"Mama, no!" The small boy tried to run from the pain, but soon enough, that burning, boiling liquid spilled across his nose, eye, and back towards his ear despite his struggling.
"NO! AHHH!"
The flesh had blistered right then and there. Truthfully, it was only his natural defense to press a cold hand to his eye that kept him from losing it that day. He should have, they said. He should be half-blind.
But Shoto, head wrapped in bandages as tears streamed from his right eye, had only one thought.
"Where is mom? Where is she?"
That was 11 years ago.
The new bandages across his arms and chest were worse. These were so much worse.
The pain was nonexistent. His nerve endings had burned off in the flames along with the rest of his skin in those areas. He was in and out of consciousness for several days, but he caught a few murmurs.
"Much hotter than his own flames."
"Permanent damage."
"He watched-"
"Mmmgh?" his eyelids hurt to move. They were so heavy. Why were they so incredibly…
His vision cleared, and a ceiling came into view. Tiles, sunlight, the quiet hum of machinery; he was at the hospital. Of course.
The pain he felt was in his head and neck. That kind of pain you have when you sleep all wrong. It was all he felt, but he knew. He remembered. Dread pooled in his gut as sleepy eyes fell shut again. This time, lashes grew moist. No. No. NO.
"Shoto?!"
It was like an electric shock through his system. He gasped and groaned, eyes wide once more as moisture continued to collect around the corners of his eyes. No. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be. Here?
"Mom?" he'd deny the crack in his voice for the rest of his life.
She was here. Warm, familiar arms wrapped around him and pulled him to her. He didn't hesitate to bury his face in her shoulder. If she was here holding him, that meant his memories were real.
"Shoto!"
Her hold had never been more secure. But this wasn't just some hug; this was clinging. This was desperate.
Thick, wet, raspy, he got out two words before the tears soaked into her sweater. "I'm sorry."
His arms bore so many bandages it was awkward to move. His chest was bandaged equally as much, but he still barely felt pain. Not even as she clung, he felt nothing.
Soon, her arms weren't the only ones around him. Two more pairs, equally if not more familiar, joined the embrace.
"It's not your fault," Fuyumi whispered against his ear. "It's not, Shoto. You had to make a choice."
That's right. That's right.
Anxiety soared as he started to push back from them. He'd made a choice. If his friend hadn't survived, then it would have been for nothing.
"Where is he?" a broken gurgle. "Is he-?"
"Healing," Recovery Girl called from the opposite side of the room. "It will be slow, much like your own path to healing, young Shoto. However, Katsuki Bakugo will be just fine."
Worry for his ally, his friend, lifted from his shoulder. After Bakugo had sacrificed himself for Midoriya, Todoroki had to step in. Bakugo would have died. He chose his father or his friend, and that moment spoke magnitudes. His father had caused all of this. When it came down to a choice between Bakugo or Endeavor living out the rest of their lives to bring peace to the world, the choice became clear.
Katsuki Bakugo was willing to give his all for his friend.
Endeavor had taken everything from Toya.
Toya.
He shook off the thought as he finally focused on his mother. "They let you out?"
"When they said you might not make it, I had to see you. They agreed. I'm only allowed here and my own space at the hospital, but I can come to see you, my boy."
The most recent tears were brushed from his cheeks.
"You made the right choice," Natsuo, now sitting at the end of his bed, nodded to the younger brother. "Toya… he chose his fate. Dad too."
Now that his family was sitting back, he could see the thick bandages on his arm and chest—permanent damage.
Permanent damage.
Just like his.