Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shouto sat cross-legged on the floor in his room, staring at the paper in his hands, waiting for the words to rearrange themselves into something that made sense.

I wanted to let you know that I won't be returning to U.A. Academy.

If the letter had been from any other person, Shouto would understand. The news said that many licensed heroes were retiring, unable or unwilling to deal with the mess society had become over the last few weeks. It was reasonable for a first year hero student to drop out. But Midoriya never quit when things got tough. Midoriya wanted to be a hero more than anything.

The rest of the letter wasn't any less far-fetched.

Automatically, Shouto stood up, strode over to the door and threw it open. He'd been sitting perfectly still for ages, frozen in surprise, but now fury had thawed him out. It was burning, right there where his ribs met in the middle, pushing him forward down the hall. Midoriya hadn't written this—he couldn't have written this. Someone was playing a trick. He needed to ask Midoriya about it.

Iida was standing in the hallway, just in front of Midoriya's door. He had a letter clenched in one fist too.

"Did you talk to him?" Shouto demanded, trying to ignore the way his stomach was sinking, "What did he say?"

Gravely, Iida reached up and pushed his glasses back into place. "He's not here."

"He didn't leave," Shouto insisted. He looked down at the ground, the space under Midoriya's door. There was no light coming from inside. "Where did he go? Did Aizawa tell you—"

"He's gone, Todoroki," Iida said.

"Don't tell me you believed that," Shouto said, pointing at Iida's letter. He could feel the heat creeping into his tone, into his movements, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. "Midoriya wouldn't write that. We're his friends. If all those things were true, he would have told us by now."

Iida stared. His jaw tensed, relaxed again. Then, slowly, he said, "Todoroki—has Midoriya ever asked you for help?"

"Yes," Shouto snapped, "With Stain."

"That was for me," Iida said, cautious, "He asked you for help because I was in trouble. Has he ever done that for himself?"

Shouto thought back, sure that something would occur to him soon. Instead, he remembered when he'd been training for his provisional license, when Midoriya had his work study. He'd cried over lunch and never explained why.

"I'll wait for him here," Iida said, "If you want to do something, you can search around the building."

Nodding, Shouto turned on his heel and fled back to the elevator.

I got my quirk from All Might. That's why Shigaraki went after me. If I stay, I'll put everyone in danger. If I leave, I can use my power to help. It's the only thing that can stop All for One.

It was far fetched, enough to be ridiculous. Enough that if Shouto had wanted to lie, he would have come up with something more believable. And he'd known right away that Midoriya had a connection to All Might. He'd seen during joint training with 1-B that Midoriya had more than one quirk. The pieces of this had been right there, staring him in the face all along.

But Shouto had told Midoriya all about his past. Midoriya had listened, helped him work through it, hadn't given up until he saw Shouto moving toward a better place. Because they were friends. Isn't that what it meant to be friends?

The elevator dinged, the door sliding open. Shouto stepped out and started moving across the common room as quickly as he could.

"That blackwhip thing," Sero was saying, "That had to be his real quirk."

"Non, mon ami," Aoyama said, looking up morosely from his seat on the couch, "He was quirkless."

Shouto burst through the front door, out into the courtyard. He wasn't searching for Midoriya—the realization had settled. He was gone. All Shouto knew was that he couldn't stay in this building a second longer. He jumped down off of the steps and stood there on the sidewalk, listless. The ice was taking over him again.

Then, off to the left, Shouto heard a muffled sob. He looked—Uraraka was sitting there on a bench, clutching her own paper. There was no escaping it. Right now, everyone was doing the same thing.

Shouto's feet carried him over. Automatically, he sat down beside her, set his hands on his knees. "Am I a bad friend?"

Uraraka wiped a palm across her face and looked up at him. "Oh—Todoroki—"

"Did he tell you?" Shouto asked, "Because I didn't know. I never would have known."

Uraraka put her hand down on the bench between them, leaned closer. "That doesn't make you a bad friend. Nobody knew."

"Did we do something?" Shouto said. He was new to friendship, and Midoriya had taught him everything he knew about it. Maybe he'd been wronging him in some way. "Did he feel like he couldn't talk to us?"

"I don't think so," Uraraka said. The longer she talked, the steadier her voice was getting. "I reckon—I don't think Deku likes talking about himself."

Shouto stared at nothing, turning this over in his mind. Between the two of them, Midoriya did most of the talking. But now that Shouto thought about it, Midoriya mostly talked about other people, about their quirks.

"I never noticed," Shouto said. He could see now that it was true. "How did you know?"

Uraraka bit her lip, considering. Then she said, "I knew him before the sports festival. You two didn't start hanging out until after."

Shouto looked up at her, focused now. He had been self-absorbed back then—might still be now, if all this was any indication. And if he wanted to get stronger, he needed to find out what he had missed, find out how to spot it in the future.

Then, behind Uraraka, Bakugou threw open the door of the dorm and came stalking down the front steps.

"He was different when he first got here," Uraraka continued, "More—easily startled? But he never—"

"Excuse me," Shouto interrupted. Then he jumped up and ran after Bakugou. Maybe that was rude—but Shouto didn't care about politeness in the best of times. And something vital had just occurred to him.

Bakugou was heading off down the sidewalk, pretending that he didn't notice Shouto's approach. But he had noticed. There was something about the way he carried himself—tensed, ready to spring back and attack.

"You were already there," Shouto said. The nice thing about Bakugou was that you didn't need to beat around the bush. He would be mean no matter what your lead-up was. "In Jakku—I came after Midoriya, and you were there already. You knew Shigaraki would target him."

"Go away, flag face," Bakugou muttered. He didn't turn around.

"He told you something," Shouto insisted. He was done letting his intuition be blown off. "He told you and no one else. Why?"

"If he told me things then I wouldn't be here," Bakugou said, "Now leave."

"All along, you were the only one doing this right," Shouto said, "You were a friend to him. Tell me how you did that."

Bakugou scoffed under his breath. Then he started walking faster.

Shouto grabbed his shoulder and stopped him, spun him around. "Tell me what you did."

"I bullied him his whole life," Bakugou said, "I was scared of his strength, so I hated him and tried to get rid of him. Then All Might chose him, and I had to accept it."

Shouto froze, still gripping Bakugou's shoulder. He might have forgotten how to parse words. He should be reacting now, surely.

"I knew he was quirkless," Bakugou continued, "When I saw his power, I thought he'd been hiding it to taunt me. Deku told me to make me feel better. That's it."

When Shouto still didn't respond, Bakugou twisted his shoulder, pulling out of Shouto's grip. "You're way ahead of me. You'd never hurt him on purpose."

Shouto let his hand fall back to his side. His fingers were still bent. They still thought they were gripping something. His body couldn't keep up with this.

The next thing he knew, Bakugou was far off down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, moving steadily away. He kicked a rock, and Shouto heard it ping off of a metal trash can, harder than it had any right too. There was blood on Bakugou's shoulder now, seeping through the fabric where he'd been stabbed in the fight, where Shouto had grabbed him. He hadn't been thinking when he grabbed him.

Shouto's classmates sometimes said they got cold after sitting outside for too long, especially in the evening. Shouto could regulate his temperature automatically, so that never happened to him. He didn't realize how much time had passed until he saw his own shadow, stretching out into his line of sight. The sun had moved behind him.

He should probably go back inside, eat something, even if he didn't feel hungry. Robotically, Shouto turned around and headed back for the dorm.

Then he saw Uraraka, still sitting on the bench, head in her hands.

She didn't react at all, even as Shouto got close. Maybe he was walking too quietly for her to hear. He had learned stealth so well that now he did it automatically, without thinking. He didn't know what he was thinking now.

Uraraka was shaking, just barely. It was hard to tell if she was still crying, or if she had gotten cold.

"I'm still doing it," Shouto said.

Uraraka yelped, pulled her hands away and stared at him. Then she saw it was Shouto, and her shoulders relaxed. Her face contorted, approximating a smile. "Oh—Todoroki, you startled me!"

Shouto dropped down to his knees. The ground was damp, full enough to feed growing things. "I left you," he said, voice breaking, "You were sad—and I didn't think about it."

Slowly, Uraraka slid down off the bench, sat down on the ground beside him. "We're all sad," she said, "I knew you were sad. It's okay—I didn't think you were ignoring me."

Shouto leaned forward, set his head down on the bench. Too much had happened in the last several hours. It was like at the sports festival, when his whole view of the world had flipped over, and it had taken him a few days to decide what to do. But that time, it had been a good kind of change.

"Please don't beat yourself up about it," Uraraka continued, "Deku wouldn't want that."

"Did you know Bakugou bullied him?" Shouto asked.

Uraraka went quiet. At first, Shouto thought the shock had paralyzed her too. Then he turned his head a little, got a look at her face.

"You did know," Shouto said.

Uraraka grabbed a strand of her hair, turned it around in her fingers. "It only came up once," she said, "But once I knew, I couldn't forget it. It was easy to see."

Shouto wasn't sure what to think of that. Midoriya had always called Bakugou a friend—and he was the expert, so Shouto had taken his word for it, Bakugou's terrible attitude notwithstanding. He'd called Bakugou his own friend to, even when all evidence pointed to the contrary. But if that initial premise was false, if Bakugou and Midoriya weren't friends, then maybe Bakugou wasn't Shouto's friend either. Maybe Shouto didn't want him to be.

"It was after the quirk assessment test, at the beginning of school," Uraraka said, "I was trying to introduce myself—and I thought his name was actually Deku, since Bakugou had called him that. And so he had to explain that it was a mean nickname—just because of the situation! It's not like he wanted to tell me and not—"

"Deku?" Shouto said. He sat up, turned his whole head to face her. "His hero name?"

"It wasn't then," Uraraka said. Her head tilted, considering. "I think it's supposed to be from dekunobu. But I said it sounded like dekiru, like you can do it! And he said he liked it—and I thought he was just being nice, but then he kept bringing it up and—now I guess, it means something else."

"Wow," Shouto breathed. Uraraka's tone was flippant, trying to play it off, but the story had struck a chord with him anyway. He knew what his own hero name meant—a declaration that he was himself, his own, not something that belonged to his family. To Midoriya, this must have had the same kind of importance. Uraraka had given that to him. "I really—never knew him at all."

"That's not true," Uraraka said, "I never knew—well, about your family—"

"Midoriya did," Shouto interrupted. This was part of the weight, and she had to know it. "I told him everything."

"Okay," Uraraka said, placating, "But you didn't tell me. And when I found out from the news, I didn't think we weren't friends. I just thought—maybe you wanted to think about other things. Maybe it just didn't come up. And the stuff I did learn about you, all of that is still true. I still know you. We're still friends."

In spite of himself, Shouto felt relieved. All these revelations were still heavy, but it was better if he didn't have to doubt everything at the same time. If the things he had learned this year were true, if the friends he had made were real, then he didn't need to flounder forever. He'd be able to figure out what to do.

This has been the best year of my life. I'm so thankful that I got to meet you.

And if he did know Midoriya, then he knew what he'd want—for his friends to be safe and happy.

"You're cold," Shouto said. He'd meant it as a question, but the tone came out all wrong.

"I'm okay," Uraraka said.

Shouto reached out, touched her forehead with his left hand. It was difficult to change a person's temperature—the margin of error was much smaller than with a building. But this was the part of his fire side he'd trained even when he was refusing to use it in combat. He could be precise.

"Thanks," Uraraka said. She grabbed his hand, started to push it away.

Shouto grabbed her hand back. Then he stood up, pulled Uraraka up with him. "We should go inside," he said. It was dinnertime.

Shouto knew very little about cooking. It was another thing he needed to learn. But Uraraka was listless, only moving when he directed her. And there was one dish that Shouto did know how to make.

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it from the sink and pushed it into Uraraka's hands. "Drink," he told her. She'd need to, if she'd been crying that whole time.

Uraraka took the glass. She took a sip.

Satisfied, Shouto went back to the cabinets and pulled out a pan, started filling that up at the sink too. When all else failed, at least there were soba noodles.

In a stroke of inspiration, Shouto put their plates on the coffee table in the living room, and when they got done eating Uraraka fell asleep on the couch. All that was left after that was to throw a blanket over her and clean up the dishes.

Then Shouto headed upstairs.

Bakugou's door was open, which saved him the trouble of knocking. Inside, Bakugou sat cross-legged at the head of his bed, new bandages on his shoulder.

"Hey man!" Kirishima exclaimed, standing up from the floor. His hair was different—flat, like in his disguise at Kamino. And he stood weirdly, angled just enough to block Shouto's line of sight.

"You can leave," Bakugou said.

Shouto shrugged, turning to go.

"Not you."

"Really?" Kirishima said. He looked as confused as Shouto felt.

Bakugou nodded curtly. "Give us a minute."

"Okay," Kirishima said, reluctant. He slunk past Shouto, toward the door. "I'll be—just in the next room. Yell if you need anything."

"I will," Shouto said. Belatedly, he realized Kirishima probably hadn't been saying that for his benefit.

Kirishima didn't close the door on the way out.

Kicking his slippers off, Shouto climbed up and sat on the other end of Bakugou's bed, facing him. There was a lot in his mind, a lot he needed to talk through, and he could only say one thing at a time. He needed to triage his own thoughts, figure out what was absolutely vital, what could wait.

Bakugou didn't shout at him, didn't move. He was staring at the wall, just to the left of Shouto's head.

"Tell me everything about Midoriya," Shouto finally said.

"What," Bakugou scoffed, "His entire life? Be specific."

"Tell me about his entire life," Shouto said.

Bakugou bit his lip. Maybe he was reluctant to continue their conversation. Maybe, when everything was your goal, it was hard to know where to start.

"What was it like for him growing up?" Shouto said.

"Bad," Bakugou said. Then he tilted his head, reconsidering. "Well—better than it was for you."

"That's not what I asked," Shouto said. He was getting sick of thinking about himself.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Bakugou said. There was something weird in his tone, almost a plea. "I bullied him his whole life. I told you that already."

"What does that mean?" Shouto asked. He could only think of his father, of his poor mother. He'd never paid attention to his classmates before this year. He wasn't sure what mean children did, except that it might not be the same as what happened in his home.

Bakugou looked up at the ceiling, and his face went blank, focusing. "We used to be friends—we had the same dream. Then I got a quirk, and he didn't. Maybe I wouldn't have hated him, if things had stayed like that. But—one day we went exploring—me and him and some other kids. I tripped and fell into a creek, and Deku came to help me, even though I was fine. And I just remember thinking, how could he—"

"I don't care how you felt," Shouto interrupted, "What happened to Midoriya?"

Bakugou stared at him—finally looked him in the face. Then he scoffed, shook his head. "Yeah—okay. In elementary he got beat up a lot, but we couldn't get away with that in junior high, so we found other ways. We'd call him names, destroy his stuff, push him around, or just ignore him. The teachers never did anything, because they wanted him to see that society wouldn't accept him as a hero. And I was popular, and everyone knew I hated him, so even the kids who didn't bully him avoided him. He didn't have friends."

"He didn't have friends?" Shouto repeated. He believed it—Bakugou wasn't the kind of person to lie, and Shouto had been wrong a lot today. Still, it was hard to swallow. "That can't be. He's so good at friends. How did he get so good at it?"

"Natural talent," Bakugou said, "He always knew how to be a friend. Even if—other people weren't doing it back."

It took Shouto a minute to respond. He had to stop, unclench his jaw, try to think clearly. He'd spent too much of his life upset about a past that wouldn't change. The future was still here, hovering over his palms, waiting to be molded. "What do I need to know now? How can we help Midoriya?"

"Donno," Bakugou said. "We don't know where he went."

"Not like that," Shouto said, "You know how he thinks. When we find him, when he's back here—when we're heroes, ten years from now—what do I need to know?"

"Deku never takes himself into account," Bakugou said, wincing slightly. It might not have been noticeable on anybody else, but Bakugou hardly ever made movements that weren't precisely exaggerated.

"That's—bad?" Shouto asked. He wasn't sure what the phrase meant.

Bakugou shook his head. "No, just—All Might is the same way. Look what happened to him."

The comparison felt different than it might have a few days ago. Before, Midoriya had a strength quirk and a heroic spirit which had the potential to reach All Might's level some time in the future. Today, Midoriya had All Might's exact quirk and commission—he would save everyone, or die trying. And Midoriya was truly great, but Shouto wasn't sure he could carry it all. Even All Might hadn't been able to, not without great personal cost.

"He'll get himself killed one day," Bakugou continued. He moved his fingers, opening and closing one fist. "But that's not the only reason. Even before—from the beginning, I always hated that part of him. Because it's like All Might. It surpasses All Might. And I've never had it."

Shouto hummed, considering this. Midoriya was selfless—Iida and Uraraka had noticed the same thing. He would have to turn it all over more in the future, when his mind felt less like it was boiling over.

For now, he still had other urgent tasks.

"I'm sorry I grabbed your shoulder," Shouto said, ducking his head, "I forgot, but I shouldn't have. It won't happen again."

Bakugou didn't respond. After the silence stretched out too long, Shouto looked up again. Bakugou's brow was barely tensed, somewhere between anger and blank with sleep, his two usual expressions. It must be focus—he was puzzling Shouto out.

"Midoriya says you're his friend," Shouto explained. He'd thought it over while his noodles boiled. "And he gets to decide. So—nothing changes. You're my friend too."

Bakugou's eyes went wide. He still didn't say anything, which was typical. Shouto was surprised he'd allowed himself even this movement.

"Take care of yourself," Shouto said, scooting off of the bed and standing up, "Midoriya would be sad if you weren't okay."

Slowly, Bakugou nodded.

Before anything else could happen, Shouto spun on his heel and left the room. In the hall, he walked the wrong direction and knocked on Kirishima's door. Then he headed for the elevator. He still had more questions, more things to learn, but he wouldn't be able to internalize much right now. Time needed to germinate what he knew already, what he'd found out today.

In the common room, Uraraka was still passed out on the couch. Iida and Yaomomo stood by the window, talking in hushed voices.

Shouto stepped forward and scanned the floor, trying to find the blanket Uraraka must have kicked off. It wasn't anywhere.

"—have a dorm meeting," Yaomomo was saying, "Get everyone on the same page."

Iida pushed his glasses back up his nose. "That seems wise. We can develop our strategy from there."

Realization dawned, and Shouto tilted his head back. There was the blanket, hovering near the ceiling.

In spite of everything, Shoto smiled. He was new to having friends, but he liked the ones he had a lot. Their idiosyncrasies were endearing, their problems were his to help defeat. And even if he was upset now, it was comforting to know he wouldn't run out of things to learn about them, even if they stayed friends all their lives.