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Memory Walkers

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A person is neither wholly good or bad. The most morally corrupt can selflessly save a life and the morally righteous can ruin a life without remorse. Humans don't fit into clear categories. That is where many make fatal errors in their opinions on others, they stuff people into boxes and are surprised when the person in question doesn’t conform.

 

That is when victims suffer the most, when a good person does evil.

 

———————

 

Shouto doesn’t remember most of his childhood. 

 

Days upon days of supposed training, were completely forgotten.

 

Interactions he had supposedly had with his family, gone.

 

Memories of pivotal moments, like his mother hurting him or his brother disappearing, gone.

 

Shouto felt like he was walking in a headache-inducing daze since he could remember. 

 

Too many thoughts and voices crammed into a head too small, banging against their confines. Shouto had issues sometimes when he tried to make simple decisions because his thoughts warred against themselves.

 

Shouto could barely remember why he was so scared of his father.

 

—————-

 

“Fuyumi?”

 

At his gentle call, Fuyumi turned around from the stove and smiled at him. Her voice was equally as gentle when she answered, “Yes?”

 

“Where is Touya?”

 

Shouto didn’t understand.

 

He didn’t understand why Fuyumi’s marble face crumbled. 

 

He didn’t understand why she left the pot on the stove unattended to shamble towards him.

 

He didn’t understand why she started heaving sobs.

 

He didn’t understand why she pulled him into such a tight embrace.

 

He didn’t understand her mumbled, “Sh- it’ll be fine Shou. It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, okay? I’ll protect you. We’ll be okay.”

 

The mantra didn’t make sense to his foggy mind.

 

Shouto didn’t understand anything anymore.

 

——————

 

Ejder was breathed into an unfair life.

 

He, a mighty being in which mortals should cower from, stuck in a puny mortal child. His existence seemed to hinge on keeping the small being alive during what is called “hero training”.

 

This “training”, in Ejder’s fine opinion, was but a word used to obscure the torture this mortal man inflicted upon his son.

 

Ejder’s first days of life consisted of stumbling around in this ineffective body, trying to defend it from a man who seem determined to slay his own flesh and blood.

 

Quite peculiar.

 

This small human body was so unlike his own. Where his body was large, this body was so incredibly small. Where this body was bipedal, Ejder was uncomfortable when his four claws weren’t firmly on the ground. Where Ejder’s snout made speaking without magic impossible, this “ father”   expected him to use this unfamiliar mouth to speak.

 

A dragon in a human’s body.

 

Ejder couldn’t comprehend which god he’d offended to be placed in such a hellish life.

 

His existence is now plagued with humiliation. Using powers that resembled his own, but were achingly foreign, to fight a man he should have been able to gobble up with ease. 

 

Pure torture.

 

Especially considering, Ejder couldn’t beat this “ Endeavor ” with such a weak body.

 

The indignity.  

 

—————-

 

The man in front of Ejder was honorless. 

 

All of Ejder’s memories consisted of being hunted by Endeavor’s flames and taunting suggestions. 

 

His mind should be filled with pleasant rememberings of the sky, his wings, and the sweet crunch of bone snapping in between his mighty jaws. His breaths should be able to switch between flame and ice without “quirk exhaustion”. He shouldn’t have to be stuck protecting this weakling from their sire’s wrath.

 

Yet here he was, Ejder, der Drache des Gleichgewichts, lay in a heap on the floor. Endeavor loomed above him. The aftermath, a mix of ice, fire, smoke, and steam curled around them in an almost beautiful background. Ejder couldn’t bring himself to raise his gaze, humiliation gathered in “his” belly. 

 

To be beaten again and again by a mere mortal.

 

To know that he can’t even protect himself anymore.

 

To know he can’t even protect a mere mortal youngling.

 

Maybe Endeavor was correct in his assertions of Ejder’s uselessness.

 

Maybe he wasn’t fit to be a hero.

 

But Ejder couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that Endeavor was fit for a heroic career either.  

 

—————

 

Tamisra hated everything she had ever known.

 

Shouto

 

Father

 

Mother

 

Touya

 

This stupid body

 

This bullshit world where her pain is acceptable in the first place

 

Tamisra’s constant state of being was pain. Fire licked up her body, boiling water scorched her face, frostbite caused an annoying-as-fuck shiver, and all the other bullshit memories she was stuck with.

 

If God or the gods were real, Tamisra wanted to ask what she did to deserve this… life . And maybe tell them to fuck off while she was at it.

 

Another piece of bullshit?

 

All her memories were of some pathetic little boy. A boy! Why in the hell would she have memories that weren’t hers. Stuck in sniveling body with thoughts so much more pathetic compared to hers.

 

And where were her memories?

 

Why does she know that she likes grapefruit if she has no memory of eating it. Why does she know that she is partially deaf if she hasn’t even talked with anyone? Why does she know that she hates people when she doesn’t remember ever talking to someone.

 

Why does she know ?

 

Why is she stuck in this limbo of pain?

 

Why is she stuck in this bedroom drenched in nothing but black and purple and its tattered and uncomfortable furniture?

 

If this is the rest of her life, then is life even worth it?

 

——————

 

Dabi missed three things from his life as Touya. He missed his mother, his siblings, and being fucking loaded.

 

His mother is now locked in some psych ward until she either dies or Endeavor decides she won’t pull anymore shit.

 

The mother he knew is long gone. The lady in that hospital wouldn’t want anything to do with some scarred freak when she’s got a whole situation to deal with already.

 

Dabi’s siblings probably hate him. Or in Shouto’s case, not even remember him.

 

And getting money ain’t too hard with the villain life he’s got going.

 

Dabi just needed to remember, Todoroki Touya is fucking dead . And all would be well, right?



Chapter Text

Peteve couldn’t wait until they made it to UA.

 

He wasn’t sure how much longer Aurum and he could push off another head-person forming.

 

As entrance exams drew closer, Father has been training Ejder harder, Shouto has been noticing chunks of missing memories, and certain head-people were starting to get antsy.

 

Peteve’s job -keeping the body healthy- has been getting progressively harder.

 

The extra training alone caused problems. He had to ice more bruises, treat more sprains, stitch up the rare-but-more-frequent cuts, apply jar after jar of burn creams, and smear antibiotics on open wounds.

 

Exhausting

 

The body was in constant pain.

 

It didn’t help that Shouto seems to be having another bout of insomnia.

 

Peteve was constantly busy. He needed to balance caring for injuries, bathing, brushing the body’s teeth, keeping up a high calorie diet, and sleeping. Peteve had to do all of this within whatever amount of time he was in the body. 

 

On average, he was stuck in Todoroki Shouto’s body for half an hour to five hours per day.

 

Then another person yanked him back to the head-house.

 

And he would have to take care of himself .

 

========

 

Peteve wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he knew his situation wasn’t normal. “Normal people” only had one head-person. That person had all the memories and icky feelings. That one person could take care of themselves without getting fuzzy.

 

He was kind of jealous.

 

He was stuck in this body that clearly wasn’t his. The split hair, scar, and general body shape just wasn’t what Peteve looked like .

 

In the head-house he had curly red hair that was ginger-y instead of fire-y . His face was scarless and freckly(it was sad the body didn’t have any freckles, Peteve found them super cute). He was also scrawnier in the head-house, the extra muscle sometimes was more of a hindrance than anything(he kept breaking Shouto’s stuff).

 

He wished he wasn't stuck.

 

But…

 

Every time he even thought of talking about his problems, he felt a deep, roiling disgust well up in his gut. His throat seemingly closed. His control was yanked back away before he could even express he needed help .

 

Aurum was steadfast in her decision though. Tell no one.

 

So, Peteve was stuck in this never-ending cycle of taking care of not only his body, but the body that somehow became his responsibility.

 

Peteve loved it and hated it, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

 

—————-

 

Aurum was cursed and blessed. She knew but didn’t feel

 

She knew Enji has hurt his son in unfathomable ways, and would continue to do so whether she liked it or not. She knew all the gritty details of Shouto’s abuse.

 

However… she was burdened with persistent numbness. Joy, disgust, terror, panic, or any other emotion rarely affected her.

 

Peteve always called her stone-cold and on the rare occasion heartless

 

Aurum wondered if he was right.

 

She was the decision-maker, the controller in an uncontrollable world. The decider in how everyone in her sphere of control acted. Aurum was cursed and blessed with the power to control who could be-and was- in the body.

 

She decided when Shouto was too worn out to continue consciousness. She decided when Peteve had taken care of the body enough to come back into their world. She decided when to send Ejder out to shoulder the training.

 

Aurum was the decider, and she was quite fond of her control. It meant she would never be subjected to the hurt Shouto endured in those horrible memories.

 

———————

 

The clinking of china against china grated on Peteve’s nerves. His head hurt from just having been abruptly yanked back into the head-house. His hands trembled, he didn’t know whether from anxiety or anger.

 

Rounding the corner and heading into the dining, he balled his fists.

 

Aurum sat, knees pulled up to her chest, while she blew on a steaming cup of tea. Her perpetually blank face tilted towards him. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she examined him.

 

He took a deep breath and tried to sound confident when he told her, “This isn’t going to work anymore.”