Chapter Text
Enji left the villains in the hands of the police and dashed out of the compound. Aizawa had announced over the radio that Shoto had been found and taken to the paramedics for treatment. He had to see him. He just had to. He knew he legally wasn’t allowed; custody had been stripped from him over a week ago, but Shoto was his son and that would never change. Yes, he had no right to call himself the boy’s father, not anymore, but he so desperately wanted to be better so his family could heal from the horrors he’d inflicted upon them. So Shoto could heal from years of living in fear of his own blood. So Enji could heal the deep crevasses that had opened up in his heart over the past year.
He found his son guarded on either side by Midoriya and Bakugo. Aizawa was watching over them, blocking his line of sight to the stretcher that held Shoto.
‘Eraser!’
The man glared a single red eye at him. Had he intentionally erased his quirk before he could get in close, Enji couldn’t say for sure, though he wouldn’t put it past him after everything that had been revealed to the public. Aizawa stepped to the side, and he couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his throat when he finally laid eyes on Shoto. Black and blue all over with poorly stitched cuts lining his exposed arms, Shoto looked far worse than he ever remembered seeing him. He ignored the part of his brain that screamed of course you’ve seen him worse off before, you were doing worse than that to him when he was a toddler. They’d already fitted Shoto with an IV and nasal cannula to be safe, and someone had fixed the splint on his left arm (if the shredded remains of his old splint were any indication). There was a brace around his neck that Enji hoped to god was just a precautionary measure. Aizawa hadn’t mentioned anything about a spinal or neck injury during the briefing. He had mentioned the head injury though. The right side of Shoto’s head was bulging. It had forced his eye shut and made his white hair split down the side. Enji couldn’t imagine what a mess it would look like inside his head when the outside looked so horrific. It made his own head pulse and throb.
Midoriya had a tight hold on his right hand, muttering reassurances over and over again that sounded like they were more for him than Shoto. Even Bakugo had a grip on his left shoulder, though his focused seemed to be more on the villains being shoved into police vans. Enji could see through the mask, hell he invented that mask to begin with. Seeing your rivals in such a vulnerable position was hard; Bakugo wanted to support Shoto, but he couldn’t handle the painful reminder that they were all human in the end, not the impenetrable powerhouses the media made them out to be. Shoto flicked his eyes between the two like he was mentally clinging to them to keep him grounded. His eyes creased and lip quivered when he moved them too fast, but what worried Enji the most was how painfully still he was.
‘Shoto!’ He yelled in his typical fashion. He wanted to say something that would ease the troubles of the past week, but Enji wasn’t used to comforting or being comforted, that was Rei and Fuyumi’s area of expertise. He thought to what they would say to him if they were here. Oh god, what was he going to tell Rei and the kids? ‘I’m glad you’re safe, son,’ Enji said with an awkward cough. ‘Your mother and siblings have been worried sick.’
He didn’t miss the angry stares his two other interns gave him. Was that the wrong thing to say? Probably, Enji was an expert at saying the wrong thing. Shoto met his eyes briefly, but that was the only acknowledgement he received before his focus returned to Midoriya. Enji bowed his head; it wasn’t surprising Shoto didn’t want to talk to him after everything. He instead turned to Aizawa. ‘Tell me everything that happened. How is he?’
Aizawa sighed a deep exhausted sigh. ‘He’s been affected by Hibiki’s quirk. Our intel was dated regarding how long the effects would last so we’re in the dark here. He could remain paralysed for a while, but it shouldn’t stop the doctors from treating him.’
‘Eraserhead,’ a paramedic shouted from the back of the ambulance. ‘We’ve notified Central Hospital, everything’s ready for transport.’
‘Thank you,’ Aizawa said. ‘Midoriya, Bakugo, go with Todoroki. And make sure you both get checked out when you get to the hospital. I don’t care if you think you’re fine, you’ll do it, or I’ll call your parents so they can have their say.’
Midoriya and Bakugo barely waited for their teacher to finish speaking before they were following the paramedics into the ambulance with Shoto.
Enji felt a vain popping in his head. He had been about to shout at the paramedics to get a move on and jump on the ambulance himself when Aizawa had so quickly shut that thought down. ‘You’re leaving my son in the care of two children?’ He thought Aizawa was more intelligent than that. Enji didn’t doubt Midoriya and Bakugo’s care for Shoto, but his son needed an adult around to make the important decisions on his behalf. He needed his father around who knew his son’s medical history and the best course of treatment. It should be him rushing into that ambulance with his son. What right did Aizawa have to—
‘Shoto’s better off with them than he ever was with you,’ Aizawa said sharply. ‘You asked me to take care of Shoto so that’s damn well what I’m doing. Don’t forget he’s in this situation because of the shitty decisions you’ve made throughout your life. When he’s recovered and all the legal crap is dealt with then maybe we’ll discuss you seeing him again. But until then stay away from him, stay away from his friends, stay away from me, and let me do the job you begged me to do.’
Enji’s heart sank. He’d never been spoken back to with such ferocity before. It was taking all his self-restraint not to burst into flames there and then, because as much as Aizawa’s words grated on him, he was completely justified. As out of hand as this incident had got, it could all be rooted back to that fatal day in his twenties when he entered the Himura estate looking for a bride. Toya would laugh if he could see them. Even after the war nothing had changed with his family, they were still as broken as ever. The only difference now was the angry and determined teacher stood before him, hell bent on bringing an end to their tragic tale. It was no wonder Shoto and his classmates held him in such high regard.
As the ambulance sped down the street, another villain was wrangled out of the compound. It was a man Enji was all too familiar with. Injured and barely holding on to consciousness, Himura Reitei loosely struggled in the polices hold. Smoke sleeked off of Enji’s arms and would’ve erupted into a full-blown inferno had Aizawa not pulled his quirk back. ‘You son of a bitch!’ Enji roared and marched towards his father-in-law. Burnin’ and Kido were quick to pounce in between the two, trying and failing to push him back. ‘You did this!’
Reitei chortled. ‘Oh calm down, Todoroki. I was just reclaiming what was rightfully mine. You do remember our agreement, don’t you? The masterpiece child for you and the strong ice quirk for me.’ He leaned forward and winked as the police tried to shove him into their car. ‘Figured you had no more use for the masterpiece now. Or would you rather I claim your daughter instead?’
Enji’s face burned with fury. His fingers twitched as he envisioned melting Reitei’s face off. How dare he—
‘Endeavor,’ Burnin’ yelled with a harsh growl. ‘Walk away. He’s not worth it.’
Enji shrugged his sidekicks off and stomped away. He still had to write up a report for Tsukauchi and figure out an explanation for Rei and the kids without scaring them too much. With the state Shoto was in, he’d probably be in surgery for the next few hours. As he strode back passed Aizawa, he mumbled ‘please inform me on his condition when you know more.’
‘Fine.’ Aizawa grumbled.
He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He’d have all the time in the world to rage at Reitei when he was firmly behind bars, but now he was still on the clock; he couldn’t lose his cool when so many eyes were on him. The media, the public, his fellow heroes. A stoic expression took over his face as he approached Tsukauchi to inform him of their team’s efforts. Reitei’s sly grin never left his mind. If he really had as many connections as they thought, Enji would make it his life’s mission to bring a swift end to them all. As long as Reitei still had friends on the outside, there was always the possibility he could send one—or all—of them after his family again, and he’d be damned if he let it happen a second time.
A day had passed since Shoto had been rescued. His classmates had since left the overcrowded room, content with seeing him awake and well. Enji watched from the doorway as Shoto slept soundly. He probably shouldn’t be here. The paperwork had gone through the previous evening. Aizawa was Shoto’s legal guardian now, not him. There was no restraining order on him yet, but after everything he wouldn’t be surprised if they suggested implementing one. Aizawa had been on his way out to shower and change when Enji had entered the hospital. He gave Enji a quick rundown of Shoto’s surgery and current condition, then said one sentence that froze his blood solid.
‘I know about his brain damage.’
He hadn’t stuck around for an explanation, clearly wanting Enji to ruminate on the knowledge for a few hours. Of course, he knew what Aizawa was talking about. It had been the last time Enji had ever picked up a bottle of alcohol.
Toya’s funeral had been hard on everyone. The HPSC forced him to make a statement to the public, because the death of a child with no explanation from the Pro Hero father could be considered suspicious. It was a blessing they’d managed to brush Rei’s hospitalisation and Shoto’s burn under the rug, but Toya’s flames had been too widespread for anyone to ignore. It was a private event, so of course crowds of press were huddled around the venue, waiting for him, his children, or his sidekicks to appear and hound them for information. When the event came to a close, the guests walked past him and his children one by one, patting him on the back and offering words of reassurance, until one of his sidekicks—a friend he’d met in U.A.—was the last one to approach.
‘Man Enji,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. How about I take you out? You deserve a break after all you’ve been through recently.’
He should’ve said no. He was a single father now with three young children. If he was a sane man, he would’ve turned the offer down immediately. But between Toya, Rei, and Shoto, he hadn’t caught a break recently. He could do with one or two drinks. What was the worst that could happen?
He woke up hours later, half draped on his futon, half on the floor, with no idea of what happened. Enji rolled over and pushed himself to all fours, his head pounding like a tiny man was punching the inside of his skull. He felt like he could throw up at any minute, his vision not yet adjusted to the waking world. His hands were sore, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. As far as he remembered, the funeral had been yesterday, and he’d been forced to take a week of bereavement leave. When his head and stomach finally settled enough for him to move, he stumbled to the bathroom and ran his hands under the cold tap. The water was tinged a faint red and Enji sobered up in an instant. His knuckles were swollen and bruised, but no skin had broken, and traces of dried blood were splattered across his hand. He hadn’t fought a villain while drunk, had he? Oh god, the press were going to have a field day.
The banging headache long forgotten, Enji ran through the house, hoping to god he hadn’t lost his phone. With any luck the media wouldn’t have been lurking the streets that late at night and no one had seen him. A quick call to his PR manager and this would all be remedied—
The door to the training room was slightly ajar; it had Enji halting in his tracks. Something was off. He almost didn’t want to enter the room, but something was compelling him to do so. With a shaky, swollen, and bloodied hand, he slowly slid the door open.
In the middle of the room lay his masterpiece, pale and unconscious. The bandages had been ripped off his face, half healed burn split and bleeding. Deep burns adorned his limbs, and a dangerously large pool of blood circled his head and stained his white hair red. The bruises on his face and neck were the perfect impression of Enji’s large fists.
Enji leaned away from the door and threw up.
There were a thousand things Enji should’ve done that night. Not go out drinking and leave his children home alone. Not beat his youngest child half to death while black out drunk. Taken said child to a hospital instead of calling his private doctor. Not ignoring the doctor when ‘brain damage’ was mentioned. Further tests had shown that Shoto’s mobility and intelligence hadn’t been impacted by the damage and Enji hadn’t cared to learn anything more. Had he cared that Shoto had difficulty concentrating? No, he’d punished him more. Had he noticed that Shoto’s speech had become dull and lifeless? No, he rarely spoke during training anyway. Enji hadn’t cared as long as Shoto could still become a hero, and after years had passed, he’d made himself forget it had ever happened. As far as he knew, Shoto knew nothing of it either, and he’d made sure Fuyumi and Natsuo had never found out.
How could he do that to his own son? How did he allow himself to become such a monster? The nausea bubbled up in his stomach once more. Since he became the number one hero and promised his family to atone, he’d tried very hard to supress the detailed memories of the atrocities he’d committed towards them. It was impossible to move forward when he saw Toya’s remains mixed in with the ashes, Shoto’s blood on his hands, the screams and cries that haunted his home. If his mind lingered on those memories too often, he was sure he would suffocate in the guilt; he almost had done after Dabi had revealed himself were it not for Rei. How different would their lives have been had he not ruined them? What kind of person would Toya be, would Shoto be? Would he have a good relationship with Natsuo? Would Fuyumi not carry the weight of the world on her shoulders? Would Toya be a hero? Would Shoto smile more?
He ran out of the hospital before he could see Shoto, locking himself back in his haunted home, lying awake in his futon listening to the screams of ghosts.
A month and a half had passed since he’d seen Shoto loaded into the ambulance. After his brief not-so-much-visit to the hospital, he hadn’t had it in him to set foot back in the building. The day following his not visit, he’d gathered Shoto’s medical records he’d kept hidden for so long, including a detailed description of how each injury had occurred. Since then, he hadn’t heard from Aizawa. Rei, Fuyumi, and Natsuo had visited Shoto a few times, and each time Fuyumi called him after to inform him of his progress like it was a mid-term school report.
Enji threw himself back into the restoration efforts. He’s agency’s reputation had tanked long before Shoto’s kidnapping, and he was determined to boost it up again. For the sidekicks that had remained loyal to him, for his fans that still believed he could be a hero, for his son that would one day take over the shitstorm he’d leave behind. He took any job he could, from clearing debris to welding building materials together. In the prime of his career, Endeavor was known for only taking the big and flashy jobs, leaving the smaller street-level jobs to his sidekicks and lower ranking heroes. It was an odd experience being so close to civilians and hearing their animosities up close. He soaked up their hatred like a sponge, taking in every single insult and nodding his agreement. Enji deserved it all; after what he’d done, they should lock him up and throw away the key. The only reason he wasn’t behind bars was because the country still desperately needed heroes and his family refused to prosecute.
He’d just come off a sixteen-hour shift of assisting a construction company set up foundations when he’d received a simple text from Aizawa.
Shoto wants to see you.
Enji read the text three times over to make sure he wasn’t delirious from dehydration. Shoto wanted to see him. Why? Of all the Todoroki’s, he should be the last one that would ever want to lay eyes on him again. Aizawa must have told him everything, showed him the medical records he’d kept secret. He should want nothing to do with him, but he couldn’t well ignore he’s son’s wishes.
I’m on my way.
He stopped back at the agency for a quick shower—not wanting to bring his sweat and grime into the sterile environment—and sped down the streets to Central Hospital.
Aizawa stood guard outside of the room, anticipating Enji’s arrival. He grunted and mumbled ‘you’ve got five minutes with him,’ before stepping aside leaning against the wall, his eye closed.
Shoto looked far better than he was hoping for. An All Might blanket rested on his lap and Enji couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy. Midoriya and Aizawa must have brought it over when they retrieved his belongings from the group home. A part of him hated how attached Shoto was to it, but he had a feeling it had more to do with Midoriya than the former number one. The poorly done stitches were nothing more than thin faded lines, and the cast on his left arm had been removed. It rested on his bed; a stress ball clutched in his hand. He squeezed it periodically, but his fingers weren’t moving more than a few centimetres. Aizawa had told him Shoto didn’t have much control over his left side, but seeing how much he was struggling just to tighten his hold on the ball shattered his already cracked heart. The swelling on his head had gone down, though the skin around it was still discoloured a sickening yellow. His white hair had been shaved back enough for the surgery and had only grown back about half an inch. Enji imagined Shoto hated being stripped of more of his mother’s features, even if only temporary.
‘Endeavor,’ he said, voice a little hoarse. The wires had been removed too; there was no evidence of his jaw ever being broken. Recovery Girl must have worked her magic too.
‘Shoto…’ he said with a stutter. The entire drive to the hospital, he’d thought over what he might say and came up empty. He didn’t have the right to shower him with love like other parents would do. ‘Fuyumi tells me your recovery has been going well.’
Shoto nodded. ‘I started physical therapy this week.’
‘Good… that’s good…’
‘I can’t walk,’ he said bluntly. ‘And I can’t hold myself up with crutches. The doctors said the damage to the right side of my brain has messed up the left side of my body. They don’t think there’s any more damage at least, apart from what was already there.’
Enji bowed his head. Each sentence was another punch to the gut. He deserved every word Shoto would throw at him. All the anger, all the hatred. He lifted his head back up, ready to accept it all. Enji wouldn’t shy away, Shoto deserved to have him look him in the eye as he released sixteen years of pent-up despair. ‘About that… I would like to say tha—’
‘I don’t care.’
A shiver ran down Enji’s spine. ‘What?’ he said, barely above a whisper.
‘The brain damage, whatever other injuries you gave me over the years. I don’t care. Not anymore.’
‘But Shoto, I—’ Enji tried, but Shoto kept going.
‘I spent sixteen years being angry at you, at myself, at everyone. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired; I’ve not got it in me. I just want to move on.’
Enji nodded and gulped, fighting back the tears that gradually welled up. ‘That’s all I want for you as well.’
Shoto scoffed, but it came out as more of a cough, and he reached his right hand to the bedside table for his water. ‘You want to do something for me?’ He took a long slurp through his straw, not breaking eye contact the entire time. ‘Fix our name, our reputation. What you and Toya did will follow me for my entire career. If you want me to move on, you need to fix what you broke, and when I become a pro, I’ll handle the rest.’
Enji sniffed and took a step forward. Of course he would mend whatever he could, he’d vowed to do so from the moment he took over as the number one hero. It hadn’t got off to the best start. After declaring said vow, he’d only managed to break things even more. He approached the bed, went to reach out a hand, but hesitated and pulled it back. His voice quivered when he spoke. ‘I promise, Shoto. I will spend every waking moment I have left on this earth repairing the damage I have caused. I will make sure you have the public’s support even if I no longer have it.’
Shoto turned away, looking down at his limp arm. He tugged on his All Might blanket, pulling it further up his body as he leaned back in his bed. ‘It’s an impossible task. I don’t think you can do it.’
He nodded again. What Enji had done was irredeemable, and there were still so many people around the country that wanted to place blame on their family as a whole instead of just him. Geten’s ties to the Himura’s wouldn’t help matters at all, but Shoto of all people didn’t deserve any of it. He was the victim in all this, Shoto, Natsuo, and Fuyumi. He’d allowed them to suffer for far too long. ‘It’s the job of a pro hero to defy the impossible.’
‘Then you’ve got two years to prove me wrong.’
A tear snaked down his scarred face and Enji made no move to remove it. ‘I promise, son.’
‘Don’t,’ Shoto said quickly, though there was no aggression in his voice, just exhaustion. ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your son. Not anymore.’ He was quiet for a long time, eyes flicking between Enji and the door. ‘You should probably leave now. And don’t visit me again. I still want you in my life but…’ he faltered, and Enji was sure he could see his lip tremble. ‘We shouldn’t see each other for a while. Not until this all dies down, and I can process all of this. I’ll get Nee-san to keep you in the loop, but I think I need to not see you anymore.’
Enji stepped back a few paces. He had a feeling it was coming. As soon as Aizawa had sent the text that day, he was almost certain it would be the last time he would see Shoto. A niggling part of his mind had still hoped that Shoto would continue to do his work studies under his agency, that he’d still wish to learn his flashfire techniques for when he became a pro. Of course, he had been deflecting. He would give anything to have Shoto working with him again, but looking at his son now, seeing the bags under his eyes and the defeated tone to his voice, Shoto wasn’t in a place to accept anything from Enji anymore. As much as it destroyed him, he felt a growing burst of pride in his chest. His youngest son had never once thought of himself, always doing what would make those around him happy. He sat through the awkward family meals for Fuyumi, he forced himself to stay away from his mother when he thought that just seeing his face would put too much pressure on her, and he was always one of the first people to put himself in harms way to protect his friends from villains. It must be Aizawa’s influence, Enji thought. It was about time someone taught Shoto to value himself as much as he valued those around him.
‘That is a wise decision,’ Enji said with another sniff. More tears streamed down his face as he slowly walked towards the door. He stopped and looked at his youngest son. Life had battered the poor boy too many times and he hoped that with the combined efforts of Aizawa and his classmates, he would come back stronger than ever before. Like a diamond exposed to enough pressure, he would shine brighter than the Todoroki’s and Himura’s could ever hope to achieve. ‘I wish you the best with your recovery, Shoto. Please stay well and let others take care of you.’
As he was halfway out the door, he heard a barely traceable ‘bye Dad,’ and his knees nearly crumbled there and then.
Aizawa pushed past him as soon as he was out of the room and the door closed behind him. He needed to leave; he knew if he looked back it would break him, but something compelled him to do so. Enji snuck a glance through the window. Aizawa wrapped his arms around Shoto, running a hand through his hair as Shoto’s body shivered from hidden tears. He clutched Aizawa’s shirt with his right hand and his head was nestled into his teacher’s neck. Aizawa slowly rocked him back and forth speaking so softly that Enji couldn’t make out what he was saying. He narrowed in on his lips, trying to read the words.
‘…so proud of you…’
It was all he could make out, but it was good enough for him. Enji allowed more tears to fall and finally walked back down the corridor. He wasn’t sure when he would next see Shoto again, but the one thing he was absolutely certain of was that he couldn’t be leaving his son in better hands.
Shoto was going to be alright, and eventually, Enji would be too.