Chapter Text
“You are special, Shouto,” Enji says, over and over again.
“You are stronger than all of them,” he shouts, watching five-year-old Shouto struggle to do a single push up.
“You will not be held back,” he growls, leading Shouto away from his siblings, who play in the garden behind their house.
Shouto finds out very quickly that being special is not a good thing.
It is not a harsh lesson, beaten into him like many others, a slap in the face harder than his father could ever manage. The truth of Shouto’s abnormality shows itself in small, inconspicuous ways.
When Fuyumi startles at the sight of him, having associated his presence with that of Endeavor. Her sad smiles, a ghost of reassurance in the face of her horror as she dresses his wounds after particularly heavy training sessions.
Going to hero functions with his father, watching the other hero’s children mill around the hulking figures of their parents. How they all seem to know one another, yet none speak to him. Fake smiles, clinking glasses, a pat on the back so hard he stumbles. No one looks Endeavor in the eye.
His first Quirk Assessment, when he destroys so much of the testing area that it has to be totally rebuilt.
His mother. The hissing of a teakettle.
Shouto is special, and that is his curse.
--
Mr. Aizawa is unlike any teacher Shouto has ever had.
That’s not particularly difficult, considering he’s been homeschooled most of his life, but Shouto still thinks his homeroom teacher is rather odd as far as teachers go. The snippets of conversations he’s heard from other children have always described teachers as detached, distant, professional to a fault. Mr. Aizawa sleeps in the corner of their classroom when he’s finished with lessons. Shouto doubts the man showers.
In the beginning, Shouto is… skeptical of his homeroom teacher. Surely someone so… unkempt would have trouble containing an entire classroom of students, right? The underground hero was undeniably powerful, but hero work and wrangling a group of rowdy teens are two entirely different skill sets. Shouto gives him a week before the class is entirely out of his control.
(On the second day, Bakugou makes to punch the plain green-haired kid in the throat over some imagined slight. Aizawa has him in capture tape before Bakugou can even activate his quirk, and the blonde is out of the room and in the disciplinary office within a minute. The fifteen-minute long lecture on heroic behavior that ensues makes Shouto realize that he quite likes his new teacher.)
--
The school psychologist’s office is small, well lit with the large window taking up one wall, and almost uncomfortably warm. (Or maybe that’s just Shouto, clutching his hall pass so tightly in a sweaty palm that the ink is smudged.) The walls are painted a light brown color, obviously to put the occupants at ease, and a large couch covered in pillows takes up the majority of the space. The rest is filled by a coffee table, covered in knickknacks, and the desk of the psychologist herself.
Shouto sits awkwardly at her request and folds his hands politely over his lap. A plaque sits on her desk, glinting in the light-
Dr. Nakayama Emiko. Hero name: Superego. A retired hero specializing in rescue missions and investigation for long-term villain cases. Her quirk- Empath. She can read the emotions of anyone she looks at - as long as they are willing or unaware. The information comes into his mind unbidden, the product of constant memorization and hero dossiers drilled into his brain. But the grainy footage of a woman in skintight spandex interrogating villains and comforting injured civilians doesn’t match the woman sitting in front of him with a gentle smile, clad in a wine-red knitted sweater and knee length skirt. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, a sky-blue color that almost clashes with her warm-toned environment.
“It’s nice to meet you, Todoroki,” she says, breaking the nervous silence. Shouto nods jerkily, sweating from nerves.
“It is nice to meet you too. How has your day been, ma’am?” Manners, as always, take over when his brain is too busy panicking to engage in real conversation. His hands stay in his lap, white-knuckled, but he wills them to relax.
“Quite well, in fact. But I don’t think that we’re here to talk about me, Todoroki. I’ve been hearing from Principal Nezu recently.” she responds. Dr. Nakayama’s smile never falters, even as she sifts through the detritus on the coffee table to find a clipboard and pen, which she then rests on her lap. From where Shouto sits, he can see his school file clipped on top. He swallows.
“Is this… about my grades?” he replies shakily, a hand carding through his hair. “I’ve been falling a bit behind in English recently, but I didn’t think it had gone that far down.”
(In reality, Shouto knows exactly why he is in this cramped room, sitting across from a woman who has likely already created a profile of his behavior since he stepped in her office. Nervous, avoids eye contact, shuts down under stress. He knows that Mr. Aizawa and Mr. All Might have been talking in hushed tones about his behavior, his unwillingness to be touched, the odd bruises that are revealed when his uniform gets burnt off during training. No doubt Mr. Present Mic has also been blabbing, but Shouto cannot fault any of them. They’re concerned about his well-being. They just have no idea how much trouble they’re putting him in by forcing it into the spotlight.)
Dr. Nakayama’s smile grows somber at his response. Fear curls in Shouto’s gut, cold as ice.
“You know, Todoroki, I can tell when someone is hiding something from me even without the use of my Quirk,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on right away, but being truthful with me will go a long way to getting you out of my office.” she laughs, high like bells, and adds: “Not that I dislike you or anything! Students are just usually sent here for unpleasant reasons, so my not seeing them implies things are going well!”
Unpleasant. That is… quite the understatement.
The amount of time he takes to formulate an answer is obviously not short enough for the smiling doctor before him, as she continues in a tone that sets Shouto’s teeth on edge.
“Mr. Todoroki, you don’t need to worry about any adults hearing about this if you don’t want them to. Are you familiar with patient confidentiality rules?”
He shakes his head numbly.
“Well, it means that anything we talk about in this room is completely between us unless you specifically give me permission to share it. Even from your teachers, even from… anyone else who may ask,” she explains. The words even from your father hang in the air between them, unsaid but perfectly clear. Her eyes, a bright acidic yellow and catching in the light, are filled with pity, and Shouto feels as though he is drowning in it.
Somehow, despite the nearly unbearable urge to just stand and leave, Shouto manages to sit still for the rest of the session. His conversation with the doctor is full of nothing but empty niceties, polite questions like how have your classes been? or do you have many friends ? All of which he fends off with his usual detached air.
Classes are quite easy, ma’am. Yes, I suppose it is to be expected for a student who got in on recommendations, haha. I would like to get to know the others in my class, but I am a bit nervous to talk to them. I’ll have to fix that soon, won’t I?
Nothing of substance.
Shouto doubts he could even try to say anything meaningful right now. His mind is a thousand miles away, shrinking in the corner of his kitchen, filled to the brim with that damnable hissing. It’s a miracle he returns back to class 1-A at all, limbs running on absolute autopilot after the doctor finally dismisses him.
It’s only when Midoriya gently taps on his shoulder to get his attention that he snaps back into reality. Shouto blinks and turns to the boy next to him. Midoriya is already packed up and standing to leave the classroom, Uraraka and Iida very obviously waiting for him at the door. Inwardly, Shouto wilts at the thought of holding them back from their destination.
“Hey, Todoroki, are you… okay? You’ve been spaced out for the whole class,” Midoriya asks, concern evident on his face. Shouto looks down at his hands, clenched into fists on his desk, framing his decidedly blank notebook. He sighs.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” Shouto replies, stonefaced. Midoriya steps back as Shouto rises from his seat, grabbing his backpack from where it rests under his desk.
“Well I was just curious because you got called out of class and then after you came back you seemed really upset and I wanted to know what happened like if you got yelled at or something or if anything happened with your family and you don’t have to tell me anything about it if it’s too personal but I just want you to know that we’re all here for you if something goes wrong-” Midoriya’s face is bright red as the words spill from his mouth in a never ending stream, his hands wringing uselessly in front of him. Shouto lets the nonsense wash over him in waves, taking the time to unceremoniously shove the remaining school supplies on his desk into his backpack and sling it casually over his shoulder.
“Midoriya,” Shouto says, shutting up the boy in question, “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Really.” A small smile fights it’s way onto Shouto’s face, his mismatched eyes just barely peeking out below his fringe. Midoriya’s face somehow gets even redder than before, sweat starting to bead on his forehead from the sheer heat of it. Shouto can hear Uraraka trying to stifle her laughter from the doorway. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shouto turns away from the boy in front of him, walking towards the door and silently slipping between Uraraka and Iida, the sounds of Midoriya’s nervous farewells fading behind him. In the silence of the hallways, the hissing at the back of his mind grows ever louder.
Shouto has a lot to think about.
--
Todoroki Enji is not heroic. This is the first thing Shouto realizes upon his admittance to UA. Yes, he saves civilians and puts away villains, but he is far from heroic. Heroes don’t save people out of a desire for popularity. Heroes don’t push their children beyond the breaking point over, and over, and over again to make them stronger. Heroes don’t take unwilling wives in an effort to create the perfect quirk. Heroes don’t...
Todoroki Enji does a lot of things that heroes do not do.
The second thing Shouto learns is that an act does not have to be flashy to be heroic.
Heroism can be Mr. Yamada making an effort to quiet himself down on Shouto’s bad days when loud noises make him flinch and go stone-faced.
It can be a test returned with All Might smiley-face stickers and a Good Job! written in blue ink in the corner, even if he only got a B+.
It can be Principal Nezu sitting him down in his office and politely asking how his home life is going, or if he needs to speak to anyone.
It can be plush couches and visits to the school psychologist who doesn’t push him to talk, lets him go at his own pace on his own time, unlike any adult Shouto has ever known.
So no, Endeavor is not a hero, not in Shouto’s book. Shouto is unsure if his father ever was one in the first place.
The teakettle hisses.