Shoto Todoroki Oneshots

The Lost Prince Pt.6

Shoto didn't stop running, passing by his village in a blur and racing through the orchard to return to his garden, the one safe haven he knew. His chest felt tight and his vision was covered by tears that refused to stop falling no matter how often he wiped them away. His head felt like it was going to explode, visions flashing over and over, on top of each other until they completely overwhelmed him. 

Visions of a woman with long white hair like his, cradling him to her side as she hummed a beautiful lullaby; the tune was one he often sang himself when alone at home. A girl was on his other side, her gentle hands caressing his hair and creating light braids until he fell asleep. He saw a giant of a man with red hair just like flames looking down at him as he lay in his crib, his mouth in a wide grin as he hugged his wife. Flashes of looming castle walls decorated with paintings and ornate gold, ceilings so high that little Shoto thought they went right up to the clouds. 

With each breath came a new memory, and he collapsed against the garden gate trying to force them from his mind. What were they? Where were they from? Was he-

All of a sudden a cold wave of dread washed over him, seeping into every bone and muscle until he was rigid with tension. His eyes shook and his face turned pale. The single thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind... no. That was impossible, wasn't it? He was Shoto Otsuka, one of three children to his mother and father. 

Yet, there were no pictures or portraits of him as a child compared to his siblings, nothing from baby clothes to toys, unlike his sister's stuffed rabbit and the baby blue overalls his mother kept dearly from his older brother. It was as if Shoto just appeared, as if wasn't there to begin with...

Pushing the gate open, the blood rushing in his ears taking over the lack of sound from the gate's latch, he stumbled through his garden and into the kitchen, tripping over the rake he had forgotten about. The kitchen was cold, the breeze coming from the window making his tears stand on end, and it was dark with few traces of moonlight. But in the corner, a single lantern was lit, its candle flickering on a broad figure sitting at the table.

"Shoto." The voice called out, the figure standing up and coming closer. Shoto felt like cornered prey, backing up until his back hit the counter-top. 

"Y-you-" he stumbled through his words, looking up at the man who he called his father for as long as he could remember with nothing but fear and confusion.

"Shoto, why was the gate open? Did you leave?"

His father took a step closer, his face serious and angry as he looked down at Shoto. It felt like air was escaping his lungs, his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto the counter. His father's words weren't clear, sounding murky like they were underwater and Shoto was drowning.

"Who-" he inhaled as deeply as he could, "who a-are you... A-am I-"

"Shoto. Did you leave this house?" his father asked once more, and Shoto found himself nodding, stray tears still falling down his cheeks.

"What did I tell you about leaving Shoto? Didn't I warn you of what would happen if you left this house? Your home?"

"This i-isn't my-" 

Shoto was cut off by a stinging slap against his cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground as he continued to hyperventilate. The cold tiles of the floor send sharp needles through his skin, his body going numb. 

"Now Shoto, what did I tell you about telling lies? About breaking the rules? You know it's only because we care." His father finished with a kick to his ribs, his body curling up in the fetal position to try and protect himself from his father's wrath.