Deep, great lungfuls that he releases in hysterical, relieved laughter.

.

.

.

Izuku wakes up to a sky full of ash.

His limbs felt too heavy to move. He was naked, covered in soot and dirt; but he feels light, lighter than he'd ever felt before. The crushing, heady weight compressing his body was gone. Completely, and utterly gone. The fire sits in his chest, warm and pleasant, not even moving with how floated and full it was. And yet despite this there was no pressure, no sensation that he was going to burst.

Only a soothing sense of whole remained, permeating through his body. It's the first time in months that Izuku wants to cry in relief.

And he does.

Izuku doesn't know how long he lays there, naked as the day he was born, dressed in only the remnants of a town. Staring up at the dark blue sky with wide, lost eyes and a relieved expression on his face. Tears drip down his cheeks, mixing with the dirt and ash in a combination that should feel disgusting, but he can't register the sensation beyond the exhilarating relief that comes with letting it out.

At least a hour had passed when he feels strong arms wrap around him, warmth that wasn't his own seeping into his body. Lifted from the bed of ashes, Izuku could only flutter his eyes in a vain attempt to discern the lump of colors in front of him.

The strength in the limbs holding him was unmistakable, however. As were the flames dancing above his head, just barely brushing against the green curls atop of his head. There's the rustle of fabric and then he's wrapped in something moderately soft and most of all, warm with body heat. Exhausted, the young boy sinks into it, the warmth spreading from the close contact and the borrowed clothes leaving him in a drifting, almost catatonic state.

Izuku feels footsteps, the body holding him shifting with every step. His father was walking, away from the epicenter of the fire. Against every self-preservation instinct -which were right now fried and not on call- he drunkenly reached out to touch Endeavor's face. His father makes no move to shush or push his hand away, and delirious from the lack of pain he's not really aware of what he's doing, so Izuku trails his fingers over the fiery beard he'd eyed for so long.

It's not distant, soft and cold like his. The orange flames feels warm and strong, wrapping around his trembling hand curiously. Enji twitches at the touch, but he doesn't pull away.

He just keeps walking, solemn and quiet. It's unsettling.

"What did I do?" He finally croaks through black lips. There's ash on his face. It pulls every time he moves his facial muscles. "Father...what did you see?"

There's a long stretch of silence.

When Enji speaks, his voice is soft.

"A titan."

.

.

.

"What did you do to him?"

Izuku blinks, awake.

Sleepily, he tilts his head away from the crook of his father's arm and looks at the source of the snarl.

Shoto was standing in front of their father, tiny hands clenched into fists. His right was pale and covered in a thin film of ice, and the right hand was smoking. It wasn't the first time Izuku saw his brother's Quirk in action, but it still gave him pause.

And then there was his expression.

Shoto looked livid.

The expression on his face is not unlike the one Izuku weathered after that press conference. Only this time, it was directed at their father. There's wetness at the corner of his eyes. The burn scar almost blends with his skin, with how flushed and red his face was.

Izuku fights against the waves of exhaustion bearing down on him. His brother didn't just look furious -there was something else there, something wild and desperate that resonated with the green-haired boy. He's seen that look before.

Desperation.

Twisting in his father's grasp, Izuku looks up at Endeavor and offers him a flat, expecting glare through a blurry vision. Or at least, as much of a glare as he can muster while trying not to fall flat asleep in his arms. The fire feels like a solid weight in his chest, denser than ever before, and staying lucid was becoming a herculean task.

There's a resigned sigh.

"Fine." A restrained inhale. "Follow me."

Then they're moving again.

Narrow-eyed and wary, Shoto follows their father closely as Endeavor walks to the sleeping quarters. Izuku watches him through bleary eyes, noting his shifty posture, hunched back and clenched hands. His eyes were fixed on the eldest Todoroki as if he was expecting the man to do something wrong.

At one point his gaze flicked down, meeting bright but sleepy green. Izuku tried to offer him some comfort with a tiny if not crooked smile. His reward was Shoto wrinkling his nose in a way that was identical to their father when he was displeased.

Showering with Shoto standing guard by the door like a hawk and their father holding him up is embarrassing, but Izuku manages to work through it. He scrubs the ash out of his skin, pries it out of his hair. He chokes a bit when Endeavor hesitantly dumps a small bucket of warm water over his head without warning, getting rid of the shampoo and the frotty grey bubbles that formed on his scalp. Izuku chokes a bit on the sudden water, but he works through it.

After the bath, the burn on his forearm is cleaned and ointment is applied. Izuku sits on the toilet as his father bandages the limb, only wincing occasionally as the dressing are tightened around the wound. Still no words are exchanged between the two of them.

It's slightly useless, to try and mend the injury. Where a dark, angry burn and flaking skin had once been, the skin was now smooth and pale, lacking hair and glinting under the moonlight like a old, faded scar. Izuku stares at in in silence. He doesn't need to look up to know his father is doing the same.

Shoto continues to be a silent shadow when Izuku is brought to his bedroom, clean, hair puffy, skin cleared and dressed with some old pijamas he'd brought over from his old home.

The second youngest Todoroki darts into the room before their father, grabbing the futon and ripping it open. Endeavor silently walks over to his dual-haired son's side, kneeling down to rest Izuku within the bed. The moment his hands leave Izuku Shoto's there, gripping the bedsheets and pulling them up to his chin.

Izuku would be a liar if he didn't admit he melted a bit as he was wrapped in the covers, the heat from the sated fire within his chest spreading through his limbs and seeping into the fabric. It feels like there's a heater within the bed, only that heater is Izuku. It's a strange way of thinking, but he isn't exactly aware enough to contemplate the logistics of it.

Cracking his eyes open, he finds Shoto sitting at the edge of his bed next to his upper body, his two-toned hair falling over his eyes. One of his hands is resting on top of the bedsheets, over Izuku's chest. The intensity of his expression had lessened -instead, there's a muddled, tired look on his face. Like he's still angry but it's been reigned in, and exhaustion was setting in.

(How long had he been aware while Izuku was gone? Had he waited, this entire time?)

Their father moves away; Izuku watches him pause at the door. He looks like he wants to say something, by the way his gaze drifts between Shoto and Izuku. Ultimately, he purses his lips and leaves, closing the door shut behind him carefully.

This left them both alone, and Izuku fights the exhaustion in favor of looking at his brother in the eyes. He inhales. "I-"

"You're not fine." Shoto finished incorrectly, and Izuku squints.

"I wasn't. I am now." He pauses, contemplating what to say. "There's nothing to worry about."

Shoto's face scrunched up, stretching the sacred skin over his blue eye. "Liar. There's always something." He murmurs, something haunted passing through his eyes.

Izuku can feel the heat blooming on his cheeks. He doesn't need a mirror to know that he's blushing with shame.

"I thought he took you away."

Izuku jolts and looks up. Shoto's eyes were glassy, tears dripping down his cheeks and hitting the bedding next to Izuku's head. He tries to speak, but only a short wheeze leaves his lips.

Shoto's crying.

Shoto's crying.

He doesn't feel as warm anymore.

"I thought he took you away," Shoto repeats, voice breaking and Izuku's heart burns with the desire to comfort his older brother. He's still bundled under the covers however. "...like mom, like Rei -I thought he was going to make you disappear, too." The two-toned boy sniffles, lifting his left arm and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. It's a worthwhile effort, but pointless in the end. The tears and snot keep coming. "I didn't want you to go."

A small, tiny hiccup.

"I didn't want you to leave me."

Is that what his brother was fighting, all along? How long had Shoto waited at home after their father dragged him away?

Izuku couldn't comprehend how the other boy was not burning down everything in sight.

"Im sorry," He murmurs, and Shoto makes a tiny wounded whine that tears at his heart. "I'm not leaving, onii-san. I'm not. Father -we talked. I'm here. I'm staying. I'm here." He repeats those last words over and over again into Shoto's offered hand, trying to comfort his brother without moving from his bed. Shoto shudders at his side, muscles clenching and unclenching, uncertain.

I'm staying.

(Was he a Todoroki now, then? He didn't like to think about it, but if it kept Shoto close...)

His hesitation only lasts a moment. Izuku shifts under the covers, lifting them up in a silent offering as he scots further back into the futon. Shoto stares, head tilting, his nose scrunching with barely hidden confusion. Still, Izuku waits patiently, his arm for once not trembling from holding up the thick bed sheets.

There's a pause where his older brother weighs his options. Then Shoto's crawling into the futon with him, curling his arms around his waist carefully like he would break at the slightest pressure. For once, Izuku doesn't mind. His older brother's deathly silent. The younger boy feels his sibling's breath on the top of his head, ruffling his hair.

Someone with more pride would have pulled away, grumbling at being handled like a invalid. They wouldn't press closer, wouldn't place their heads on their brother's chest, ear flat against the soft fabric of his shirt so they could hear their heartbeat.

Not him.

Not Izuku.

Because this time, Izuku can go to sleep with a smile on his lips and a fire in his heart that for once, only radiates warmth.

---

Fuck me I'm dead on my feet.