Chapter Text
Todoroki Shouto, currently Japan’s Number Three Hero, should have known this was going to happen to him. After all, he was a part of Aizawa’s infamous Class From Hell, and it’s not like he had any better luck than Izuku or Katsuki.
So, by the time he was hurtling through time and space amidst a murky black fog, he’d already figured it out, with a tired, detached sort of certainty. The person who’d come out of nowhere while he was on patrol, grabbing his arm from behind and thus sending him into this… less than ideal situation, must have been Izuku’s switch villain. Meaning, he was about to get plunged into his life from ten years ago, and his poor twelve-year-old self was going to have to fight for his life against a crazy, knife-wielding villain who just did not know when to stop. How she’d even broken out of prison, none of Shouto’s hero friends knew, but they knew she was bound to show up at some point, given her surprising ingenuity and… tenacity. Shouto just hadn’t fully expected it to be him she went after.
Again. Shouto Should Have Known.
But, too late now.
All Shouto could do was brace himself for the inevitable—
—and there it was. The black smoke parted, and Shouto tumbled to the ground. The first thing he noticed was the hard, unforgiving floor beneath his palms, the same floor he’d spent half his childhood staring down at in various painful positions as he had his ass handed to him. Shouto’s stomach clenched, and he rose to his feet.
Standing in front of him, flames fully ignited, was his father. Todoroki Enji, also known as the Number Two Hero of this time, Endeavor. Also known as the father who, he’d slowly learned to recognize, had abused him and his family through his entire childhood.
Evidently, the switch villain had crashed a “training” session. Shouto also should have expected this. It didn’t mean he would ever have felt prepared for it.
Shouto felt his body stiffen, begin to shut down, an instinctive reaction he didn’t know he still possessed. Taking in a breath, he lifted his chin to meet his father’s eyes, careful to leave his face blank—a habit that also came back more easily than Shouto would have expected.
Enji, who at first had glared at him, stance prepared to take on an unknown enemy, suddenly took a step back, eyes widening. “Shouto?”
So, he’d been recognized. Now what?
Shouto thought about the twelve-year-old version of him, fighting for his life in the future. He’d likely need medical help, when he came back, more help than this version of his father would be willing to give him. And—and Shouto was tired, so very tired of dealing with his father, of Enji’s baggage hanging over him, a shadow clouding his entire life. Shouto only had one minute here, and he wanted to make the most of it. Wanted to spend it with people whose names were most definitely not Todoroki Enji.
Shouto let his father stare at him for a moment more. Then, wordlessly, he turned on his heel and settled into an ice slide, speeding out of the room. Enji’s surprised shouts followed him, but he paid them no heed. One minute. He needed to get to Fuyuumi and Natsuo, fast, if he wanted any sort of meaningful contact with them.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Shouto to find his siblings. Shouto burst into the kitchen—and there they were. Fuyuumi stood over the stove, tending to rice, while Natsuo cut vegetables—or, this was what his siblings had been doing, before Shouto entered. Now, they were frozen in shock.
Shouto took a small step back, gently raising his arms in the universal I-mean-you-no-harm gesture. “We don’t have much time,” he started. “But… um… it’s me. It’s Shouto. I can explain.”
Natsuo gave Fuyuumi a wide-eyed help, I have no idea what to do here glance, and Fuyuumi visibly swallowed. Shouto felt a pang of regret lurch through him. Goodness, his siblings were so young. He’d always looked up to them, seen them as pillars of support—ones he couldn’t access often, but that were always there, in the background; allies he could trust, lean on in emergencies. But in this time, they were younger than him, and he could suddenly see, clearer than ever, the terrible weight of the responsibilities they’d had to assume, all these years.
Mouth suddenly dry, Shouto turned away, absently activating his left side, ever so slightly, to melt away some of the ice he’d trailed in. A gasp echoed through the kitchen, and Shouto whirled back around to see Fuyuumi cover her mouth, wide open in shock. Shouto followed her gaze. His quirk–right, his quirks, plural. If nothing else could prove his identity, they could.
Slowly, Shouto called a small flame to his left hand and a smattering of frost to his right and presented them, palms open, to his siblings. “See?” he murmured. “It’s really me.”
Natuso’s eyes got even wider, if that was possible, and Fuyuumi finally seemed to gather herself enough to speak. “Shouto—what?...”
Shouto lowered his hands. Right. Okay, now… he needed to figure out at least some way to explain. Great. Izuku was far better at this sort of thing.
“It’s—a switch villain. Um, so I’m from ten years in the future, and she switched me with my younger self—um, the one who’s supposed to be here—to try and kill him, before he becomes me?”
There was a pause, and Shouto cursed his lack of eloquence. “Sorry, I know it’s crazy—”
“Wait, time travel?” Natsuo breathed. Shouto almost smiled at the look on his face—half shock, and half a tentative sort of excitement. He wished he could let Natsuo stay excited. Unfortunately, he was going to have to ruin Natsuo’s fun.
“Yeah, uh, that’s how I’m here. But younger me—your Shouto—he’s in the future now, and he’s in danger. That’s why I came here.” Shouto raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “The quirk only works for one minute. I—he’s probably going to need your help. Very soon, do you understand? He’ll probably be… hurt.”
A sudden look of understanding crossed Fuyuumi’s face. Shock replaced by determination, Fuyuumi turned off the stove and rushed out of the room, most likely to retrieve her first-aid kit, the one that had held Shouto together for nearly a decade. Shouto watched her go, gratitude lighting in his chest.
Enji chose that time to make his reappearance.
“Shouto, what is this?”
Shouto stiffened. Great. Almost subconsciously, he took a small step in front of Natsuo. Back then, it had always been Natsuo protecting him, but now that he was, technically, older, he found himself falling into the reverse.
“Switch villain,” Shouto found himself replying. His voice sounded cold, flat once more. An unwelcome reminder of old times. “I’m from ten years in the future and have been switched with myself from this time. This was an assassination attempt on my younger self. He should be back shortly, and he’ll probably be hurt. I’m making the necessary preparations.” Might as well tell the truth, to make things simpler. Keep Enji’s wrath at bay.
Enji scowled. “And you’ve become a Pro Hero, I assume?” he asked, gesturing towards Shouto’s costume.
Shouto swallowed down his annoyance. “Yes.” No thanks to you.
His father folded his arms, scanning him, probably looking for something to judge, to nitpick. “You should not have let a villain get close enough to use his quirk on you. Shouto, I expect more from you.”
Shouto bit his lip. Damn it, he was twenty-two, he shouldn’t still let this bad memory of his father treat him this way—but his limbs were still locked, the fear he’d thought long gone still there. Natsuo twitched behind him, looking like he wanted to step in, and shame flooded Shouto, that he’d still be relying on his brother, even now, to defend him. The shame turned to anger. Anger at Enji, at this shitty situation, at himself.
Enji raised an eyebrow at Shouto’s lack of response, but chose to simply continue his interrogation. “What is your ranking?”
And suddenly, that was it. Shouto had had enough. He took a step forward, looking his father right in the eye. He was taller than his father, now. Taller, and a full-grown adult, and he was going to let Enji see it. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
Enji’s eyes widened for a moment, before a spurt of flames sputtered to life around his face. “Excuse me?”
“All the people you’re supposed to save, all the lives you’re supposed to make better, and you only care about a goddamn popularity contest. Well, I don’t, and I’m. Not. Telling. You.”
Enji growled, flames spreading. A part of Shouto wanted to stop, to hold back, keep Enji’s wrath from growing and possibly hurting his other siblings and himself, but something bitter took hold in Shouto, making him keep stubbornly standing his ground even as his father stepped forward. Enji’s fists clenched. “You dare—”
“But I will tell you this,” Shouto said. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Fuyuumi appear at the doorway to the kitchen, first-aid kit in hand. Good—both his siblings were here to watch. He wanted to give them the satisfaction. “You want to talk about your precious rankings? You’ll never beat All Might. You’ll never be a Symbol of Peace.” Shouto let that sink in, a hundred other grievances rushing through his mind, ones he couldn’t say. Neither will I, because All Might’s successor is Number One now, and I’m so proud that he is. And while you were busy being obsessed with your stupid, petty catfights, you let Touya slip through your fingers. You, as Number One Hero, created the villain that destroyed you. That will be your legacy. And I’ll never forgive you for it. At the thought of Touya, Shouto felt much of his fury fizzle, and he sighed. Enji was speechless for now, but his rage would soon return, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Time to stop poking the bear.
“You know what, it’s not worth it,” he grumbled, and turned around to where Natsuo was standing, a look of disbelief on his face—but not without a hint of tentative joy.
Shouto felt a wave of affection for his brother, and scooped him into a hug. “I love you,” Shouto whispered. Keenly aware of the time ticking out, he released Natsuo and walked up to Fuyuumi, Natsuo and Enji both watching him go, still frozen in shock. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you for everything,” he murmured, before pulling her in tight.
Then the black smoke was back, and Shouto was pulled from her embrace before either could say another word. When he was dumped unceremoniously back onto the street he’d been patrolling, back in the future, his eyes were misted over with unshed tears.
Quickly wiping his eyes, Shouto jumped into a fighting stance, searching for the threat—before a gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, easy, there,” Uraraka Ochako’s voice said.
“The villain has been apprehended,” Tenya announced from behind him, and Shouto turned to see him hauling the villain into quirk-suppressing cuffs, a police presence growing steadily in the background. Shouto let his body relax at the sight. That’s right—he’d been patrolling near both of them. “Thank goodness,” he huffed.
“Tell me about it,” Ochako agreed. “This one’s pretty wily.”
“And annoying,” Shouto chuckled.
“Yeah, we’ve got to be sure she stays in Tartarus, this time.”
Shouto cringed, before remembering. His younger self. “Hey, is…”
“Little Shouto alright?” Ochako sighed. “Well, he got a little banged up—couple scratches and a broken arm—but otherwise, he’s fine.”
Shouto let out a breath. “That’s good to hear.”
“Sure is,” Ochako nodded. “He was soooo cute, though! You didn’t tell me how absolutely adorable you were—”
Shouto sighed inwardly, and let Ochako’s babbling wash over him. He was back in the present, back with his friends, back where his father could never hold that power over him again.
Damn, it felt good to be home.