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“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
His words felt foreign, like they weren’t his. He shouldn’t be asking this. He shouldn’t have to.
“I-“
“I watched the news. I saw him burn up. It killed him, didn’t it?”
Shigaraki looked like he might vomit. His face was puffy and red, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He looked like he’d been punched.
“Shoto, I’m so sorry-“
“Just say it. He’s dead. I watched him die.”
Shigaraki slapped a hand over his mouth, presumably to muffle the sob that threw itself from his lips. He had never seen him this disheveled.
“You didn’t. He…he died in the hospital.”
He couldn’t help the sinking pit in his stomach. He wanted to choke it back, but it clenched tight and wouldn’t let go. He had said it. It was real. Finite. Tangible. He was dead. He died. Touya died.
“I didn’t get to see him.”
“You didn’t want to. It was bad.” He hesitated, gauging whether to continue or not.
“He hardly knew I was there.”
“But you were there.”
He looked into Shigaraki’s tearful eyes, searching for any ounce of denial.
He found none.
“Yeah. I was there. He held my hand until the end.”
Shoto had felt many things. Pain, anguish, regret, joy, sorrow.
But never jealousy.
Never jealousy that made his skin itch and chest ache.
He had never wished so badly in his life to be another person. To be the one who got to hold his brother’s hand as he died. He never thought he would want something like that.
But now, when he was denied it, he was so jealous he might cry.
And yet, he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t his partner. He wasn’t there during the worst years of his life.
He was just his little brother.
Shoto sat, stock still, as Shigaraki put himself together. “Do you…have any questions?”
He wiped his face harshly, as if more force would push back the anguish settled into his features.
Shoto tried to think of some. Of anything to ask him besides ‘why wasn’t I there?’ or ‘what did you do to deserve him?’
He came up empty.
He had to say something. Anything. Something to settle the waters.
“What do we do now?”
“I…don’t know. They're doing an autopsy so they can try the villains with homicide. They’ve been captured and are awaiting trial.”
“Do we get his body?”
“Yes, when they’re done.” Shigaraki swallowed thickly. “The Hero Commission will likely hold a funeral for us. I don’t have to pay for it.”
Somebody should pay for it. He could think of one.
“Dad won’t be there?”
“No, he’s in custody. Your mom probably will.”
“What happens to me?”
Shigaraki hesitated this time. He wasn’t sure. It was obvious.
“You can stay with me.”
It’s what he would’ve wanted.
Shoto tried to fight the anger boiling beneath his skin.
“Will those villains get the death penalty?”
“Probably not.”
“They should.”
Shoto never spoke like this. He was always pragmatic. He was rarely emotional.
It scared Shigaraki visibly.
“You should eat something. I can-“
“I’m not hungry.”
Shigaraki didn’t want to fight him, but Shoto almost wished he would. So he could yell at him. So he had something to fight about. A way to release the tension sizzling in his dermis.
“That’s fine, let me know if you are.”
Shoto should've gotten up and left. He should’ve screamed at him. He should’ve fallen to the floor in tears and screamed at whatever god would listen to take him instead.
But he didn’t.
He sat in that kitchen chair until Shigaraki left, watching him close himself in their bedroom before muffled sobs echoed through the now lonelier apartment.
—
He had to go to class.
There was no ‘recovery’ day. No adjustment period. No rest. He was a hero. He had to go.
It’s what Touya would’ve done.
He ignored the constant barrage of his classmates questioning him, offering condolences, pitying him. He wanted nothing more than for this to die just like Touya did.
He all but lost it when Mic pulled him out of class.
“Hey Shoto, you holding up okay? Nobody would blame you if you went home. Losing somebody is-“
“I didn’t lose him. He died.”
Mic tried to hide his grimace.
“Right. I’m sure this hasn’t been easy for you. You’re welcome to take the time you need.”
“I don’t need time.” He looked to the figure above him, biting his tongue as not to say ’it’s not like he’ll be any less dead.’
Mic simply nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder. He pretended not to see Shoto flinch away from it.
“You know where to find me if you need me. This has been hard for everyone.”
“I’m sure.” He pulled himself away from the hero’s embrace, turning to enter another class he would disassociate from.
Just as Mic had, he pretended not to see him hold back a choked sob.
—
Shoto might combust if he had to sit through another training session with people who would rather die than hit him.
He’d take getting his ass handed to him. He’d accept being knocked down unfairly. He’d honestly let his classmates do anything to him if it meant he didn’t have to tolerate this disgusting pity.
He was paired up with Ochako, who he figured would respect him enough not to hold back. He was sorely disappointed when he noticed her pulling her punches. She rarely touched him, resorting to distance attacks. Her chocolate eyes looked at him sadly each time she did hit him, immediately apologizing. She was fighting him as if he was injured. Like a kicked puppy.
“What’s wrong? You’re not usually this reserved.”
He swiped his hair out of his face, watching as she let hers cover her expression.
“It’s just an easy day, we aren’t supposed to fight full-force.” She laughed through the excuse, trying to avoid his eyes.
It made him sick.
“Aizawa never said that. What’s really going on?” He approached her slowly, waiting for her to snap back at him.
He wasn’t expecting this.
She looked up at him with tearful eyes, cheeks puffy and lip quivering.
“I can’t fight you like this. You just lost your brother, and I’m-I’m hitting you! I can’t do this, you’re going through so much and I’m just adding to it! It’s so-“
“It’s fine.” Shoto felt anger stir in his gut.
“It’s not! You should be home, and they’re-“
“I want to be here. You can hit me.” He tried to shove out a smile to hide the scowl that sat behind it.
“You don’t deserve to lose your brother, Shoto. I can’t hit you knowing that you’re-“
“I’m fine.” He snapped, his facade faltering. Resentment was beginning to bubble beneath the surface of his flushed skin. He was the one with the dead brother, and Uraraka was crying?
Her crying relaxed as she wiped her face with her sleeve, taking deep breaths to compose herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so emotional. You just-you deserve so much better.”
“Well who deserves a dead brother?”
She swallowed thickly, settling into a fighting stance to change the subject. He was more than happy to follow, knowing the next hour might actually be productive.
—
Of all the pity he received, he much preferred it to being stuck in an apartment with Shigaraki.
They rarely spoke. When they did, it was transactional. Shigaraki asking if he’d eaten. If he wanted to shower first. If he needed a ride anywhere.
As if he’d ask him.
He spoke to him like a roommate rather than his dead boyfriend’s brother. He hardly looked at him, and when he did, he excused himself quickly.
It was like living with a ghost that only showed up to check on him and occasionally cook.
It was nauseating.
He tried his best to be cordial, but it was getting progressively harder to stomach the tension in the air. He wanted to vomit at the sight of Shigaraki.
Shoto wasn’t sure what it was. Did he resent him for being there? For being his responsibility? Did he secretly want him gone? Was he regretful of his existence in the space he shared with his partner?
He wouldn’t know. He never asked.
Instead, he was just as cold. Rarely speaking, always watching. He was his guardian until the dorms were built. To a degree, he owed him that respect.
And yet, to speak to him felt like swallowing glass.
He found himself at a loss for what to say to him when he wasn’t asked a question. He had plenty he wanted to say.
That he was angry that he got to see him die. That he hated being in that fucking apartment with him. That he wished he died instead. That he’d rather he beat him over the head with a bat then look at him with those devoid, dead eyes.
Instead, he just sat in silence.
He found himself at a loss yet again as Shigaraki stumbled in, shoulders heavy as if the suit he was wearing was weighing him down. He wore suits a lot lately.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Yes.” No. He rarely did.
“Good.” He never questioned him. Almost as if he didn’t have the energy to entertain his lie.
Touya would have. He would’ve grilled him. Demanded to see evidence. Made him something anyways.
He should say something. Ask where he’s been all day, on a Saturday no less. Ask about what happened. Why he was still there. Why he got to see him die.
“What’s with the suit?”
Shigaraki sighed, avoiding his gaze. “Hero Commission meetings demand business formal dress. This was the last meeting before the funeral, so it’s no different.” He set down the binder in his gloved hands on the counter, looking at it as if it would bite.
“You should shower first. You need rest.”
“For what?”
“The funeral is at 10 tomorrow.”
It was in the morning. Touya hated morning events. He would’ve hated his own funeral.
“That’s early.”
“Yeah, well, take it up with Mic if you have any protests. Mine went ignored.” He didn’t even turn around to address him.
“Touya hated early-“
“I know.” He spoke in short bursts, as if to avoid saying too much. He wanted him to say too much. To step out of line. To deserve his harsh words.
“You know?”
“Yeah. He-“ Shigaraki audibly swallowed. “He was always cranky in the mornings.”
Shoto felt his gaze narrow. “How would you know?”
Shigaraki didn’t answer. He simply turned to leave.
Shoto sat in the kitchen, just like he had that first evening. He sat, alone, as he watched Shigaraki leave his ghost at the table.
—
Shoto had never been to a funeral before.
He didn’t think his brothers would be his first.
He hoped it would be his father’s. Not Touya’s.
He sat in the front row, though he wanted to be in the back. He hated being this close.
The casket was closed. Touya’s request, per his will. All heroes had to have death plans. Touya was no exception.
He watched as his colleagues, his mentors, and his friends spoke, each more tearful than the last. He watched Mic have to be escorted off the stand by Aizawa because he couldn’t speak through his tears. As All Might choked his way through a formal address. As Hawks just mumbled ‘why’ over and over until Shoto’s mother led him to his seat.
His family was the worst.
Fuyumi was a sobbing mess. Natsuo was so angry he could feel it. His mother spoke in such a quiet voice he could hardly hear her. Each speech made him want to rip his skin off.
And then, fucking Shigaraki spoke.
“I have known Dabi since he began his time at UA. He was always such a force to be reckoned with, it intimidated me. He was no different as we began our time together. Always defending me, defending the people who needed it most, defending himself. He is-“
He stopped, putting a hand over his mouth to swallow the lapse.
“Was…the strongest person I knew. I never questioned if he loved me. He made a point to tell me. To tell all of us. He…”
The rest became mush in Shoto’s mind. He didn’t care about how much Touya loved anyone. It didn’t matter. He was dead.
He tried to pretend like he was listening as Shigaraki choked back his disheveled words, forcing his way through a speech about how dear Touya was to him. He never even called him Touya. Just his hero name.
He didn’t know him. Nobody did, really. Not even Shoto.
He didn’t come back to reality until he was forced to by his sister nudging his side.
“Do you want to speak?”
He did. To yell, even. He wanted everyone to know how stupid their grief was in the face of his. How none of them really understood what it was like to lose a brother who feared your very presence. To not be there when that brother died. To live with his widow and watch him avoid him like the fucking plague. To live with the shame of outliving him.
“No.”
“Are you sure? He would’ve-“
“I don’t care what he would’ve wanted. He’s dead.”
He heard a sniffle to his left, turning to see his mother’s shrouded face. She buried her tears to rest in the white handkerchief in her hands.
She must’ve heard him. Maybe she would understand.
Not a fucking chance.
“That’s harsh.”
“Him dying was harsh-“
“Shut up.”
His eyes shot to Natsuo, whose hands were balled into fists in his lap.
“Shut up. You’re being a dick.” He tore his gaze away from Shigaraki to look his younger brother in the eye.
“You’re not the only one grieving, so stop acting like you are. Look at him.”
Shoto, begrudgingly, turned towards the podium Shigaraki was currently holding onto for dear life, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“He watched his boyfriend die. His only family is fucking dead. He watched him die. And you’re acting like you’re the only one who lost somebody. Shut up for once and at least pretend to read a room, Shoto.”
He couldn’t be mad, not at Natsuo. But he could be angry. And he was angry.
He watched, with hatred behind his irises, as his stupid roommate slipped away from the podium and laid a hand on the casket.
He didn’t know what it was like. He wouldn’t. He never would. He got to be there.
—
The ride back made him want to puke, and it wasn’t even Shigaraki’s haphazard driving.
They were sitting in complete silence as if they hadn’t just watched his body be lowered into the ground.
He hated it.
He hated Shigaraki, he hated himself, he hated Touya, and most of all, he hated whatever god was responsible for his early death.
He couldn’t swallow the silence anymore. He had to speak before his tongue spoke for him.
“Your speech was nice.”
“Thanks.”
Nothing else? Just a thanks?
“You spoke highly of him.”
“I thought highly of him.”
He was shutting him down like a petulant child. He spoke to him like it was some pathetic chore he desperately didn’t want to do. How fucking dare he?
“I didn’t want to speak.”
Nothing. Not a word.
“Do you think I should’ve?”
“It’s not my place to say what you should or shouldn’t do.” He kept his eyes on the road, voice cold.
He was so insufferable Shoto thought he might leap from the car. What was so hard about talking to him? He finally wanted to speak to his stupid fucking boyfriend and he didn’t even bother to entertain his conversation attempts?
“Do you think if I was in that hospital room, he still would’ve died?”
Shigaraki sat up straighter. Bingo.
“Excuse me?”
“Would he still be dead? Would he have died so horribly, as you say he did?” Shoto felt a pang of guilt in the back of his ribcage, but he was finally getting a reaction after days of radio silence.
“Yes. He’d still be dead.”
“But would it have been so awful? At least you got to see it. How awful it was.”
Sarcasm flooded through each word, seeping into Shigaraki’s ears.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to see him like that.” Shigaraki gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to maintain the composure Shoto was desperate to break.
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw it. It was bad.” He wanted, so clearly, for Shoto to stop pressing. To stop questioning him and his reasoning. To please, please leave him alone.
“I doubt that.”
Shigaraki slammed the car into park, thankfully in the parking lot of their apartment.
He finally turned to face him.
“I almost threw up. He smelled like burnt meat. Have you ever smelled charred human flesh? Bloody, pus-leaking flesh? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. I could hardly see his face behind all the burns.”
Shoto felt heat begin to settle behind his face. He didn’t need to hear this.
But he wanted to.
“He was screaming. The entire time I was there, he was fucking screaming.”
Tears began to flow from Shigaraki’s ruby eyes, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop.
“Screaming at me, at the doctors, at the villains who killed him, anybody. He eventually just started screaming himself hoarse. He choked on his own bloody throat. It sounded like he was drowning. Have you ever heard somebody drown in their own blood?”
He leaned in closer, inches from Shoto’s face.
“I know you wanted to be there. To be with him when he died. But trust me, I’d rather remember him as my beautiful strong hero than a gargling mass of boiled flesh screaming at the gods to put him out of his misery like a strangled dog.”
He settled back into the seat, chest heaving.
“Now get out. I’ll be in soon to make dinner, and when I come in don’t you dare ask me that again.”
Shoto quickly left the car, swallowing the bile at the back of his throat.
—
He couldn’t do it. Not for much longer, anyways. He’d been too tense for too long, bones aching for any release that might let the pressure escape from his skin. He’d been a time bomb from the second Shigaraki sat him down.
The funeral was days ago. He should’ve come to terms by now.
He thought it would be something hard. Like the discovery, or even the funeral. Maybe even the ride home.
Not this.
Shoto’s eyes felt blurry and unfocused. His hands clenched into fists, unable to relax. His chest caved in. The air became thin. His face flushed bright red.
And he cried.
Shoto let out the loudest sob he ever had in his goddamn life. His tendons snapped and he fell forward, hands barely managing to catch him in time before he slammed into the table before him. Loud, cacophonous cries of anguish threw themselves from his mouth that he didn’t even try to inhibit. He needed Touya, and he wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming back. He was never coming back.
He didn’t even bother to wipe the constant stream of tears leaking from his eyes, why should he? They would just keep coming. Just like the problems would. He would have question after question that would never be answered.
He would never even get to ask.
What the fuck did he do to deserve that?
Shigaraki came in record time to witness the shitshow, eyes wide and gloves off. The scream that rang through the house reminded him of the ones Touya would let out in the dark hours of the night, full of terror and pain that couldn’t be soothed. He hadn’t expected this, not from Shoto.
That much was obvious.
He should’ve known this would happen.
Shigaraki approached him slowly, curling his pinkies in as he settled next to him at the table. “Hey, it’s-“
“He’s f-fucking dead!”
He hiccuped between violent sobs, shoulders shaking ferociously. This was so pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“I know.”
“I never-I didn’t g-get to-to tell him I-I never asked! I never f-fucking a-asked!”
His words were garbled, flooded with grief he refused to process. But pain demanded to be felt, whether he was ready to feel it or not.
“You’re going to make yourself sick.”
Shoto, for the first time since meeting him, leaned into his touch. He let himself be guided to his shoulder before digging his fingers into his back, crying into his collar.
“He-He wasn’t-I just knew him! And he f-fucking-I hate it! I hate him! I hate dad! I hate b-being-being here! I hate you! I-“
Shigaraki soothed his hand over his back, trying to ignore the stab of pain between his ribs. “I know.”
“I can’t d-do this. I can’t li-ive without him here. He was-he was all I had, and he-he fucking dies!”
His chest heaved, desperate for air that refused to seek refuge in his lungs. His throat choked around his pain draining down his throat. In all of his years, he’d never sobbed so horribly before.
Not when he was burned.
Not when his father beat him.
Not when his boyfriend almost died.
Never like this.
“I shouldn’t f-fucking cry like th-“
“Shut the hell up.”
He never spoke to him like that. He hardly spoke.
“You have to feel. You have to shut the hell up and let yourself be upset, or you’ll keep being miserable until you end up like him. Grieve. Scream. Fucking-break shit if you have to. Do this. Please.”
Shigaraki pulled back, taking in Shoto’s pained face. Hurt seeped from his pores like sickly sap.
“If you don’t grieve now, you’ll spend the rest of your life resenting everyone around you. He-“
Shigaraki choked, forcing the words through a clenched throat.
“He wouldn’t want that.”
Shoto slowly relaxed, his loud sobs reduced to sniffling and coughing. His lungs ached but ultimately felt empty.
Shigaraki sat as he came out of it, holding him tight. He let him be the first to pull away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I was so-you don’t deserve the cruelty I’ve been putting you through.” He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying to clear some of the residual episode from his face.
“And you didn’t deserve to have your brother die. It’s fine.”
Shigaraki swallowed thickly, the frankness of the words feeling inappropriate. “What brought this on?”
“I…”
It felt silly now, miniscule in the face of what he’d just done as a result.
“I didn’t understand my English homework. He’s always been better at it than me.”
He and Shigaraki shared a glance. Neither of them dared to move.
Then, they both fell into laughter.
“English homework?”
“I know!”
Shoto reveled in the lightness that entered his chest, spreading through the previously tense space. He hadn’t felt this kind of joy in weeks.
“I wanted to ask, and I just couldn’t. I-“
His joy ran out quickly.
“I realized I’ll never be able to ask him anything. Ever.”
Shigaraki smiled sadly, nudging him with his shoulder. “You’re a smart kid. You know you’ll figure these things out.”
“It would’ve been nice though.”
Shigaraki looked down at Shoto, taking in the stark blue eye he missed. He really did look like Dabi.
“Yeah. It would’ve.”
The two sat in silence, taking in each other's company. Shoto looked to the figure who’d never be his brother, and Shigaraki saw the boy who’d never replace him. Neither would tell the other just how badly they wanted them to be him. They’d sit until the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows they’d always chase.
And in the corners of those shadows, just out of sight, was an echo of Touya, who would never get to see them find solace in each other in his absence. No, he would never know how they would heal. How they would grow around their grief. How they would learn to live without him.
He would never know anything. He was fucking dead.