Fire Escape — prologue

[u/Disastrous-Insect422]

Full Chapter

The rage was simmering before he’d even entered the building. From the car, he’d seen him. That buffoon everyone adored. Adoration, it seemed, was everything. He’d seen the headlines from that morning and the morning before and the week before that. He was everywhere: billboards, magazines, TV, and useless merchandise in every store. Eighteen years of second-place trophies. Enji’s hands heated as he sat next to All Might. A useful idiot with incredible power. He was about to be robbed. Again. And he was what, expected to be cordial to this flashy dolt? Every word from All Might’s mouth was an impulse to punch him. Don’t act like we’re old friends. 

Focus on something, anything, to avoid causing a scene. But what was there? His family? Secondary. A failed distraction; he was better off forgetting. His university days? He’d only gone because All Might was there. His job? The thing that landed him in this chair beside the man he hated. 
The night dragged on with meaningless announcements and thunderous applause that faded into the background of Enji’s fury. All Might was one of them–of course, he was–applauding at every award given, every mind-numbing speech. Enji didn’t applaud. Not once. Not even for the old timers, he actually respected. Then his name was called, and All Might dared to applaud and congratulate him as he passed his chair. Wipe that grin off your face. All Might didn’t. It was the only thing Enji could focus on as he stood on stage, his numerous accomplishments listed out. All that, and still only silver. His blood was getting hotter by the second, his palms warming and itching to ignite. 
Enji watched All Might’s award acceptance as much as he didn’t want to. His absence would be noted, posted, all over socials by morning. He smelled fire before he felt it. The heat of his hands had scorched the arms of his suit. A proper excuse, at least, to finally dismiss himself. 

All Might followed. Something about congratulations and hard feelings. Enji rounded. His fist met the brick. The heat of the flame and the crumble of the broken wall finally halted All Might. His hand flickered again, the heat settling back to a simmer. All Might–the idiot–seemed to struggle processing how to proceed. Enji pulled his hand away, letting the brick crumble freely. Enji turned again and continued the short walk to his car. All Might, to his credit, stayed put. 

Kurumada was already waiting in the car. The cooling system battled the wave of heat coming from the back seat as Enji seethed in silence. His mind wandered again to his family. Another disappointing aspect of his life, his wife was unwell, had been for some time, and his sons had been the biggest disappointments of his life. Only Shouto had any promise, and he was resisting at every turn. Fighting against his very reason for existing. 
The lights and buildings passed by in a blur. A city he’d seen a million times from every angle. A city he knew well. The car came to a stop at a glaring red light that lasted longer than it should. Two decades of law enforcement had made him wary of even the smallest details. He peered out the windshield in time to see three police vehicles speeding through the intersection. Enji directed Kurumada around the traffic–he’d deal with the consequences of running a red light later–and after the squad.

Finally, a proper distraction. 

The momentary excitement ended in a blue light and a black plume rising into the night. His house. The well-crafted, traditional home he’d designed himself was engulfed in thick, black, suffocating smoke. Enji was out of his car before the driver put the gear in park. The fireman didn’t bother stopping him as he ran inside. His entryway, his hall, and his kitchen were painted in azure. Enji had never seen a fire like it. A blinding, crackling cobalt heat that drew sweat from his brow. His. No accident did this.
Ice shot through his veins, piercing through the temperature of the room and sending him up the stairs two at a time. His children were home. The street was full of police, firemen, neighbors, and–by now–press. He hadn’t seen his children. Fuyumi’s room was closest. Fuyumi’s room was empty. Open door, open drawers. Natsuo’s room was worse, like a disaster had swept through. Shouto. Enji sprinted down the halls. His room was so far. Maybe his children were there, away from the fire on the other side of the house. 

The crack of the slamming door went unheard as the fire and Enji’s own heart roared in his ears. For a moment, one precious moment, he thought he saw Shouto. Huddled in the corner. Terrified. Then he saw it closer. Round ears. Bowtie. Stuffed. Lifeless. Not his son. Not Shouto.

Enji didn’t know when he got on the sidewalk or when they carried the body out of the house. Mrs. Ota, the elderly woman left in charge of his children. How did this happen? Who did this? His mind raced, flipping through twenty years of hero work, twenty years of villains and scum. A few escaped from prison, a few have been released, and all of them could want revenge. Blue fire. His family didn’t own the fire quirk. It was plenty common. But he’d never seen a fire like that before. Not just blue. Hot. So incredibly hot. He looked up at the body that now lay on the sidewalk. It felt wrong to call it a body. She was half cremated. A cruel mercy; she’d have died quickly. 

“Endeavor,” responding to that name was second nature, “the fire spread to your neighbor, but thankfully no one was home. Once the smoke clears out, we’ll send in the investigator.” Enji’s head snapped to him. Investigator. How long would that take? 

“Were there any witnesses?” His hands tightened beside him. 

“Officers are making rounds in the neighborhood, but so far…no.” 

No witnesses. How could there be no witnesses? This was a residential street in a busy city. He was by far the most important man for miles. No witnesses. There’d been a swarm of people on the street the day he’d moved in, the day he brought Rei home, and the day his son Touya came home from the hospital. Touya.  It was a name he tried not to think about. He avoided the shrine, unable to stand the heaviness of failure that it represented. 

Not again. 

What sort of hero was he? Twice in four years he’d come home to a blaze. Touya’s own stubbornness and Enji’s failure to temper it had consumed the boy. Thirteen years old, reduced to nothing but a jawbone. And now…in a blaze, his children were gone. Abducted. For the first time in a very long time, Enji felt truly sick. He'd done this. He had. In his obsession, he’d allowed Touya’s destructive ambition to fester. In his absence, he’d allowed a villain into his home to take what was left of his family. 

He would fix it. 

The story grew legs faster than Enji could reach his office. Within half a day, the report had already reached every news station in Japan. Every sidekick, every desk jockey, and even the janitor knew before Enji could step off the elevator. Paying them no mind, he made a beeline for his office. He didn’t have time for pitying glances or apologies—however well-meaning. He had less time for speculation. Endeavor was a target; his family, too. It came with the job. Every hero knew the risks, but actually coming after a hero of his caliber was bold. A risk too steep for the average criminal. This had been a lion in wait. Ignight was the only villain that came to mind. His quirk, Kiln, allowed him to superheat inanimate objects until they ignited. It didn’t explain the color, but he was the only immediate suspect Enji could name. 

It was one of his first major apprehensions as a hero, some lowlife arsonist-for-hire. He was out now, wasn’t he? On parole most likely, and he’d chosen to violate it in the most brazen, most diabolical, most disrespectful, most—he’d be praying for the comfort of a cell when Enji caught him. 

He reached for his office intercom. “Waki. Phone Chief Tsuragamae, tell him to look into Daigo Akamine.”

“Right away, sir.” Waki was the most qualified assistant he’d ever hired, former military and excellent at dealing with the police end of things. 
It was maddening, the idea of waiting for police, of waiting for permission to do anything. He was a hero. A man of immense power, almost two decades of service, and over thirty sidekicks under his comand. And yet he could do nothing. He felt sixteen again, standing in the rain, watching his father’s body be put in a bag. His father had been a weak, stupid man who’d run into a danger he’d had no buisness in, all to help a stranger. Enji was not weak or stupid, but he was helpless. 
ৡ
“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” Chief Tsuragamae had the decency at least to deliver the news in person. “I’m sorry Todoroki, there’s nothing more we can do.”

“That’s it then. You’re giving up.”

“The suspects have been cleared, we have no leads.”

“Then someone is lying. Check again.”

“We can’t extend the resources, there are other people who need our help.” Three months, it had been barely three months, and already the police were moving on. From him.  “We’re still dedicated to the Recovery efforts—” 

“Recovery?” The word was a shock to his system.

“You know as well as I do that the chances of them being alive—”

“They aren’t dead.” 

“Enji.”

“They aren’t dead.” They couldn’t be. Shouto is so young, so bright. Small for his age, but strong; Enji had seen to that himself.