Trapped - Todoroki

12| A Birthday to Forget

Once the figure finished his tale, as fantastic as the story was, 1A and B were shocked to see how much time had passed since they had last looked at the boy. Shoto was now sitting in his room. Time seemed to have taken a toll on him, his limbs slumped, his eyes dazed and glassed over, though his expression was the most shocking. They seemed utterly void of all emotions, a shell of the bubbly boy he was at the beginning of their journey.

This Todoroki, the cold, stoic teen they had come to know was as cold as ever. All warmth seemed to have left his body, his eyes. The ice-cold gaze almost piercing as he looked in their direction. The class was almost sure he could see them, his gaze never leaving their direction. They felt watched, all frozen in place as the now 12-year-old walked towards them.

As he furthered his slow approach toward the group, he was called, or rather summoned by his "father". The high schoolers had never been more thankful in their lives, relief washing over them as they were sure Shoto had discovered their presence, even if they weren't actually present in the first place.

As the training commerced, the male began growing more tired and frustrated. His ice wasn't a match for his creator's roaring flames. The hours of burning flesh, mostly directed to his left, began to irk something inside of him as fatigue and dehydration started to take effect. His vision blurred and speed slowed down from the mental and physical strain of repeatedly defending and attacking with his ice, refusing to give the angered flamethrower what he wanted.

His stubbornness was admirable, yet stupid.

The will to not give in was getting stronger with each punch, kick, and attack aimed at him. Fire flew throughout the training room as the boy enclosed himself, ice walls protecting his flesh from the overgrown attack the number two hero had fired.

Once the flames cleared the male lay there, collapsed on the ironically cold floor. The heated remarks from his father's eruptions no longer reached the male as he remained on the ground, no longer moving. This time Endeavor knew his son would not stand up and fight him. Realising he may have gone a tad bit overboard, though he would never admit it, he walked towards the younger checking his pulse.

Slow.

He was alive, still.

Luckily the fallen walls of ice had extinguished most flames, making a path. Enji picked up his son as he felt slow, ragged breaths and an irregular, weak heartbeat. It was almost as if the heart had decided to stop pumping altogether as he knew it was far too weak. Usually, a lack of pulse would mean blood was pumped at a too high frequency, which may have been plausible seeing as they had gone at it for hours, yet the boy's pulse was slow and uneven. This brought worry to the boy's father, who still needed his masterpiece alive.

After all, a dead man can't surpass the living in anything other than death.

He picked up his son, rushing out of the room. Right in the corridor stood his daughter, Fuyumi, who looked horrified. She had always known what went down in the training room but had never seen a result as devastating. In her father's arms was her baby brother, struggling to catch a breath, clasping onto life.

She ushered them to take the car, yet Endeavor knew this would take too long. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take. He used his quirk to boost his speed as he used his flames to heat the surrounding air, enabling him to fly toward the nearest hospital faster, his son still held protectively in his arms.

✶

Hours later the bicoloured male woke up.
'Finally! You're awake.' He tried to nod, yet quit immediately as he felt a shot of pain overtake his body.
'You practically froze yourself to death, Shoto'
11.59 pm, 11 January the monitor read. What a birthday he had. At least he survived to make it through 12 years of life without the usual struggles.

In the background, they all silently vowed to make sure the CandyCanes' next birthday would be a birthday to remember

✶

As if risen from death, Shoto approached the dossier at his bedside, attempting and failing to ignore the immense pain he felt. The medical team, having forgotten to safely store it away after his treatment.

Shocked he dropped the file.

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Balance has always been everywhere.
The yin-yang balance, evil-good, black-white, hot-cold. Yet not everyone shares the same type of desired balance. It can be emotional, physical, or mental. Maintaining balance, however, is tiring and hard to achieve as is perfection.
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