Empyrean Rising

by SecretEngima

Before there were Quirks, there were Dying Will Flames. But in the birth of a society where everyone had a superpower, the Will needed to reach for the inner Flame was lost. Until, that is, a boy is born without a Quirk, but with the desire to be a hero and the Will to succeed no matter the risk.

6. Chapter 5: Mist

Eeeyyyy! I return! Still stuck on Ballad (Hibari why are you such a pain to write) but I figured I should at least update this story since I had a prewritten chapter that I finally finished editing. Hope you enjoy it!

Review Response: Dear AyameKitsune, hello there! Thanks! I hope you enjoy this new installment!

Dear Shadow Phoenix 16, greetings! That was my first impression too, but he's actually not. I'll explain down in the Author's Note.

Dear s082829, hey there! Well, this is Katsuki. He almost never refers to anybody by their name out loud, why would he do it in his head?

Dear Dragon Lord Draco, hi! Not quite. When Flame users get extremely excited/tense/angry/insert-strong-emotion-here, their eyes tend to glow and change color to that of their Flame. Something of a color-coded warning system. He isn't gaining new abilities per se, just refining his current ones and inventing new ones as he gets more experience with them.

Dear Snickering Fox, hello! Yep. Cloudy Sky. Isn't it wonderful? All will be explained in this chapter, never fear.

Dear Dragon Courage, heya! Hope you enjoy this new chapter! I know, I love writing Katsuki, he's such a hoot.

Dear Guest, greetings! Glad you like it! Oh. Ooohhhh I didn't think of that but it WOULD FIT SO WELL. I already have someone else picked out for Izuku's first Mist, but Sky's can adopt more than one person of each element so maybe... hmm. I'll think about it. Thanks for the suggestion!

Dear Kurasabe, hey there! Yes. Yes we do. I'll see if I can swing it in later chapters.

Dear ReadingPotatoe, hello! (Tips hat) Thank you, I tried. Katsuki's just great sometimes isn't he?

Dear bladetri, hiya! Happy to hear it!

Dear Blitza, hello! I hope it lives up to expectations. I haven't written a chapter this long in a while.

Dear just yuki, greetings! Actually, no. I'll explain in the Author's Note why, but good guess anyway!

Dear vampireharry the 2, hello there! Glad to hear it! Hope you enjoy the update!

Author's Note: Okay, so. A lot of you were/are expecting Todoroki to be a Cloud. He's not. Let me explain my reasoning: Now, while I do agree that he COULD have been a Cloud, especially if raised in the right household, the biggest, most important thing to a Cloud is freedom. If they don't get it then they either suffocate or go crazy. Endeavor's heavy expectations, abuse, and general (non)parenting is about as far from "freedom" as you can get without breaking out the actual ball and chain. If Todoroki had been a Cloud, then he would have either committed suicide or snapped and gone villain long before he ever met Midoriya. So I'm instead making him the next best thing, a Mist. Why? Because Mists can be just as anti-social and reserved as Clouds, are just as stubborn, and very importantly, are spiteful beyond belief. Refusing to use half of their abilities even in life-threatening situations (Villain Invasion) just to tick off a hated authority figure WHO ISN'T EVEN THERE? That's 1000% Mist behavior. Then, after being talked into using those abilities, turning right around and going back to the abuser to learn from him because that's the most tactically efficient thing? Also 1000% Mist. A Cloud in that situation, assuming they didn't snap years ago, would have gone to literally anybody else to learn their abilities rather than go back to the person who chained them and abused them for so long. Or would even have just said "screw training" and figured it out on their own rather than risk being forced to do stuff they didn't want to do. OR, more likely, would never have been talked into using those abilities, not even if it killed them because Clouds are bullheaded like that. Ergo, Shōto is a Mist in this story.

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Chapter Five: Mist

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Shōto wasn't sure what to make of Midoriya.

He had been fully prepared to hate the boy. Had even managed it at first. Because the sheer power and nature of the fire quirk Midoriya had displayed on the leaked footage of his entrance exam was unmistakable as anything other than a product of Endeavor's genes. The boy's mere existence was proof that not only had his father been cruel to his mother, but also completely unfaithful.

Shōto had known that was the case for years. Everyone in the family had known what all those nights spent "working late at the office" really were —Shōto had called the office a few times, just to be sure, and had been told that his father was "out patrolling", yet the media never spotted him on the streets those nights—. But to have living, breathing proof not only go to the same school as Shōto, but be in the same class? Intolerable. Utterly intolerable. Shōto still wasn't sure how he managed to stay civil with the boy —far too cheerful and smiley, pretending to be shy despite the attention-grabbing charisma coming off of him like heatwaves— that first day. He could only assume it was because he hadn't actually had to talk to the living proof of his father's faithlessness.

So yes, he'd been fully prepared to hate Midoriya. The boy who flaunted the power that had taken Shōto's mother from him and smiled all the while, who acted as if he was completely oblivious to exactly what he represented to Shōto…

And then, just after the Villain Invasion, he'd figured out that Midoriya wasn't pretending to be a sweet, shy, openly —naively— helpful classmate who just wanted everyone to get along. That he wasn't self-deprecating out of humor or a bid to garner more fans —he had already converted most of the class within a week—, his stammer when startled wasn't false, and he wasn't pretending to be oblivious to all of the rumors buzzing around the school of who his father really was.

Midoriya wasn't pretending. Midoriya just … was.

There was no other way to describe it. Midoriya just was. Like a jet-stream or the laws of gravity or the turning of the tides. There was no explaining it, but also no avoiding or circumventing it. He really was a kind, shy, open book who wore his heart on his sleeve and had the most ridiculously —potentially psychopathically— overprotective childhood friend ever and attracted people to his presence like flies to honey without even realizing it.

He was also insanely strong, beyond even Shōto's expectations of someone with Endeavor's quirk.

Shōto could still recall the Villain Invasion —the first inkling he'd had that Midoriya was so much more than his rumored bloodline—, still taste the smoke in the air and feel the roar of heat as Midoriya —a boy without anywhere near Shōto's level of training let alone a Pro Hero— launched himself at the lead villain in defense of All Might. The fear had been so obvious in his eyes, in his voice, in his body. Yet Midoriya had hurled himself into the battle with barely a moment's hesitation, going straight for the source of the problem with fire —orange and purple, so hot Shōto could feel it from yards away— dancing up his arms as he strove to protect his fellow students and the hero he looked up to most —even though All Might surely hadn't needed more than a quick assist out of that warp portal earlier—.

Afterward, when the villains were rounded up and everyone released from the nurse's office, Midoriya —and by extension his shadow Bakugo— had been taken aside by the teachers for several hours. Midoriya had emerged from the meeting subdued and quiet and that moment had been the first time Shōto could remember feeling a pang of concern for the other boy.

He didn't act on the concern, stayed quiet and distant like he always had before. Because Midoriya had basically the entire class wrapped around his finger, especially his friend Bakugo and Uraraka, They would shower him with more than enough concern and affection. Besides, the U.A. Sports Festival was still coming up fast and he had to train for it —had to drive himself harder, ensure that he could not only win but dominate the competition without using his fire half—.

But, strangely enough, now that he had noticed Midoriya in a more positive light, he couldn't seem to stop paying attention to him. He watched Midoriya in training and for the first time saw —really saw— how well he worked with anyone he was paired with. Not just his friends, but any member of the class. He took the lead, but not by being pushy or demanding. It was just because he usually came up with good ideas first —ideas that incorporated both him and his teammate equally— and presented them in a friendly, helpful manner that most of the class couldn't resist going along with. Shōto had yet to end up paired with him during any training —he suspected that the teachers were keeping them apart because of their obvious shared parentage—, but watching on the videos or from the other side of the exercise was … different now.

Midoriya didn't lead like Endeavor did, all charisma and command and overpowering temper that forced people into line. Midoriya led by doing and by asking. People fell into line with Midoriya because it was just … natural. It looked as easy as breathing, as natural as gravity. Midoriya took not just the quirk of his partner into account, but the person as well. He never forced them to have a part in a plan that made them too uncomfortable, was always open to any suggestions they might have and then explained why the idea would or wouldn't work. Shōto watched over the two weeks until the Sports Festival and wondered how he had never noticed that before.

Of course, it didn't stop him from planning to give his all against Midoriya during the Festival, or from personally challenging Midoriya —which nearly got his head blown off by a screaming, overprotective, and over-competitive Bakugo—. It also didn't stop him from noticing the lack of purple in Midoriya's fire during the first challenge as he leapt and wove and flew through the obstacles to take first place in the competition, mere feet in front of Shōto himself and Bakugo.

The Cavalry Battle had been eye opening. He'd thought he understood how Midoriya would react and plan —with a fire quirk that powerful and a best friend that violent, surely there were only so many courses of action to take?— but instead Midoriya had gathered his closest companions —Bakugo, Uraraka, and Kirishima— and … run away. For the majority of the battle. Uraraka's quirk had lightened them and increased their speed, Kirishima's quirk had allowed them to bull straight through anyone who got in their way and Bakugo and Midoriya's quirk had kept all but the most reckless at bay.

Shōto's team had been the only ones to offer them any kind of competition, the only ones to keep up and successfully corner them. Yet by the end of it, Shōto still failed to successfully retrieve Midoriya's headband and instead found himself shaken and dazed, barely aware of Midnight's announcements as he stared at his left hand and wondered what had just happened.

Midoriya had called to Shōto's fire. It … it didn't make sense, but there was no other way to describe it. He had been inches away from grabbing Midoriya's headband and Midoriya had burst into defensive flames, catching Shōto's arm in its blast range. Shōto had made to snatch his hand away, already bracing for the heat-pain-pain-pain of being burned-

He hadn't burned.

The pain hadn't come.

Instead, warmth —like sunshine and arms around him that he knew and loved but couldn't remember— had curled around his fingers and his own fire had lurched under his skin in response to some kind of primal sensation of warmth-home-free-kind-who-who? The terror of feeling his fire side fight his control for the first time in years had snatched his hand away, empty of the band he had wanted so badly. The feeling —the call— had faded immediately, but the memory of it left Shōto feeling shaken and stunned.

From the looks Midoriya kept sending him, Shōto realized that Midoriya had felt … something too.

He tried to ignore it. Forget about the feeling until after the Festival, focus on the various one-on-one matches yet to occur —Midoriya's had been baffling and terrifying somehow, even though he'd won in the end—, but he couldn't. Even the fury and hatred stirred up in him by being ambushed in the halls by Endeavor could not bury the persistent niggling of memory, of curiosity, sparked by what he had felt when he'd come in contact with Midoriya's fire.

He went through his own first match in a daze. Mulled over the mystery in the back of his mind even as he overpowered Class B's Monoma with his mother's ice —ignoring the tingle in his left arm, the desire to use it that had been buried the same night his mother had scalded his face—. Fire burned. He had seen Midoriya's fire turn things to ash if he tried, felt its heat during the Villain Invasion. So why hadn't his arm burned? His arm had been right there inside the fire —no matter what Present Mic or the audience thought—, yet his arm was unburned and all he'd felt was that … pull.

At first he'd wondered if it was because of their shared bloodline. He had his father's quirk, no matter how much he ignored it, and Midoriya's quirk was clearly much stronger than any of Shōto's legitimate siblings' quirks. Maybe it was some kind of … sense of kinship, acknowledgement of shared origin and power? But that didn't sound right. Endeavor had turned his quirk on Shōto many times during training and there had never been any sense of kinship or any lack of heat from those sessions. So why?

The questions harassed his mind. They drove him to talk to Midoriya in the relative privacy of the hallway —the boy for once without his bodyguard/friend Bakugo—. But the conversation had shed no light on the subject and Shōto had instead found himself —for reasons he didn't question too closely— revealing his past and his motivations to Midoriya instead of demanding answers. Then he had realized what he'd done and fled when it looked as if Midoriya was about to say something —with that look in his eyes that his mother used to have, that look he couldn't name or stand to be on the receiving end of anymore—.

He hadn't gone back to the stands after that. Hadn't had the stomach or attention span to watch his classmates go up against either each other or the surviving team of Class B. He barely heard Present Mic get lectured by Aizawa during Bakugo's battle against Uraraka. He stayed in one of the preparation rooms, staring at his left hand and just … breathing. Wondering. Brooding.

By the time he was standing across from Midoriya in the ring, he couldn't tell if the knot that had formed in his stomach was hatred —for the boy who dared flourish with Endeavor's quirk, for the boy who made his fire side come back to life and yet was so gentle and open— or hatred for himself —that he couldn't stop judging Midoriya for something he couldn't help, for not being able to control his fire side like he wanted—. He looked across the arena, saw something burning in Midoriya's eyes —something that turned usually soft green hard as a knife's edge and as bright as lightning— and knew that this was a fight he would have to end in an instant or he would lose —and he wouldn't lose to Endeavor's quirk, he wouldn't, not even if it was Midoriya using it—.

Present Mic screamed for the match to start and Shōto's ice lunged forward to catch Midoriya, to end it before he could summon his fire-

His ice exploded in a clash of blue and amber and purple, blowing steam and mist back into his face. Midoriya stood in the same place as when they'd started, his hand cradling his wrist and looking both stubborn and pained. Shōto snarled quietly. That strange strength Midoriya had used before and during the Villain Invasion was back just when he didn't want it to be. Another blast of ice, another roar of fire and strength that turned it to billowing steam. Another, another, another. Shōto shook from adrenaline and the building emotion of … something. Something desperate that clawed at his veins and screamed through his head, demanded he stand. Fight. Win. At all costs if necessary.

With each blast of ice, Shōto's body grew colder, with each retaliatory blast of fire, Midoriya's hands took on a shakier, redder tinge of injury. Shōto cursed breathlessly after the sixth or seventh attempt, Midoriya was trying to turn the match into an endurance contest. He threw out another blast of ice to distract Midoriya and then ran, an ice ramp forming beneath his feet to get him up and behind-

Fire roared beneath him, turning his ice to steam beneath his feet just as he jumped clear —the fire was so hot, so hot and yet Shōto still didn't feel the sear of burns through his shoes or blisters on his skin from close proximity why-why-why— and slammed an ice-coated fist into the ground where Midoriya had been standing moments earlier. He tried to send the ice chasing after Midoriya as the boy bounded away. He saw ice catch and creep up one ankle and tasted victory —over that cursed fire, over Endeavor for everything he had done and tried to make Shōto do— for just a moment before his world turned to orange, purple, and steam again, this time with enough force to send him skidding across the arena. Shōto hissed and pushed down the instinctive fear that tried to overtake his senses as he was resisted. Pushed away the flashing memories of fire-too-close-too-close-where-no-stop-please-please- that tried to smother him.

Ice curled at his back, protective and bracing as he slid to a stop. He flung a slushy ice pillar away from his body, "Are you trying to tell me … to stay away?" It won't work. I won't let you, I will win this, I will beat you-

Shōto's eyes flicked over Midoriya's body, taking in the shaking muscles, the pained curl of the fingers, the blooming of red color up the hands and wrists like massive bruises. A breathless noise escaped him, "What, you're that beat up from defending and running away?" Green hair shadowed Midoriya's face, revealing only gritted teeth and shaking shoulders and Shōto huffed and slammed down hard on the instinct in his head that was screaming to stop-stop-don't-hurt-him, "…Sorry," for you getting hurt going against me, for you having to bear the same curse I do even though you choose to flaunt it, "But thanks too, Midoriya. That Guy's face is clouded over thanks to you."

In the stands, Endeavor was scowling, furious and —just maybe— uneasy at the sight of someone with such a recognizable quirk —his quirk, his faithlessness— getting so injured against mere ice. Midoriya didn't answer, and Shōto eyed the massive bruises on both of Midoriya's arms, ones that hinted at potential bone fractures if the fight didn't stop soon, "You can't fight anymore like that without risking severe injury. Let's finish this already."

Ice lashed out, rising hungry and victorious. See, Old Man? Your quirk is nothing-

"Where are you looking?" Fire. Fire everywhere. It curled and roared, consuming his ice as greedily as it would dry wood, blasting hot air in his face and sending him skidding backward uncontrollably despite the ice bracing his back. Power thundered across his senses, pushing and snarling and blazing, driving him back-back-back until he barely managed to stop himself just in front of the arena boundary.

Steam billowed clear. Gray and blue eyes finally rose to meet his opponent's gaze … and faltered, breath stolen, at the startling absence of bright green. Instead, blazing amber intertwined with flecks of deep violet burned into his core, even hotter than the fire Shōto hated, brighter than any flame he had seen before, even during the Villain Invasion. Shōto stared, mouth dry and heart pounding as Midoriya straightened up, fire licking at his shoulders and the tips of his hair, curling down his shaking red and purple hands like claws, "You… even with your arms…" Shōto hissed quietly through his teeth, trying not to show how rattled those eyes made him feel, "Why are you going so far?"

"You're trembling Todoroki-kun." Midoriya raised one hand towards his chest, cupping pulsing fire in his palm like a heartbeat, "Quirks … are physical abilities too. There's a limit to how much cold your body can take … isn't there?"

Shōto stiffened, teeth locked tight, heart in his ears as Midoriya said what Shōto knew he was about to say, what he didn't want to hear, not from Midoriya, "Isn't that something you could solve by using the heat from your left side?"

"Shut up," Shōto breathed, though whether it was to Midoriya or the screaming desire in his head to use his fire side that had been clamoring ever since the Cavalry Battle, he wasn't sure. "I'm not going to use it. I'm never going to use it. I'll win with just my mother's quirk, I'll-"

Midoriya stared him down, nostrils flared with clear pain, "Coward." Shōto's jaw snapped shut in shock. Shock at the insult, shock at hearing that much fury and scorn from Midoriya of all people, shock at how much it hurt to hear that directed at him. Midoriya held the pulsing fire out toward Shōto like an offering, an example, "Everyone here is fighting with everything they have. They're struggling with everything they have to win and get closer to their dream … to become Number One … and you want to win with just half your strength?" Midoriya flung his shoulders back and bared his teeth, something wild and dangerous and furious that Shōto had never seen before vibrating from every edge of Midoriya's being as he flung his arms out from his sides in challenge, "You haven't even put a single scratch on me yet! So you want to become Number One? Then come at me with everything you've got!"

Shōto felt rage flood his veins, "Midoriya… What are you planning?" Because how dare he say that like he understood how Shōto felt? How it felt to see a quirk ruin and destroy lives and know that same thing was inside you? A monster beneath the skin, waiting to make him exactly like the man he got it from? How dare Midoriya act like somehow Shōto was at fault? Was wrong for holding back his fire and denying his old man the satisfaction of seeing his quirk used to become the best at last? "Everything I've got? Did my d*mn Old Man buy you off or something?" He wouldn't put it past the Old Man, to either buy Midoriya off or threaten him somehow —because even an illegitimate child had to have a mother and everyone in class knew that Midoriya loved his unconditionally and there were so many things Endeavor could do with that kind of leverage—.

Fury crested and overflowed —at Midoriya, at himself, at Endeavor— and Shōto was charging Midoriya before he was even aware his legs were moving. His thoughts kicked back in, bringing with it a flash of strategy, Get in close, let my ice clash with his fire, then use the steam as cover for a punch. When he's stunned by the punch, use another ice blast that will carry him out of the arena. He lunged, out reaching out and body bracing for the inevitable rush of fire-

Instead, Midoriya lunged to meet him head on, his bruised fist slamming deep into Shōto's gut with enough force to send him flying the same way the fire previously had. Present Mic was screaming something to the audience, but Shōto couldn't hear him, was too busy dragging himself to his feet and lunging for Midoriya again. He felt a flash of satisfaction at the sight of his ice wrapped around one of Midoriya's arms, followed by an intense burst of guilt that he couldn't place or name the origin of. The guilt made him angrier —because he had no reason to feel guilty, none— and Shōto temporarily abandoned his ice in favor of his fists and feet, flying at Midoriya with all of the martial skill his Old Man had beaten into him.

Midoriya retaliated in kind, a veritable whirlwind of basic stances mixed with a nonsensical fighting style that could —at best— be considered street fighting techniques. Shōto targeted Midoriya's hands as much as the usual vital spots and refused to admit to the flashes of guilt and distress that bit him with every wince and restrained noise of pain Midoriya made. Midoriya was fast and tricky and almost impossible to catch off guard, but he wasn't trained like Shōto, wasn't as experienced. Finally, Shōto got too close to landing a hit on Midoriya's face —and those burning eyes, still brilliant and defiant despite his injuries— and a rush of fire warned him away.

Why? Shōto lashed out with a blast of ice and grit his teeth when Midoriya danced aside. He followed up his ice with a lunge, ice crackling from his leg, trying to either catch Midoriya or force him to slip only to be thrown back into one of his previous —slowly melting— ice walls by a flair of violet fire that still refused to burn him. Midoriya suddenly made a choked off noise and briefly doubled over, eyes wide with clear pain as he clutched his purpling arm. You're own strength injures you when it's overused. So then why…?

"All Might," breathed Midoriya's voice in his head from what already felt like a lifetime ago, an idle question in between classes in a grudging effort to understand the half-sibling who was always so cheerful, "I want to be like him. I want to protect people with a smile like he does. In order to do that, I have to be strong enough to become Number One. My motivation might seem trivial, especially compared to some people…"

He saw Midoriya's smile toward one of his close friends in his mind's eye, saw it overlay with another smile from years ago as warmth danced in the corners of Shōto's mind. The images, the feelings, tugged and whispered of acceptance and home and caring that he refused to admit he missed and he lashed out. Why do you remind me…? Why…?

Ice roared upward and outward, angry and strong. It was blown away by a blast of fire, but over the roar of flames and steam, Shōto clearly heard a reverberating, brittle snap sound that was far too familiar and brought up memories of private doctors paid off by his father, of weeks that should have been spent recovering instead spent training past the pain in his sides or legs or arms. Shōto froze despite himself, wide-eyed as Midoriya gave a choking wail —his fault, his fault, yet not because Midoriya didn't have to do this, didn't have to go so far to meet him evenly when some part of Shōto knew Midoriya could just burn his way to victory if he wanted—. He saw overlapping smiles again in his mind, saw a body trying to shield him from a hot, dangerous fury that he had been too small to stand against and for some reason connected the feelings from then to the battered boy in front of him now. Why?

Words finally broke past his chattering teeth, desperate and angry —at himself, at his father, at Midoriya, at the world maybe, he didn't know anymore—, "Why are you going so far?" Why do you remind me of her?

Midoriya was breathless with pain and fatigue, but his eyes —amber and violet like fire and the dawn— were as bright as ever, "Because I want to live up to everyone's expectations…" He was running toward Shōto now, but Shōto couldn't make himself move as he instead listened, "Because I want to protect them … I want to be able to smile … and respond to them … to scare away everything that would hurt them or frighten them … just like All Might does … like a hero … that's what I want to be!"

"Shōto…" Whisper-soft and only in his head, gentle and kind, not like his last memories of its owner. His left arm was pulsing now, begging to be released, reaching for something he couldn't name but needed. It paralyzed him, froze him in place until Midoriya crashed into him, punching him back with the arm that wasn't bent at a not-quite-right angle, "That's why … everyone's giving it their all!"

Midoriya stood there, breathing hard, eyes bright and searching and desperate somehow as he clutched his not-right forearm, "There's no way I can know all of your circumstances, or your resolve. But for you to become Number One without giving it your all, just to reject your father… right now, I think you should stop screwing around!"

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Tears falling down his face, fatigue so great it was nausea and agony as he clutched his middle. A figure in front of him, protective and pleading, accepting of his weakness, trying to shield him despite the difference in strength.

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Shōto couldn't breathe. There was a pressure inside, building and building with every word Midoriya spoke, clawing and desperate as things flashed before his eyes. "Shut. Up." The words came out strangled, barely escaped past the memories crashing in on him, destroying his focus.

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One blow too many, one step too far. A fire-wreathed hand raised to strike the only thing he cared for, the only thing he loved. A snap of control, a raging pulse of stop-stop-get-away-get-away-I-won't-let-you-hurt-her- that was followed by fire that shifted and changed and became more for all of a few seconds before arms were around him, soothing and calming and accepting no matter what —or so he thought at the time—.

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Tears and pain and shame, huddled against soft fabric while hands pet his head, "I don't wanna, Mom… I … I don't want to become like Dad! I don't want to become someone who bullies you, Mom!"

"But you want to be a hero, don't you? It's okay for you to be one. As long as you have a future you feel strongly about."

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There was a fist flying for his face, a pressure shoving against the feeling inside his chest that threatened to steal the last of his oxygen even more than the punch that slammed into his stomach, "That's why I will win! I will surpass you!"

Shōto was flying again, a thousand things in his head and heart, tugging and pulling, trying to make him understand, trying to make him see. Shōto pushed himself up, choking on smoke and memories of his mother sobbing "I'm going crazy", the scream of a tea kettle, the sensation of agony and betrayal as water burned. Shōto could feel himself shaking, his-fault-his-fault-his-fault, "I will … reject my father's power … I won't … use his quirk!" Something desperate clawed at him, trying to hold on to an edge over which Shōto couldn't see, "I won't let you win with his quirk!"

Midoriya flung out his arms again, fire twisting and licking down them brightly enough to make Shōto's eyes water, then surged out and back in a shape that was unlike anything Shōto had ever seen, unlike anything Endeavor could have even dreamed of creating, "My quirk is my own!" The world stopped moving, balanced on a knife's edge of memory and realization. The outstretched flames —like brilliant wings, each feather formed out of amber plumage and violet pinions, a phoenix, a manifestation of the boundless sky itself— called to Shōto. It begged and pleaded, sung to a sense he couldn't name about something … something he couldn't quite understand. Something he couldn't quite believe- "Yours is too, ISN'T IT?"

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All Might on the screen, smiling and talking while Shōto cuddled next to his mother. The big hero was nodding, "Yes, that's right. Children inherit Quirks from their parents. But the really important thing is not that connection, but recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. That is what I mean when I say: 'I am here!'. You see?"

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His mother's gentle hand on his hair, a smile in her voice, "But you want to be a hero, don't you? It's okay for you to be one. You don't have to be bound by your blood. It's okay for you to become who you want to be." The words filled him with warmth, reached in and curled around his heart with acceptance and trust, with faith not in Endeavor's son, but in Shōto, just the way he was, no matter how flawed or different that might be.

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And suddenly Shōto knew what Midoriya's fire was saying to him.

Home-acceptance-you-are-free-you-are-your-own-I-will-protect-you-even-if-you-are-never-mine-will-you-be-mine-?

Endeavor ceased to matter. All thoughts of his father, all the subconscious recollections and snide "if I do this, the Old Man will throw a fit" burned away, taking all of his hatred and fury along with it, leaving behind nothing but Shōto, Midoriya, and the bone-deep —soul-deep— song Midoriya's flames were singing. Shōto's fire rose up inside him in response and he let it, let it flow and surge up and out of his skin in response, questing subconsciously to respond to what he could hear, to convey everything he had never dared before, even to his mother.

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Up in the stands, Katsuki was on his feet in an instant, heart hammering in his throat as he felt more than saw the deep indigo Flames surge up amidst blistering normal fire to meet Deku's Sky on equal footing, like a dragon released from its cage to meet its counterpart in the skies at long last. The stress and anger he had been —barely— suppressing faded for a moment as he saw the indigo Flames bleed into both normal fire and ice and twist them into massive, brilliant twin dragons and realized what was happening.

While everyone else in the stands screamed over the brightness and the sheer heat of the battle below, Katsuki felt his lips curl into a savage smile. Deku had just found another one. And this one was strong.

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Shōto was panting, there was a thrill hammering through his veins he couldn't remember feeling before in battle. There was a giddiness that he barely kept under control enough to prevent hysterical laughter. The cold brought by overusing his ice melted away and Shōto stared at his flaming hand in wonder for a moment before he breathed, "Even though you want to win … d*mn it, Midoriya…" He looked up and met amber and violet eyes, unaware of how his usual gray and blue were now a unified misty indigo, "To help your enemy…" A breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped him, "Which one of us is screwing around now?"

Midoriya stared right at him. Right at the inferno dancing on Shōto's skin, the massive boost in power he had just pushed Shōto into using … and smiled, wild and fierce and so, so happy —for Shōto, for his enemy, for the only one in Class A who had barely given him the time of day until after the Villain Invasion—. Shōto swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in his throat, "I want … to be a hero, too…!" Like this, like you. I want to win, I want to see, I want … he felt a tear slide down his face and then evaporate in the heat as he tried to put everything he was feeling into words.

Midoriya's smile grew and Shōto threw back his shoulders, "Why are you smiling?" I know why you're smiling, but I don't understand, "With those injuries, in this situation … you're crazy." Ice began to bubble up from beneath his foot, hard as diamonds despite the unbelievable heat in the arena, sealing his feet and legs to the floor, "Don't blame me for what happens next."

Midoriya only laughed, bright and fearless, "I won't. Now," he pulled back his good arm, fist clenched and fire roaring, "let's see what you can really do!" Midoriya lunged, fire reaching for fire, phoenix reaching for dragon, and in that moment, as Shōto's flames stretched out with all of the power he had suppressed for so long, Shōto felt … free.

Midoriya … thank you.

Then something surged up in the way of their fire and the world exploded. When it cleared, it was to the sight of a ruined arena and Midoriya, smiling at him from were he had been thrown to the far wall … well out of bounds.

Shōto didn't hear Midnight call the match in his favor, didn't hear the screaming of the crowd. He stumbled forward, ice falling away from his feet as he staggered toward the boy who had accepted him despite how cold Shōto had been to him, how harsh he had been. Despite how he didn't deserve even the slightest bit of sympathy or respect —let alone Midoriya's help—…

He found himself trailing after Midoriya's group —which consisted of a seething Bakugo and a frantic Uraraka, Kirishima, and Tsuyu— rather helplessly. Pulled along by the desire to do … something. Help maybe. Apologize definitely. But the four classmates closest to Midoriya were too busy crowding around the green-haired boy, protesting Midoriya's insistence that he walk to Recovery Girl's office and that he had sent the medics away to let Shōto get too close without being pushy. All Shōto could do was trail along at the back of the group in a daze and try to organize his spinning thoughts.

Shōto was so wrapped up in his own head that he wasn't even aware of another person's presence until Midoriya suddenly turned and lunged out of the group, grabbed Shōto's wrist —with his bruised-bloody-battered hand and didn't it hurt to move his fingers?—, and dragged Shōto behind him. Shōto blinked in surprise and in the moment he did, Bakugo and Kirishima had shifted to flank Midoriya, the three forming an impromptu shield in front of Shōto while Uraraka and Tsuyu hovered at Shōto's back, oddly calming in their presence despite his confusion and usual distaste for people in his personal space.

"Don't. Touch. Shōto-kun." Shōto flinched in surprise at the sheer venom in Midoriya's voice. The three, quiet words conveyed a level of hatred Shōto hadn't thought Midoriya was physically capable of and were edged with a razor intent that could only be described as deadly. Shōto's wrist —that Midoriya's hand was still clenched around—, tingled with prickles of warmth that didn't burn and a soul-deep impression of stay-away-you-won't-hurt-him-anymore-I-will-hurt-you-if-you-come-any-closer-to-him- that made Shōto's breath hitch.

He looked past Midoriya's bristling shoulders and realized with a jolt of fear-hate-disgust-fear that he hadn't even noticed Endeavor in the corridor until that point. Endeavor towered over Midoriya, a behemoth of fire and leashed wrath that made Midoriya look so, so small in comparison as the man loomed forward and growled, "Excuse you? I am Shōto's father, I will do with him exactly as I please and speak to him whenever I please."

Midoriya was a rather shy person by nature, Shōto had observed that many times before in class. But there was no sign of that timidity now as he stood, shoulders straight and body unflinching, and bit back at the number two Pro Hero like one would a particularly nasty dog, "You've said plenty to Shōto-kun already. More than plenty. He doesn't need to hear anymore of your cr*p right now. Or ever. He's coming with me to Recovery Girl's office for his bruises and you. Will. Not. Touch. Him."

Endeavor's nostrils flared in a way Shōto knew meant he was one step away from inflicting a very harsh punishment, "Insolent brat-!"

Shōto had thought that after everything they'd done in the arena, Midoriya would be far too exhausted to summon even a spark of his fire. But the moment Endeavor's shoulders drew back and his face twisted, the corridor was suddenly lit with warning purple and amber flames that traced and slithered down Midoriya's arms like snakes. More than that, there was a sudden pressure to the air, heavy and deadly and furious. It choked off anything that might have been said and pressed down on the shoulders of everyone present with the same kind of terror that one might associate with realizing that a monster had appeared right behind you and was about to rip out your spine.

"Try something," it was barely a breath, barely a whisper, but it cut the silent air like a knife. The hum between Shōto's skin and Midoriya's changed tone to something bloodthirsty, something that should have felt terrifying on a visceral level but instead just made Shōto feel … safe for the first time in years. Out of the corner of his eye, Shōto saw Bakugo bare his teeth in a feral sort of smile at Midoriya's whisper, a dull red glow forming on his palms that added to the pressure in the air. Kirishima's arms were slowly going hard, and there was a brush of Uraraka's fingertips against Shōto's bare back, lightening his bodyweight without a sound as if in preparation to pick him up and run for it.

Midoriya's head tilted upward, and the expression on his face must have been something special, because for the first time in his life, Shōto saw his father genuinely falter, "Try something. Please." The edge in Midoriya's voice —the one that spoke of death and destruction, promised a storm that could level mountains and a gale that stirred tsunamis— had roughened his voice to an odd, rolling growl, "Let me ruin you. Because believe me, I can do just that."

Midoriya's head tilted ever so slightly to the side and Shōto got the odd impression that he was smiling, "Touch me, and I promise that everyone in this stadium will know about it in minutes. Touch my friends, and everyone in the country will know by the end of the day. Touch Shōto-kun again without his express permission, and I will destroy you. I will take that precious reputation of yours and I will tear it to rags. It might take me years. It might take me decades. But by the time I'm done with you, there won't be a single place in this country where you will be able to show your face. There won't be a single hero agency in the world that will hire you. I will take everything you own and have ever built and I will burn it to ash before your eyes. "

Endeavor's lips twisted as if he would speak —though how his Old Man could even breathe past the building pressure, Shōto wasn't sure, and since when was Midoriya so terrifying?— but Midoriya was still talking, "Don't believe me? Eraserhead is our homeroom teacher, he knows exactly who to talk to and how to gather up all of someone's dirty secrets and prepare them for court cases. All Might is our combat instructor and the entire world will believe his word over anyone else's in a heartbeat. Even yours."

Midoriya was definitely smiling, it was in his voice and it was very much not the sunshine expression Shōto had grown to associate with the boy, "We are all their students and they have already proven that they will defend us by any means necessary. They will believe us when we tell them about whatever happens next in this corridor or from now on and if you physically or emotionally hurt any of us, they will make your life hell."

Midoriya took a deep breath, his voice never rising from its quiet, deadly whisper, "And even if they don't manage to get you fired from your career and a restraining order leveled against you for Shōto-kun's sake, people will remember that kind of scandal and it will cause severe damage to your reputation for years. Plenty of time for me to get together everything Aizawa-sensei might not have had time to find and burn what is left of your life to the ground."

The shadows formed of amber and purple fire twisted into shapes like formless monsters and dripping blood, "So please. Give me a reason."

No one spoke. Shōto didn't think anyone could speak after that. That had been something far more worthy of a villain than the gentle, sweet-tempered boy Shōto had seen over the semester. It wasn't even something he could imagine coming from the wild phoenix of a boy he had just seen in the arena. That had been … that was … and all for his sake? The strange throbbing of emotions and impressions under his skin —and he really should be more worried about that than he was— confirmed it and Shōto felt … both frightened and overawed. Then he realized that eventually someone was going to have to break the building silence in the corridor and if it was either Endeavor or Midoriya then there was a good chance something would happen that everyone would regret later.

So, as gently as he could, Shōto lifted his free hand and curled his fingers gingerly around Midoriya's least damaged wrist. Midoriya immediately twisted around to look at him and oh, now Shōto could see why his Old Man had faltered in the face of a high school student's wrath. Because Midoriya's eyes were burning amber and violet again, but instead of the passionate light that had stirred Shōto into using his fire side at long last, now the gleam in them was something old and deep and terrible.

It reminded Shōto of the stories he'd read, of the tumultuous period when quirks were first manifesting in force and the world had nearly devolved into another warring states-style era. Stories of the quirkless masses being faced with men and women who wielded power hitherto thought fictional. Of mobs turned aside and armies brought low by a mere handful of people who refused to be slaughtered simply because the world saw them as too monstrous to be safe. There were many stories like that, some confirmed as true, some no better than fiction, but looking into those eyes, Shōto couldn't help but remember one in particular.

It was the story of the first fire quirk to be manifested in that era, wielded by a man who could —at best— be considered an anti-hero. The story went that the man, an Italian —and possibly even a mafioso—, who lived in a tiny neighborhood populated almost entirely by quirk-users. The neighborhood had been at risk of being rounded up and taken to the "quarantine camps" that had been cropping up everywhere as the fear of the mostly quirkless population hit its highest point.

Reports said that the man had tried to negotiate for his neighborhood's freedom, even offered to turn himself in willingly to the division of the government charged with investigating the source of quirk manifestation —a fancy term for experimentation really— in exchange for their safety. The government had agreed, but had then tried to go behind his back and round up the neighborhood anyway, several of the residents getting badly hurt in the process.

The man who had turned himself in heard about it and proceeded to burn his way out of his prison. Perhaps that wouldn't have been a notable story if it weren't for the fact that he didn't stop there. He kept going, kept burning, kept killing anyone who tried to take him down until he had not only burned the "research facility" to ashes, but had marched right into the capital and held the entire government hostage until they both released his neighborhood and signed the first Quirk Protection and Equal Rights act into existence.

Most people didn't believe the story anymore —since no one had ever even confirmed the man's name and reports of that time period were so wildly conflicting—, but Shōto had found an interview that claimed to be from someone who had been a child resident of the nameless fire user's neighborhood and thus, one of his supposed reasons for rampaging. The interview had always been rather haunting to Shōto, if unbelievable —mostly because he had trouble believing any one man, so long as they didn't have a mind control quirk, could fight past an army and hold an entire government hostage for that long—, but one part of the interview had always stuck with him.

"He was a nice man. Always calm and smiling. I remember him breaking up squabbles between neighbors all the time and getting them to part ways with a smile." The interviewer had pointed out that many would consider the man and his actions monstrous. A great many people had —supposedly— lost their lives to his rampage over one neighborhood.

The interviewee was said to have laughed, "I said he was nice. I never said he was safe. He loved his neighborhood and everyone in it. He loved his people. But that was it. So long as everyone else left us in peace, he was fine with that. But if someone threatened us? He would protect us at all costs, period, full stop. It didn't matter if the threat was one man or the entire world. Once he got that look in his eyes, there was nothing that could stop him until he was sure we were safe again."

What look? The interviewer had asked.

"It's hard to describe," the book had recorded, "you would have to see it to really understand. But it was like … when you looked at him, at his eyes, they weren't human anymore. They were … old. Powerful. He went from being just the neighborhood big brother to someone who could break the world in half without trying. Looking him in the eyes when he got like that was like looking up at the sky and suddenly realizing that it was about to rain fire and brimstone and all you could do was pray that you were not the one that fire and brimstone was meant for."

Why would you trust a man like that? "Because we were his. Always his. And he would never hurt us. We could look him in the eye when he got like that, walk right up to him even when he was on fire if we wanted because we knew he would never lay a hand on us. Like how you know the sky is blue, or that gravity exists. It was just something that was. So even if it was terrifying for everyone else, watching the fire come and burn, we were able to stand back and admire how beautiful it was. Because there was nothing to be afraid of. And there never would be. Not from him."

It was never something Shōto had understood. Because fire was indiscriminate. It burned everyone, no matter who you were or how much the source might care for you. If you got too close it would turn you to ash or scar you forever. He hadn't understood how anyone could look right into an inferno and feel safe.

But now? Now Shōto was looking at it for himself, looking right into eyes as deep and brilliant as the sky right before fire and brimstone hurled itself down to earth to destroy everything in its path … and he felt … safe. He was a bit uneasy, like someone who knew mentally that they were too far away for stray sparks to catch their clothes, but were still a bit nervous about the possibility anyway because of past trauma. But aside from that mild, instinctive unease, he felt completely safe.

It was probably the first time he could remember feeling that way when his Old Man was in the same room.

Shōto shook himself out of his stunned musings and tugged softly on Midoriya's wrist, "Let's go. I want-" I want you away from Endeavor before someone ends up dead or in jail. I want you to explain what has been going on to make my life feel like its been flipped upside down in the space of a day. I want you go back to being the Midoriya the entire class adores because they think you're sunshine and happiness incarnate. But he couldn't say any of those things, that would just set off the problem further. He opened his mouth, scrambling for an excuse, something to say, and what impulsively came out was, "I want Recovery Girl to take a look at my back. I've got a bad bruise from where I hit the ice."

And just like that, the look in Midoriya's eyes and the licking fire that promised death-monster-burn was gone. Replaced by tired, concerned green eyes and a gentle expression. All the rage and the sense of ancient, terrible doom vanishing in the wake of hearing that one of his —because Shōto was Midoriya's in the green-haired boy's mind, he could see that so clearly now— wanted something, "Of course, Shōto-kun. Sorry for keeping you waiting, it must hurt to be standing like that with how hard you hit the ice. Are you sure your legs aren't bruised too? You should probably take it easy."

They had started moving again at some point in Midoriya's ramble, Midoriya's friends still encircling the two of them protectively even as Bakugo flicked Midoriya's temple and lectured him for being "such an f*ing hypocrite, your arms are way worse than his anything".

Endeavor said nothing as they left. Shōto didn't dare to look over his shoulder to see what his father's expression was like, but he had a sneaking suspicion of what it might have been anyway.

Like that of someone who had just seen Death come for them, only to be turned aside at the last second by —ironically— the person who hated them most.

It didn't take long for Shōto to get his back and legs —which had also been badly bruised— seen to and a new shirt procured for him. Midoriya had to stay and have surgery and a recovery period —all the bones in his hands were fractured, one finger was shattered, and one arm was badly broken—, and Recovery Girl barely managed to herd them all outside so she could prep Midoriya without distractions. Everyone else seemed to be making a point not to mention the encounter with Endeavor, so he didn't either. Instead, the moment he had been dismissed from Recovery Girl's office, Shōto hid himself in the preparation rooms to brood until his match with Bakugo.

He spent the next two hours waiting for the matches to start —the arena had to be fixed first— staring at his left hand in a daze and wrestling with his thoughts and feelings. He wanted to be disgusted, he wanted to be happy. He had used his left side, he had broken that promise to himself. But instead of disgust, all he could remember was how freeing it had felt, to use both halves of himself, to meet Midoriya on even footing, fire to fire, even if it was only for a few seconds.

And how was he supposed to feel about Midoriya anyway? The boy had already changed several times in his mind. First from a symbol of everything he hated about Endeavor to a brave, shy classmate he admired but couldn't bring himself to befriend. Now he was … Shōto didn't know what Midoriya was. He had dragged Shōto out of his shell with words and deeds. Had ripped apart his emotional shields and left him open and vulnerable for the first time in years, then turned around and outright threatened the Number Two hero —someone so much bigger, nastier, more powerful politically and in experience— just to protect Shōto.

Shōto wiggled the fingers of his left hand experimentally, allowing just the tiniest bit of fire to lick up from his palm. He thought about the feelings he had picked up from Midoriya's fire, from their skin contact during the confrontation with Endeavor and tried to understand how he felt about that too. It was all … Shōto rubbed his right hand through his hair, "D*mn it, Midoriya…" He would take just about any single emotion to feel if it meant he no longer had to deal with the massive ball of conflicting feelings humming his chest.

A flicker of color in the small heartbeat of flames in his left hand drew his attention and he stared at the wisps of indigo curling through the orange. Shōto gaped at it, watched it flicker and curl up and down his fingers, oddly cool despite its clear fiery nature. In the back of his mind, there was a flicker of recognition, a hint of the old memory of stay-away-I-won't-let-you-hurt-her- and Shōto bit back a frustrated noise that was dangerously close to a sob, "…What did you do to me?"

"You did that to yourself, technically."

Shōto jerked in his seat, quickly snuffing the fire with a clenched fist as he twisted to face the door. He blinked, off balance yet again as he registered who exactly was leaning in the doorway, "Bakugo…"

The usually loud and violent teen was oddly quiet and contemplative-looking as he strode into the room and shut the door behind him. Shōto suppressed a feeling of unease as Bakugo pointedly took one of the spare chairs in the room and hooked it under the doorknob to keep anyone from barging in on them. Instead of the attack Shōto was more than half expecting —Midoriya had gotten badly hurt fighting him after all, and Bakugo was extremely overprotective of his childhood friend—, Bakugo pulled out another chair, spun it around, and sat on it with his arms propped on its back.

Red eyes bored into his for several long seconds before Bakugo began to speak, solemn and low, "The indigo in your fire. Ever seen it before?"

Shōto bit back a curt "none of your business". Because Bakugo's gaze was heavy and oddly knowing, like he already knew the answer. Maybe all the answers. So instead of lashing out, Shōto nodded hesitantly, "Yes. Once … I think. When I was a child and…" He didn't want to say more than that. Bakugo didn't need to know about Shōto's harsh upbringing, of the many memories of his mother shielding him from his father's wrath only to suffer it herself.

"And you saw something about to happen, either to yourself or someone you care about, that was so bad you would have rather died than let it happen, and you sure as h*ll weren't going to lie down and die either." Except Bakugo apparently knew exactly what Shōto was talking about. He stared at the blond, who didn't react to the incredulous expression aside from a loose shrug, "Welcome to the club of people who are so d*mn stubborn they convert their life force into a second quirk."

"…What?"

Bakugo motioned to Shōto's left hand, "The indigo. It's a secondary fire-based quirk. People only get it if they're in a do-or-die situation their own quirk can't handle and they still refuse to kick the bucket or lose whatever it is they care about most in the world. Even then, not many people have the willpower to pull it off. Sunny's grandma called them Dying Will Flames, even though they can do a h*ll of a lot more than just burn sh*t." Bakugo leaned back a bit, hands gripping the back of the chair to stay balanced as he examined Shōto, "Didn't think a rich kid like you had what it took to activate them though."

Shōto felt like someone had disconnected his already swimming brain from his mouth, as all of the many things he wanted to say to that —what were Dying Will Flames, how did he know all of that, what did it have to do with anything, why was he here and not with Midoriya— stayed locked in his head in favor of a weak, "…What?"

Red eyes rolled so hard they could have fallen out of Bakugo's head if he'd had the quirk for it, "Shut the f*ck up and listen. I don't want to explain this more than once and I'm only going to explain it twice at most." With that one, foul-mouthed disclaimer, Bakugo launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation about everything that had been throwing Shōto for a loop.

It was almost like the blond had a mind-reading quirk instead of an explosive one. He flowed from topic to topic, explaining everything he knew about the supposed First Quirks. Their names, traits, abilities, and origins. He explained how Midoriya was a Cloudy Sky, which meant that he was mix between the rarest sixth and seventh quirks. He explained how it that influenced Midoriya's personality to be to sweet and kind and accepting of everyone but an outright murderer, but also secretly possessive and protective beyond belief. He outlined how each of the other quirks in the set were meant to fall under the care of a Sky, to protect that Sky in exchange for a home and a total acceptance that couldn't really be described. He explained how bonded quirks could feel their Sky, exchange emotions and thoughts freely with their Sky and visa versa over what sounded suspiciously to Shōto like some kind of soul-bond from a fantasy anime.

Then Bakugo held out an arm and Shōto watched in astonishment as blood-red flames formed and danced up the blond's arm just like Midoriya's could dance up his. Something that should have been impossible for someone who's quirk was based around the nitroglycerin in the sweat glands of his hands. He stared at the Flames as Bakugo explained that he was Midoriya's first, his Storm, and had been for years before they went to U.A. and got an explanation for the soul-deep bond they shared. Bakugo told him how each of Midoriya's closest friends were actually his newfound Elements, and that the pull Shōto had felt, the one that had drawn out his fire side and his Flames —because apparently Shōto was a Mist Flame?— was the call of Midoriya's Sky to Shōto's Mist, asking him to form the same bond that Bakugo, Kirishima, Uraraka, and Asui had all formed with him.

It was frightening at first, to think that there was someone out there who could pull him into their sphere of influence and never let go, could inspire the kind of rabid loyalty he saw in Bakugo and to a lesser extent the other three. But Bakugo told him, flat and blunt as he always was, that the choice was purely up to Shōto. That Midoriya wouldn't —couldn't— force Shōto to become part of his set unless Shōto himself asked to be so.

It wouldn't stop the Call from continuing —apparently Midoriya still couldn't control that aspect of his quirk—. Nor would it stop Midoriya from defending Shōto as best he could —"Because he's f*ing attached to you now, there's no f*ing stopping him from at least being your friend like he is with the Extras"—, but Shōto's mind was and would remain his own. In the end, it would be purely his own decision of what he chose to do about his Flames. Midoriya and his group were the best —and only— people around to teach him how to manage his … Mist Flames … but that if he didn't Harmonize with Midoriya, then he would be stuck with Bakugo as his primary teacher. Because exercising his Flame in close proximity to Midoriya was just begging for the Call to make them both do something stupid.

After laying out his explanation and answering Shōto's tentative questions with surprising patience, Bakugo stood up and made as if to leave the room. Shōto couldn't help but speak as Bakugo removed the chair from under the doorknob, "Midoriya is very strong. I can't really see him needing so many people to keep him safe."

Bakugo slammed the chair down by the table and gave Shōto a dark, bloodthirsty smile, "Who says we're protecting him from other people? Sure, we do that too, he's our Sky and we don't want to see him get hurt. But use that d*mn brain of yours and think for a minute. Clouds are possessive, they don't care if something is way out of their d*mn league. If its a threat to someone they care about, they're gonna fight it and keep fighting it until either the threat is permanently removed or the Cloud is dead. And Skies are even f*ing worse. Deku is both of those. What would have happened if none of us had been there when Endeavor showed up? What would have happened if you hadn't distracted him with your bruises?"

Shōto thought back, added in those questions with what he had seen and now knew, and paled, "Someone would have ended up dead." And despite the age and experience gap, Shōto didn't think it would have been Midoriya.

Bakugo nodded, and his dark smile fell, "Even if he survived it, the aftermath would break him. Deku loves being a hero, he loves helping people. To know that he lost control of his instincts and killed someone, even if they were the f*ing scum of the earth…" Bakugo shook his head and didn't finish.

Shōto breathed past the sudden chill of realization in his lungs, "You aren't just protecting Midoriya from danger, you're protecting him from himself."

"Bingo."

Shōto stared at the table and tried to get a grip on the concept that Midoriya had been at risk of going that far for Shōto's sake. Then he glanced up, "Why tell me all of this? If I tell the teachers, Midoriya might get expelled."

The smile came back, wild and dangerous, "Because you won't tell them. Besides," the smile slid into a more calculating expression, and Shōto finally saw the genius who stayed in the top three of their class in every subject behind the nasty temper, "you knew how to keep Deku from losing it, even when you didn't know exactly what the f*ck was going on. You aren't excitable and reactive like Sunny or Weird Face, and your not as drifty or passive as Froggy. You would know when to keep Deku calm and when to help him burn sh*t to the ground. You'd be good for him, maybe."

Bakugo tilted his head and his teeth flashed into view again, "But all that will mean sh*t if you aren't strong enough to keep up with him. So you'd better get to the finals and give me everything you've got, from both sides of your quirk, or you're not getting within ten feet of Deku again. Got it?"

He did. Possibly too well. He probably should have been disturbed by just how well he understood what Bakugo was saying —and wasn't saying—, how loyal he could see the blond was toward Midoriya, but he wasn't. Instead he was … intrigued. So Shōto just nodded silently and Bakugo disappeared down the hall to go fight his next match.

It was hard to convince himself to use his fire side. He didn't manage it during his fight with Iida, relying instead on his ice like he was used to. But during his fight with Bakugo, he was driven to the edge by the blond, enough that for a second time he forgot all about Endeavor and lashed out with his flames. The match ended with both of them exhausted, severely burned, and Shōto the loser via being thrown out of bounds —the final explosion had been massive and he hadn't managed to raise an ice wall in time to stop—, but Bakugo was smiling like a madman and Shōto sensed he had passed some kind of test.

Things got busy after that, internships were started and Shōto found himself taking an internship under Endeavor —after informing Midoriya about the voluntary decision first and why, because he really didn't want to see if Midoriya could follow through on his threats from the hallway if he found out about it from rumors—.

Then he sensed Midoriya's Flames spiking from halfway across Hosu moments before he got a text that consisted only of a location and his feet were carrying him there at top speed before he even realized what he was doing. He thought he might have called over his shoulder to Endeavor to send backup as soon as possible to the address, but he couldn't really remember. Everything in between receiving the text and arriving in the alleyway just in time to stop the Hero Killer from stabbing Iida through the head was basically a blur.

The fight that followed was clear though, and would be for years. Every detail and wash of fire, every shouted word from the battlers in the life or death struggle was imprinted into his mind amidst memories of blazing amber-purple and red-tinged explosions and the scream of abused leg engines. He especially remembered the moment after the fight, when everyone was panting and exhausted and so grateful to see real pro heroes arriving at last —but also miffed because students had had to take down the Hero Killer and how unfair was that?— and the winged Nomu had come out of nowhere to snatch the mostly unconscious Midoriya into the smoky sky.

Shōto would remember Bakugo's gut-wrenching, wild scream for the rest of his life. Remember the way Bakugo had tried to fling himself into the air after the Nomu despite the fact that one arm had been rendered useless by the Hero Killer during the fight. How Bakugo had straight up started sobbing in relief after the Hero Killer —the villain who had almost killed them even as he praised their determination and will— regained consciousness and rescued Midoriya from the Nomu before terrifying them with the sheer power of his will and belief in his own twisted ideals.

They all ended up sharing a hospital room and getting both chewed out and thanked by the Hosu police chief. Bakugo seethed for hours after learning that the only way to escape punishment was to let Endeavor take the credit for bringing the Hero Killer down while Shōto tried not to get distracted by the subtle whisper of Midoriya's Flames against his own.

It was two days after that —after the doctors had left them alone for the night and Iida and Bakugo had fallen asleep— that Shōto woke up just in time to see Midoriya silently shuffle out of their room. He followed Midoriya out into the hall and came to stand beside him after Midoriya found a wall-length window overlooking the night-darkened city. Midoriya didn't seem to notice Shōto, he was too busy watching the city with a lost, vulnerable expression on his face that made him seem so … small. Nothing like the phoenix that had faced him in the arena, nothing like the stubborn, fearless hero who had saved Iida's life in the alley. He looked like a child, and it was a bit startling for Shōto to remember that Midoriya —all of them— were only fifteen. Far too young for this many near-death experiences and battles.

Midoriya broke the silence with a whisper, "I understand him. Stain, I mean." Midoriya bit his lip, his eyes still glued to the sights beyond the window, "Everything he was talking about in the alley, about removing the corruption and forcing people to open their eyes and see what was wrong with society. I understood that. Even though we were fighting, even though I told him he was wrong, there's a part of me that heard everything he had to say and agreed with him."

Green eyes dipped down to stare at his heavily bandaged hand —the one Stain had stabbed with at least three knives in a failed effort to keep Midoriya out of the fight without killing him— and Shōto saw guilt flash in the other boy's expression, "I'm not blind. I know what kind of instincts my quirk comes with, what it tries to make me do when I get too angry. I know that half the time Bakugo acts so loud and violent is because he's trying to vent on my behalf and distract me from losing to that part of myself. There's a part of me that looks out at the world and sees everything simply as 'mine' or 'not mine' and doesn't care what happens to anyone or anything that doesn't fall under the classification of 'mine'. That part of me could burn someone to death, and as long as they were a threat to what's mine, that part of me wouldn't care how wrong the action was. Just so long as my loved ones were safe. That part of me, the Cloud Flames I think, it's very strong. Especially when I fight."

His injured hand pulled back to nestle against his chest and his shoulders hunched defensively, "But the rest of me … I do care. I do. I want to help people, protect them, even if they aren't mine. I want to be a hero like All Might. Someone who keeps the peace so that people I don't even know can wake up each morning with a smile. I know that it's wrong to look at the world, at people, as 'mine' or 'not mine' and make decisions based solely on that. But sometimes I can't help it. Sometimes…"

His voice trailed off for almost a minute as he stared out over the city. When he continued, his voice sounded very brittle, "Sometimes I'm afraid that one day, something will happen and that part of me that doesn't care will take over and just … never let go. That I'm going to become just like Stain, or Shigaraki, or so many other villains I've researched and I won't even care about the monster I've become because as long as my loved ones are safe why would it matter?"

A lone tear slid down Midoriya's face and he didn't bother to scrub it away as he whispered, "But I think the worst part of it is that I know that I wouldn't just be destroying myself. Kacchan wants to be a hero too. He likes helping people, even though he's terrible at showing it, but I know that if I lost to that part of myself and became a villain, Kacchan would follow me. He would give up his dreams, and his morals, and help me with whatever I decided to do instead. I think the others would too, and if they didn't, the conflict over our bond would probably kill them."

Another tear, "I can't do that to them. I can't. I never … I never thought about just how strong the bond between a Sky and his Elements was until recently, but now that I figured that out, I can't help but hate the fact that I've done that to them. I've put them in a situation where if I fall, they're either going to fall with me or die trying to stop me. I look at people like Stain, people who make so much sense to me, even though I know he's wrong and I think- I think-" He curled in on himself and a hoarse sob slipped from his throat.

Shōto mentally flailed. He had no idea what to do with crying people, he was terrible at socialization on a good day. He didn't know why Bakugo hadn't sensed Midoriya's distress and swooped in the fix the problem with his usual caustic but loyal demeanor already, because Shōto was probably one of the least qualified people to handle this kind of crisis. Shōto wasn't part of Midoriya's Element set, he wasn't even a friend of Midoriya's until recently. He couldn't fix this.

But he did understand it.

The realization brought his mental flailing to a halt. Shōto stared at Midoriya, hunched and crying quietly in the hospital hall, and realized he knew exactly what Midoriya was feeling. He knew exactly how it felt to see part of your quirk as a monster and be terrified by the thought that the monster was inside you, forever and always, just waiting to come out and destroy everything you cared about the moment you let your guard down. He had spent years looking at his fire side that way, refusing to let it out for fear that it would turn him into a copy of the man he hated most.

And now the person responsible for showing him otherwise —for giving him the courage to see his mother again, the courage to wield his fire and not flinch, the courage to stand up to his father— was going through the same crisis. Only this time, there was no green-haired boy with amber and purple eyes and the Will to break through any obstacle and fix things. There was just Shōto, the boy who could empathize but had no real idea what to do or say to fix what was breaking before his eyes.

He thought of a handful of evenings spent on the school rooftop or around the school pool with Bakugo yelling at him —without any real anger he realized now— and patient green eyes encouraging him to just take his time, do what he could and stop when he became too uncomfortable and realized that maybe … just maybe … Shōto didn't have to fix anything. Maybe he just had to … be there.

Shōto scraped up what courage he had and pushed away the part of him that shied away from initiating physical contact. Then, mentally emulating what his mother had done for him in some of his earliest memories, he reached out and stiffly pulled Midoriya to his chest, holding the shaking boy with tense arms and awkwardly rubbing a hand up and down his friend's quivering back.

Midoriya's forehead was pressed uncomfortably into the base of his throat and the knuckles of the green-haired boy's fisted hands were trapped between their bodies and digging painfully into his diaphragm. Tears were already soaking his shirt, and he was fairly certain that if anyone came across them now the scene would look very … awkward and embarrassing. But Midoriya felt so small and unexpectedly fragile in Shōto's arms that he couldn't bring himself to care. Shōto stared down at the green curls pressed against his chest and wondered, fleetingly and out of nowhere, if this was what having a brother was like. Having someone who supported him, but needed support in return.

Well, they were half-brothers after all. He supposed that if he was going to feel that way about anyone, Midoriya was a fitting choice.

But Midoriya was still crying, so mental puzzlings over half-brothers and emotions would have to wait. Because he needed to do something more, clearly, but what?

"Midoriya…" he scrambled for the right words, "you're afraid that they will get hurt because they are bonded to you … but … they bonded to you because … they know you will never hurt them. You won't fall, because you know that would hurt them, and you would never do that to them." He couldn't be sure if Midoriya was listening, it didn't seem as if he was, and Shōto struggled to put what he was thinking into words. He remembered their battle in the Sports Festival, remembered wings of fire outstretched and a throat screamed raw with conviction, "Your quirk is your own." Midoriya stiffened slightly in his arms and Shōto took it as a sign that he was listening, "Your quirk is your own … but so is your heart. Your Will … it comes from your heart doesn't it? From what you feel."

The hand that had been awkwardly rubbing Midoriya's back came to rest on his hair —like his mother used to do, like his father never had—, "You are the kindest person I know Midoriya. You have a heart big enough to love the world, even though there is so much wrong with it. I can't see that just … going away. You won't fall, Midoriya, not even to yourself." There, he had said what he could, had even quoted Midoriya a little bit, because the boy couldn't doubt those words without being a hypocrite.

But … Shōto had only believed Midoriya when his words were backed up by undeniable action. Only trusted his intentions when he saw just how far Midoriya would go to back them up. Words needed proof, promises needed some kind of assurance. He couldn't ask Midoriya to believe his words unless he could prove he believed in them just as much as he wanted Midoriya to believe.

So Shōto did the only thing he could think of that would back up his words, the only thing he could offer as proof of his faith. He reached into that hidden part of himself that Bakugo —a surprisingly good teacher— had taught him to access, the part of him that was made up purely of Will and intent, and focused on drawing it out. Indigo wisps curled around his hands like smoke and reached out, Calling for the first time as he had been Called, and in an instant, startled Sky reached back.

Sky Flames lunged with enough force that the hallways momentarily flashed with amber light, swallowing up his proffered Mist Flames with a desperation that startled him and might have even been frightening if it hadn't been for the way something clicked into place in his soul a moment later and took his breath away.

It was like getting up to full speed on his early morning run. With the world and all his thoughts narrowing down to himself, the pavement beneath his feet, and the chill of the morning air being slowly combatted by the blooming warmth of the rising sun. A place where Endeavor could not touch him, a place where his past could not catch him, a moment in time where he was simply himself, nothing else, and that was fine. A place to be himself and be free. Free to feel, free to not feel, free to just … exist for however long it took before his legs were too tired to run anymore.

It was like his mother's hugs from Before, strong and loving but also more than his mother's hugs had been for a long time. Unlike those hugs, where doubts could still linger, where the knowledge that his father could come at any time to take him away loomed, there were no doubts in this. This was a feeling of unshakeable safety, unhesitating acceptance, unfaltering welcome and care and affection and safety. Deeper and steadier than anything he could recall feeling since he turned five and his father had begun his training.

A jagged edge inside him relaxed and melted away, and the darkness in the corners of his mind was … not gone, not completely, but brighter and cleaner somehow than he could ever remember it being. In the moment that Sky wrapped around his Mist, Shōto felt a rush, a swell of emotion and peace and contentment he couldn't ever recall feeling so deeply. It felt like … like…

Like coming home. Like what coming home was supposed to feel like. Not like the dread and grim acceptance he associated with his father's house, not even like Class 1-A where he knew that he would be treated fairly and protected equally by Aizawa-sensei and All Might. This, this was what people meant when they said there was no place like home. This was what Bakugo protected with such rabid fervor. This was Midoriya. This was Shōto's Sky.

And right there, in that hallway, in that moment, Shōto knew he would do whatever it took to keep this safe. To protect his home. To protect his Sky. To protect the little brother who had protected him when Shōto should have been the one protecting Midoriya all along. Mine, something in his mind hissed, and the rest of him agreed wholeheartedly.

Midoriya tried to pull away from Shōto with a strangled cry of fear, snapping Shōto out of his stunned bliss, "Why did you do that? Why would you do that? Now you're at risk too, I might ruin you too-!"

Shōto let him pull away to arms length, but no further. Shōto kept his hands clasped tight on Midoriya's shoulders, bending down just enough to catch Midoriya's panicked, downcast eyes as he breathed past his own shocked euphoria to address his Sky's fears, "Your heart is your own, Midoriya." His voice thrummed with conviction and he could feel his conviction traveling through the newfound bond —like the humming on his skin and the singing of Flames but so much tighter and more focused—, "You. Will. Not. Fall. Not even to yourself."

Shy amber eyes peaked back at him, and the part of himself that now hummed with Warmth and Home whispered of hope-doubt-fear-hope, "But what if I do? What if I make a mistake?"

Shōto didn't smile, he wasn't good at comforting expressions. He just held Midoriya's gaze with his own as he finished, "Nobody's perfect." No matter what Endeavor said, what he had tried to make Shōto into, "Everyone stumbles," sometimes for years, sometimes in ways that only hurt themselves but even that was terrible, Shōto knew that now, "and so will you. But when you do…" A hand —calloused and rough from years of explosive abuse— nudged one of his off of Midoriya's shoulders and promptly took its place. Shōto glanced over at Bakugo, standing solemn and steady and alert at Midoriya's side, his red eyes calm and his grip on Midoriya's firm and unfaltering.

A look passed between the Storm and the Mist, silent but understanding, and Shōto gave Bakugo a slight nod before he returned his gaze to Midoriya and finished, "When you do, we will catch you. We will protect you." Even from the part of you that wants you to go astray. The part of you that fears your own power and would have you shun it and seal it away. When you get too lost in your own head, we will be here to help you find your way out again. Always.

He couldn't bring himself to say all of that, he wasn't like All Might, he couldn't say those things with a completely straight face and not get embarrassed no matter how much he meant them. But then Midoriya's eyes lit up and the newfound Flame bond thrummed with relief and affection and hope and Shōto realized that Midoriya had sensed the gist of it all anyway. Midoriya glanced over at Bakugo, silently seeking reassurance that Shōto's words were true, and Bakugo met his Sky's gaze evenly. Whatever Midoriya sensed over his bond with Bakugo caused the last of Midoriya's tension to drain from his body and a smile —which really did seem like sunshine incarnate all the sudden— to bloom over his face, "Thank you … thank you both so much…"

Shōto straightened up, relieved that he had managed to —somehow— avert the emotional crisis that his friend —little brother, home, Sky— had been experiencing, "You're welcome, Midoriya."

"Izuku. Call me Izuku. Or Deku. All the others do anyway."

Shōto blinked once in surprise —for as friendly as he was, Midoriya never let the class aside from his Elements call him Deku— then looked away to hide the smile tugging at his lips, "I … alright … Deku."

His bond with Midor- Deku, hummed with happy contentment, then a tiny jolt of rueful surprise when Bakugo suddenly slung an arm over both their shoulders and began forcibly herding them back to their hospital room, "Alright, alright, that's enough. Save the sh*tty sentiment and bonding for after Deku has gotten the sleep he needs, Half'n'Half."

Shōto opened his mouth to protest the nickname, then realized that Bakugo only ever referred to Midoriya's other Elements by nicknames and everyone else by "Extra" —unless it was a teacher, he always referred to them by name—, and decided that —just with Bakugo— Shōto would accept the nickname for the welcome it was.

Midoriya smiled at him from Bakugo's other side as they entered the hospital room where Iida was still sleeping and all began to climb into bed. It was as Shōto was hesitantly climbing under the thin covers that he heard it, Midoriya's voice in his head, warm and happy and grateful and clear as day say, "Shōto-kun?"

He jolted a bit and looked over at Midoriya, who was already koala-bearing around his pillow and falling asleep from exhaustion. Midoriya smiled at him in the dark, "Welcome home."

Shōto felt heat rush to his cheeks and quickly rolled over. But despite the knee-jerk reaction to open affection, he fell asleep with a smile on his face and a mind unplagued by nightmares for the first time in years.

.

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No preview this time since the chapter was so long, but I will tell you the title of the next chapter. It's called "Interlude: All Might." Speculate as you wish.

See you all next time!