Chapter Text
Shoto was a monstrous brother.
Tears had not fallen while at the funeral. He felt nothing while at the funeral. Formal apologies from strangers were accepted with cold apathy, strangers who had more grief in their voices than Shoto himself could release.
Fuyumi mentioned that quite a few guests were those Natsuo had known from college. Professors, friends, even people he had known from his internship at the hospital.
From across the room, Shoto could see a petite girl hunched over in her seat, hiding in her hands as her shoulders quivered. Possibly Natsuo’s girlfriend. Shoto had never met her.
The eulogy was… difficult. Fuyumi’s voice was thin and shaky, like cracked glass only a hair's breadth away from shattering irreparably. She spoke about how Natsuo was dedicated to earning his graduation certificate and becoming a doctor. Shoto had already learned that about his brother, albeit recently.
And then she spoke about the way he refused to accept “no” as an answer. How he enjoyed cooking despite not being very good, never finding time to do much of it. How he always wanted a dog—a husky—because he loved being outside during the winter and wanted someone else to play with who wasn’t too tired or too busy all day.
Shame weighed Shoto’s head down and he stared at his hands as they tangled and untangled.
A thought flickered eerily: What else do you not know about your brother? Shoto was sure that his brother’s friends knew more about him than Shoto, and it ripped him apart.
Rei’s appearance at the funeral surprised him. She looked to be held up by the gentle hands of her caretakers, for if they left her alone, she would fall apart completely. His mother was in her own world; it was a world that Shoto wasn’t sure he would be welcome in. He wanted to be in his own world, too, but he was trapped in reality, trapped under the ice.
All he wanted was to take a breath, but when he did, grief filled his lungs and dragged him down ruthlessly. Knowing where the surface was was impossible. Maybe there was no surface. Maybe the only thing that awaited him on the other side of the ice was an emptiness that would drive him mad.
The only thing that remained was darkness, waiting patiently for Shoto to stop struggling and let go.
Shoto quietly stood from his chair and stalked out of the room, offering an apologetic glance at his sister as she finished her eulogy. The look that Fuyumi gave him may have been one of the saddest things he’d ever seen. It was as if every sorrowful, heartbreaking feeling had made itself home inside his igloo of a sister. It was like she suddenly knew what it meant to die from the cold.
She didn’t go after him. He was glad.
It was rude of him to leave, he knew, and he could feel the scrutiny following him before he turned out of view, but he didn’t care. He had seen too much death. It was starting to linger on him like ash.
The cool air that welcomed him outside cleared the gravel from his throat and the needles that stung his eyes. Shoto left red crescents in his palms as he collapsed onto the bench on the side of the building.
His head tipped back to touch the wall. The clouds drifted above, but Shoto sucked in a breath when red began to stain their powder snow, growing like veins and fluttering like dust.
His hair was barely white anymore. Washed in blood, it wasn’t even recognizable. Shoto held back a gag.
He snapped his neck down to watch the ground.
“Um, hey, Todoroki...”
Shoto barely shifted, merely sliding his gaze towards the voice he had grown accustomed to hearing over the year.
Midoriya was scratching at the fabric in his pockets, looking at Shoto through sorrowful eyes.
He looked at the pavement once again. “Hello.”
Sometimes, it slipped his mind that Midoriya and Bakugo had met his family, save for his mother. Knowing that they had likely met Rei at her son’s funeral made Shoto tighten his fists. He despised that.
“How are you holding up?” Bakugo asked, leaning against the wall. It wasn’t because the situation was nonchalant for him, Shoto knew. He could tell that the same pity swam through him as the people inside. He despised that, too, but he wouldn’t show it.
Instead, Shoto shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“‘t’s fine, Sho. You’re doin’ good.”
He wasn’t, but he barely knew Natsuo, so he should be.
Midoriya’s unshed tears didn’t go unnoticed. His sympathy spread so far, Shoto could only watch and regard him with weary indifference. Energy required to listen to his spilled words was something Shoto didn’t have.
As it turned out, there wasn’t much even Midoriya could say to a friend who had lost a brother he had only met once.
“Todoroki, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m so sorry, Natsuo—”
Shoto flinched, standing up and pushing past them. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
Shoto tossed a look over his shoulder at Bakugo with a faint twitch of his eyebrow.
“Don’t be.” He turned his back on his friends. “It’s not like any of you killed him.”
-
He couldn’t handle it. Ghosts never seem to leave the Todoroki abode once they pass on. They creaked and floated aimlessly, hiding in the holes of door frames and watching with their dull eyes.
Shoto felt those eyes pinned on him whenever he stepped foot in his own home. Disappointment and resentment buried their way into his head like insects, crawling around and fooling him into thinking they came from his dead brother. He already knew what Touya thought of him, after all. He was never alone anymore, and it terrified him.
Perhaps Shoto Todoroki died a little bit that day, too.
The world knew that his family was deteriorating, one by one. Touya had made sure that he opened that door wide enough for everyone to look inside and see their skeletons—cobwebs and all. And when he was finished, he slammed the door shut, trapping Shoto and his family inside.
Pound on the door all they want, scratch until their nails turn to shreds. Everyone knew who they really were and nothing would be the same. Touya wouldn’t stop until Endeavor was the last one of them alive.
It made family meals incredibly awkward and painstakingly slow.
Now that Touya was finally making good on that chilling promise he made in Jaku whilst waltzing atop Gigantomachia, eating as a “family” didn’t happen anymore.
Instead, Fuyumi and Shoto ate like prey. They ate every meal like it was their last, they spoke every word with strain and exertion like all they were doing was running out the clock until Touya got his hands on them.
And he was supposed to be a hero. How shameful.
“Shoto,” Endeavor said slowly, not bringing his gaze up to look his son in the eye. “If you don’t want to finish the school year, it’s understandable.”
“No,” he replied, but he didn’t lift his head, either. “No, I want to go back.” He needed to go back, even if he had to force himself to.
Endeavor nodded, his frown deepening.
Shoto never cared enough to notice previously, but his father had begun to look old. He hadn’t gained many wrinkles or other, but he still looked like he had aged a hundred years. His eyes no longer held that familiar edge to them, his shoulders slacked, and his hair was beginning to gray.
It was jarring. Bad as it sounded, he had never considered that his father would die anywhere other than on the battlefield. For as long as Shoto could remember, Endeavor trekked the field. Not being laid to rest alongside the place his footprints mattered was strange.
But Shoto knew his father. The edge had dulled, but it wasn’t gone. There was one last villain that he wanted to deal with before he even considered retirement.
Dabi was still out there, articulating every way he could make Endeavor suffer. Now that he had finally pushed the first domino, the rest would follow suit. Touya would hunt the rest of his family down without mercy.
Shoto wanted to be a hero, but when he looked at his father and saw nothing but the wisp of an inferno, he wondered if that was all that awaited him down that path. He wondered if it was worth selling his soul for a title so meaningless and cruel.
He wondered if he could even survive until then, or if he would ultimately pay the price for a crime that he was a victim of.
Shoto twirled his food around his chopsticks, though no one batted an eye at the impolite gesture. It was only the three of them at the dinner table, which wasn’t unusual, per se, but with everything that had come to light, it felt wrong.
Natsuo never stuck around the table for very long whenever he visited, but knowing that he would never eat with them again drove away any appetite Shoto thought he had.
“May I be excused?” he asked, already beginning to climb to his feet.
Fuyumi bobbed her head absently. “Yeah, of course. Get some rest, ‘kay?”
After swallowing down cement, Shoto nodded. “Love you.” So hesitant, so deplorable. He didn’t say it enough, but it was true. He didn’t say anything enough.
The sound she made was full of surprise, which he winced at. Even Endeavor flicked his gaze up from behind his folded hands. Fuyumi gaped, but gained her composure hastily with a sad smile that looked like plastic. “Love you, too, Shoto.”
He had never felt more transparent.
Normally, Shoto fled to his bedroom whenever his emotions started to swirl; after all, the only reason smoke didn’t last was because it dissolved back into the clouds and the rainfall. His room was his cloud, where he locked himself in to diffuse and eventually vanish.
He found himself in the garden this time, admiring the array of precious flowers that twinkled like rainbow stars and in turn, wilted like them.
Koi swam in the pond, dark sunlight reflecting off their scales and the water with a warm glow. They were far more beautiful than a garden called for, but Shoto loved them.
He could vaguely recall coming out here when he was younger to feed the fish, though only when Endeavor was out at the agency.
Natsuo had joined him at times, and other times it was Fuyumi. No words were shared, not any that Shoto could remember. They only kneeled on the stones and tossed food into the water, watching with reservation and disinterest. It was a distraction, Shoto knew. Just a way to make everything stop, even for a little while.
The visits to the koi pond were never spoken about. Shoto didn’t know why, but he couldn’t seem to mind. It just happened, nothing else to say.
The back door opened and slid shut, though Shoto didn’t turn. There was only one person it could’ve been.
“Sho, is everything okay?” Fuyumi asked, coming to sit down beside him. She stroked the water with her fingers, frightening the koi to the other side of the pool.
“How do you deal with it?” Shoto followed the fishes' jolting movements and unpredictable swim patterns.
Shoto hadn’t really known Touya very well. He was only four when he died, so if any good memories of his brother existed, Shoto had forgotten about them. Fuyumi, however, was a year younger than Touya and could do nothing except remember him. A curse or a blessing, Shoto wasn’t sure.
Fuyumi had attended both of her brother’s funerals now. Shoto, in reality, had only attended one.
His sister let out a breath, craning her neck to admire the darkening sky. Shoto copied her.
Amaterasu indeed was beginning to retire for the night, allowing her brother his grace. Tsukiyomi’s moon was a saucer, its pale glimmer barely recognizable yet. The gods did not watch over the Todoroki family, however. And if they did, then they must adore tragedies.
“You know,” Fuyumi began, “sometimes I wish that I didn’t have to.” She released a low laugh when Shoto gave her a confused side-long look. “It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To just stop. But then everything would stop, and that’s... a scary thought. I know that you don’t know me very well, and I don’t know you, but you’re my brother, Shoto. Just like Natsuo and just like Touya. I want to be here for you, even if it hurts.”
And what would you do if I wasn’t here either? Shoto wanted to ask her, but the words were lodged in his throat. What would he even do with the answer?
“I wish that it had been me,” he murmured. “It would’ve been better that way, I think.”
He knew he was right. Natsuo had been her brother, while Shoto had been her responsibility. If he had died instead, then maybe her eyes wouldn’t have dimmed so much and her smile would be just a little brighter.
Fuyumi had no one to hold onto. She had no one left who understood what she had been through and no one to confide in. Perhaps she would be better off alone than stuck with a brother who would only serve as a constant reminder of everything she had lost.
“Don’t.”
A single word, but it cut through the silence like a scream.
His brow furrowed, but he indulged it. “Don’t what?”
Fuyumi shook her head, blinking fiercely. The anger of a thousand storms rumbled in her eyes, in her hands, in her chest, as she stared at him. “Don’t say that.”
Shoto didn’t understand. But something underneath that anger threatened to unravel him right then, so he retreated from pushing her further for an explanation that made any sense.
Unfolding his legs and getting to his feet, Shoto dipped his head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s just—” Fuyumi didn’t stand. She didn’t even look away from the fish and their little paradise. “I love you, Shoto. And I know it’s hard. Trust me, I fucking know. But please never say that again.”
And just like that, her voice had shriveled down to a rasp. She was back to reading the eulogy, recounting the moments she cherished with Natsuo while holding the knowledge that new memories would never be created.
Shoto closed his eyes solemnly. Flashes of red ink and black flakes, gray eyes looking up at him, the ruffle of his hair, a hand that dropped like an anchor.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll never say that again.”
He left his sister to watch the koi’s pond turn dark.
-
“It’s okay, it’s alright,” Shoto choked out, holding his brother and remaining oblivious to the blood that continued to stain his costume. Natsuo’s hair was barely white anymore. Washed in blood, it wasn’t even recognizable. Shoto held back a gag. “Help’s—help’s gonna be here soon. Just hold on, I promise. I promise, Natsuo, they’re coming.”
Natsuo’s eyes were glazed over in agony, but he offered Shoto a lazy grin as blood dripped from his mouth. Knowing when to stop talking was never his forte. “I’m kind of tired, Shoto.”
Alarm bells shrieked through Shoto’s veins and he cradled Natsuo closer, just to selfishly ground himself. “Don’t close your eyes, Natsuo. I’m begging you, stay awake. It’ll be okay, just don’t close your eyes.”
Everything was gone except for the two of them. Shoto didn’t focus on anything else. Fabric clung to his skin after its drink, dragging him underwater where nothing could be heard and nothing could be seen except for what was in front of him.
His brother was dying in his arms.
“‘t’s fine, Sho. You’re doin’ good.” His words were slurred and filled with every emotion Shoto never got to see in his brother. It was a foreign sight.
Still, something in him splintered. Shoto cried then; quiet and resigned and making as little noise as possible. Tears bloomed in Natsuo as well, falling like ink down his face.
“I’m sorry, Natsuo,” Shoto breathed, remembering the way Natsuo had crumpled after learning about Touya’s demise on Sekoto Peak years ago. Death had come for one of them that day, and it hadn’t been Touya at all. “I’m so sorry.”
Nothing like anger or regret appeared in Natsuo’s face. He let out a shaky exhale—a laugh. “Can’t ‘member… the last time I saw you cry.”
His brother reached up to weakly ruffle his hair. Shoto let out the same laugh that Natsuo had. It was pitiful and thin and mirthless.
And then the weight on his head vanished, just like the life in Natsuo’s eyes. Shoto nudged his brother, not daring to take a breath.
“Natsuo?”
He stared at nothing. The wisp of light was gone, snuffed out in the instant that Shoto had blinked.
“Natsuo, wake up.”
But his eyes were open. They were just so empty and horrifying and—
Dead.
Shoto woke with a start, finding himself enmeshed in his sheets. His breathing was ragged and hoarse, and he gingerly touched his throat. Had he been shouting in his sleep?
He strained his ears, though everything was soundless except for himself. No one was coming to check on him. He was grateful.
That hadn’t been a dream. Shoto’s dreams weren’t dreams, not anymore. They weren’t even nightmares, though he wished that they were. In their place, memories plagued his head while he slept, reminding him of his biggest failure.
There was so much more he could have done. Fuck, he could have left Natsuo’s side to put out the flames and carve a way for heroes and ambulances to arrive. But if Natsuo had died alone, without even his stranger of a sibling by his side…
Shoto tugged at his hair, restraining his shudders and staggering from his cot. He pulled his door open and stumbled into the hallway, keeling next to the toilet before gagging up his dinner.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shoto raked his hands over his scalp violently before moving to grip the sides of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles pale.
The mirror mocked him, showing him his terrorized face. Everything about it looked wrong. His eyes were too wide, his scar was too big. His hair was static-filled, unruly, untamed, and Shoto had never wanted to rip it out more.
All too suddenly and with too much force, Shoto opened the cabinet, nearly snapping it from its hinges. He snatched a bottle of pills at random, not holding a bother for what they were supposed to do.
Shoto stared at the little tablets inside. He had considered suicide before. Years had passed since then, those cursed thoughts long-banished from his mind. But as he held the bottle in his hand, it struck him how easy it would be.
Down them all in one go. To truly ensure his own death, he might fill the bathtub and pass out underneath the water, drowning with medicine in stomach. He could do it right now, just tip his head back and consume every last one.
Everything would stop after that. The pain, clawing at his head every day and every night, would vanish. In a twisted way, perhaps his heart would begin beating again.
And it sounded… nice.
“It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To just stop.”
It would. Shoto wanted everything to stop and he was holding the solution in his hand. What else was there to do? What else was there to lose?
But when he brought the bottle up to his lips, he hesitated.
The funeral. Fuyumi’s eulogy, her voice about to shut down.
“But then everything would stop, and that’s... a scary thought.”
Natsuo had been the only thing she could rely on some days. When it got too overwhelming, Natsuo knew exactly how to step up and fill in for her. He knew exactly how to manage a babbling young Shoto, how to wrap his wounds and dry his tears with the same cool touch she had.
“I want to be here for you, even if it hurts.”
Fuyumi was still here. She still got up every morning and through her excused absence from work, spent careful time catching up on the papers she had yet to grade. Fuyumi continued to live and Natsuo had been her rock, her anchor, her sun. Everything.
Shoto placed the pill bottle back into the cabinet, letting out a trembling sigh. He would sooner become a villain than force Fuyumi to attend the funeral of her third and final brother.