KHR/BNHA Fanfic: Role Model Part 1
Sometime last week in the dead of night
My Brain: Hey, you know what?
Me: It’s 2am, why are we not sleeping???
My Brain: If Dabi is Todoroki Touya, then it means he’s a character that was trained for a future role he couldn’t have, that was taken away from him by his father figure due to circumstances outwith his control, was heavily scarred because of it, and as a result; wants to kill said father figure.
My Brain: …And who would you say that describes almost perfectly?
No. Nonononono! I do not need another plot bunny setting up shop in my-and we’re already getting out of bed and writing this down before we forget aren’t we?
Xanxus would really like to know why, when other Trash screw up, he’s the one who has to pay for it.
Seriously, if it’s not his asshole of a not-Father lying his face off for a decade, it’s the baby-Trash getting flung into the future and knocking out the entire Varia high command for 48 hours while they process an additional decade of memories, or some kind of ramen-eating-God trying to kill his Mist via flame-devouring-pacifiers before he shoves one on Xanxus to do the same.
And people wonder why he has a short temper. He’s a reasonable man! Just give him a mission that doesn’t involve everything he’s ever known getting flung into a blender with a side of magical-crap and tossed 180 degrees in the air. Whatever happened to good old Mafioso shoot outs and negotiation’s over dinner?
…God he misses assassinations pre-flame bullshit. They were so much more fun when he was the only one in the room that knew how to use them.
In the toilet attached to the lavish meeting room he’d found himself in, he leans over the sink and scowls at the face in the mirror. A good decade older than he should be, with red, spiky hair and matching stubble on his chin. Inarguably Asian features, skin paler than his own had ever been, and shoulders like goddamn Levi.
For fucks sake! Now he has to deal with idiot-Trash in other universes screwing him over? This kind of thing is supposed to happen to the Baby-Trash! Not him!
He’s still not entirely sure what happened. One minute, he’s enjoying the last glass of scotch the Bronco-Trash sent over in gratitude for a job well done, the next, his brain’s free falling into nothing. For a brief moment, panic had taken over, and - positive he was being put under the Zero Point again - lashed out the second he could use his arms.
This resulted in him knocking out someone leaning over his body, and when he heard metal smashing against hard floor – two things that shouldn’t have been anywhere near him - his eyes slammed open to reveal the inside of an ambulance, and a very nervous looking medic overlooking him.
“Endeavour, please relax,” he urges in Japanese, trying to retain eye contact as he kneels down to check on his prone partner. “We’re still checking for any other effects from the Villain’s quirk. Do you feel okay? Is there any negative blowback?”
Xanxus just glares at him, trying to piece the words together and wondering why the hell Squalo had called in an ambulance when they have a Quality medical team in the damn mansion, before his eyes catch a glimpse of his legs.
He can’t stop gaping as turns and takes in his full body, pulling up his hands in furious disbelief.
“What the fuck?” he yells, turning them over as if the front will be any less ridiculous.
Xanxus has never, in his life, worn something this humiliating. It’s a skin tight (almost obscenely so), navy blue bodysuit with orange highlights, along with white bracer’s that go up half his arm and a pair of knee high boots – all of which reek like they’ve been hung to dry in a building undergoing an arson attack.
His first thought, is that whatever mist did this is going to pay. Painfully.
“Endeavour, what’s wrong?” the man asks again, only to squawk as Xanxus shoves him with the heavy hand and stumbles to his feet, jumping out the door.
What he sees when he staggers outside the ambulance doesn’t help the situation. While there’s cameras, they don’t look like they’re filming so much as reporting. There’s chaos outside, but the citizens trapped behind yellow tape have him wondering if someone drugged his booze. Horns, wings, two heads…so many people in the crowd are just ‘off’ in a way that doesn’t make sense.
An even deeper glance in front of the tape doesn’t make things any easier. One of the men – he’s assuming police – has a cat head, while there are several men and woman dressed even more ridiculous than he is. One of them is dressed feet-to-nose in fucking denim!
There are so many possible scenarios, and one is not raised by Vongola standards without acknowledging the truly ridiculous. As such, the realisation comes very quickly. This is not his world. Not even remotely.
Denim-Trash is starting to make his way towards him, and he can feel the paramedics staring at his back. His eyes flick down to his hand, and he tries to reach for his flames – searching for the primal rage and right of rule that encompass his entire will.
But there’s nothing. His core feels empty. Not sealed, but rather, just not there. Wherever he is. Whoever he is, flames don’t exist.
The man in the ridiculous denim getup appraises him.
“You’re not Endeavour, are you?” he says. Xanxus looks him over. Considers his options.
“What makes you say that?” he growls. Denim-Trash raises one eyebrow.
“Endeavour would be screaming blue murder at being put in an ambulance where anyone could see him.”
Well doesn’t ‘Endeavour’ sound like a charmer. Not that Xanxus would act any differently, but he’d never need the fucking ambulance in the first place.
The survivalist in him wants to play along. Bluff his way into solitude until he can figure out what’s happening. But the Boss part of him has already lined up his options. There’s just too many variables here. If he wants home, he’s not going to figure it out alone.
He huffs and crosses his arms.
“No,” he admits. “Looks like somebody royally screwed up.”
Denim-Trash sighs, and runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair.
“And to think, I thought this was going to be a slow week…”
He’s immediately ushered to a tall skyscraper not too far away from the incident site, and taken straight to the top floor, where the office of his ‘host’ resides. There, he finds his way to the bathroom he now finds himself in, trying to compose himself while he figures out what the fuck to do. Denim-Trash had handed him off to some kind of support staff, but it had been clear nobody had wanted to answer any questions until they had him contained.
It at least gives him time to recover. He desperately wants a drink, if only so he can throw something at the assholes who are going to come escort him again.
The information he has is limited. There was a phone in his host’s pocket, but without knowing the code it was useless. All he can go on is what he’s seen. This city looks very Japanese, but the people barely qualify as human. And the advertisements are all showing people he doesn’t recognise, who look like they should be hand drawn on the front of the comic books he used to read as a kid.
His flames are also gone, and as far as he can tell, the concept doesn’t exist here. But this outfit was designed to handle fire, and he keeps hearing the word ‘quirk,’ which makes him think there might be something else that substituted on a more mainstream level.
When he hears voices entering the office, he slams the door of the bathroom open and strides into like he’s not dressed like some idiot on a Sentai show. He gives a huff of approval as he takes in the room again – the idiot’s whose body he’s somehow possessing might have awful taste in clothes, but he at least knows what he’s doing with interior decorating.
There are five arrivals when he drops into the plush office seat, and he makes a point to push it away from the computer. Along with Denim-Trash, one of them is dressed worse than he is and looks terrified to be here, while another screams ‘cop’ with his suit. The third is an old woman, who merely cocks her eyebrow as Xanxus glides over the floor in the chair, and at her back is a man about Xanxus’s age, dressed in shapeless black and the world’s ugliest scarf. Seriously, if his Sun was here, that thing would already be aflame, and the world would be better off for it.
He leans on one hand and scowls.
“So?” he asks. “Figured out how to undo this yet, Trash?”
Terrified makes a squeak that reminds him of the Baby-Trash, but it’s Scarf-Trash that steps forward.
“We spoke to the Villain who attacked Endeavour, and tried to deactivate his quirk,” he explains. “Unfortunately, once activated, it can’t be shut off.”
Xanxus files away the term ‘quirk’ for future research, and Cop-Trash starts speaking.
“Three days,” he says. “That’s how long it takes to wear off. Which is three days longer than anyone really wants the number 2 hero out of commission.”
“To be honest, it might be to our benefit,” the old lady adds. “Endeavour is known for burning the candle at both ends, no pun intended. A few days of forced relaxation could be just what he needs. More importantly, I want to know exactly who we’re dealing with in the mean time.”
Xanxus immediately titles her as the smartest person he’s met so far. Nobody else has even thought to ask.
“Yes,” the cop says. “According the registry, his quirk swaps a person’s mind with someone of a similar mindset. However, he also said that quite often, the people he brings do not seem familiar with this world.”
All of them - minus Terrified, who looks like he wants to sink into the floor – face him with curious looks. Scarf-Trash also has a hand on his accessory, while Denim’s fingers are twitching.
“So, who are you?” Scarf-Trash asks. “And what’s your quirk? According to records, it varies on whether or not it follows.”
Xanxus stares back, glaring in challenge. The Cop’s eyes slide away, but the other three match him head on. His lips twitch slightly in respect.
“My name is Xanxus,” he offers. “And where I come from, superheroes belong in comic books. I’ve never heard of ‘quirks’ before today.”
Terrified seems to perk up at that, and the others seem somewhat relieved.
“Well, this world may seem a little strange to you, but I promise you’ll be kept in good hands,” the older woman offers. “And I’m sure Endeavour will try to keep a low profile until his return.”
Xanxus thinks about what would happen if a self proclaimed hero suddenly landed in the middle of the Varia mansion, and can’t fight the snort of laughter that follows. It makes the old woman frown.
“That amuses you?” she asks, and Xanxus grins.
“My world is a lot more dangerous” he tells them. “The criminal underworld is still a thriving commodity, and no quirks, so we don’t have heroes, and don’t look kindly on those that think that’s an option.”
Well, not unless you count a certain brat in Japan who still seems to think he can make the mafia a nice place through the power of friendship…
“It’s a cruel irony,” he continues. “Your Endeavour isn’t going to know what to do with himself. Better not get himself killed before we swap back.”
Their faces go dark at that, and Xanxus allows himself to grin. If it’ll kick their asses into gear and get them to figure out how to get him home quicker, he’ll tell them anything they need to know.
“What about yourself?” Scarf-Trash asks. “Not a hero, and no quirk, what is it you do back home?”
Xanxus quickly amends his earlier thought. Certain things would not go over well in such company, and he’s still not sure how well he can defend himself. It’s probably going to be better for everyone if he doesn’t mention his own personal alliance. He’s sure Endeavour will do a fine job of explaining that once his traumatised ass returns.
“I run a field office that’s part of my adopted father’s company,” he bluffs. “Lot of classified, high pressure, time sensitive work. Not looking forward to having it sit on a desk for 3 days. My employees are going to go mental.”
There’s an understatement. He guarantee’s Levi is already halfway through a mental breakdown, and Squalo will be screaming at whatever idiot made the mistake of walking down the hall. Bel will take the opportunity to go ‘play’ (hopefully not with Xanxus’s body), and Mammon is already charging him for the inconvenience of this whole affair. He’s calling it now.
On the plus side, his audience seem to buy it.
“Well then, Xanxus,” the cop says. “We’ll do our best to get you back as soon as possible. Until then, I hope you’re willing to work with us to mitigate the damage.”
“What do you Trash want me to do?”
In the end, his jury decide that since Xanxus doesn’t have a quirk, and doesn’t appear to be able to use Endeavours (fire, which makes sense and is something he might see about rectifying while he waits), that they’ll hide him in his host’s home for the three days. The man’s family has already been informed, but if he steps out of line, they’ll be taking him back into custody.
It could be worse, he guesses. He’s in the body of someone important, which means they won’t do anything too damaging to him, and they’re working as fast as they can to get this Endeavour guy back. He doubts he needs to do anything but stand aside and let them work. Since he’s the victim of a quirk and had no say, he’s clearly being treated with kid gloves.
No, the biggest threat to getting home is, ironically, home. If Endeavour is a- oh for fucks sake he can’t believe he’s saying this with a straight face – hero, having him land in Xanxus’s body will not end well for anyone. The Varia are many things, and most of them are obvious – not even the densest man on the planet could look at them and think they were anything but criminals. Which means he might run, and that’ll end badly since he’ll be eyeball deep in Mafia territory and probably try to find, ugh, law enforcement. God willing, his inability to speak the language will convince the Vindice that it’s clearly not Xanxus doing it and keep him out of Vendicare.
Then again, that might be preferable for Endeavour trying to act his way out of it. For all his complaints, his men are Quality, and trained to spot possession and plants. If Squalo or Bel don’t notice something is off within five minutes, Mammon will. The lot of them are crazy, not stupid, which means when he gets back, his body will probably be covered in additional scars from ‘interrogation’ while they try to get him back ‘Varia-Style.’ They definitely won’t call in Vongola’s tech team till they’ve tried their own avenues, and Xanxus just prays they confirm that it’s his body before they let Lussuria bring out his ‘toys.’
He really wants a drink, but he’s expected to keep this body in top condition, and no doubt the man’s family will want their precious hero in one piece, so it’s going to be a long three days unless he can sneak something. Or maybe Endeavour will turn out to be a secret alcoholic and he’ll be just fine. If not, he’s going to need to find something for entertainment, or flame or no flames, something is going to burn.
‘Terrified’ is apparently some kind of support aide for Endeavour’s agency, and is put in charge of handling Xanxus while he hides out. It doesn’t fill him with confidence – the man is definitely used to sitting in the back and giving ‘yes, sir, no sir,’ answers. As such, he’s not putting much stock in the Todoroki family bios the man is awkwardly stuttering out as they drive to his temporary home. It sounds like the blurb for some crappy sitcom. A stay at home wife, two teens, a pre-teen and a brat, all living in harmony. The eldest son was supposed to be following in his fathers footsteps, but had to hold back on applying due to illness. The daughter is a perfect Nadeshiko in training, the next boy is thinking about medical school at fucking 12, and the youngest is already on the path to enter hero school in a few years.
Xanxus is the last person to ask about functioning families, but there’s no way this happy cookie cutter description can be accurate.
The car rolls up to a lavish Japanese style house, and Xanxus gives it an approving nod. He’s always preferred Western design, but he won’t deny quality when he sees it. The security is actually much better than he’d expected too – proper walls and cameras set up in a manner that means he’s missing at least a few.
When they stop, the front door opens to reveal the Todoroki family, and his good mood evaporates. The woman is a twig, hands a little tight on the youngest boy, whose hair would probably make his Sun squeal. Both of them are looking at him with some suspicion. For that matter, so are the pre-teen and the girl. However, to the side…
The oldest boy has a shock of red hair similar to his current body, and while he refuses to meet Xanxus in the eye for more than a few seconds, his body language is clear. He’s relieved.
Terrified has been speaking to the wife while he took in his own impressions, but he turns his attention back when he realises they’re looking at him.
“It’s strange,” the woman says. “You still look so much like him. The expressions are…well, very familiar.”
She gives a strained smile, and Xanxus feels satisfaction curl inside at the pain the woman is hiding.
‘I knew it. This Endeavour fucker isn’t half as honourable as they think.’
“I’m Rei,” she continues, oblivious to Xanxus having read her actions. “We’ll set you up in one of the guest bedrooms for now, is that okay?”
“Is Dad really gone right now?” The pre-teen pipes up, and Rei’s head turns sharply in his direction.
The boy in question pouts.
“What? If he’s gone, that means we can play with Shouto today right? He can’t be trained.”
The youngest, still pinned by Rei’s hands, looks up at his mother with something resembling hope. Her eyes flicker between him and Xanxus, unsure what to say.
“I haven’t got the slightest clue what training Endeavour-Trash was doing,” Xanxus says, making the decision for her. “Do what you want.”
The little brat and the pre-teen both grin, but Xanxus notices the red head turning to look at them-
Oh, now that’s interesting. It’s not there for long, but there’s a very specific array of emotions flashing on the teen’s face when he looks at his youngest sibling. They’re gone almost too quick to notice, but Xanxus caught it all.
He’s the only one though, as the girl takes his comment as an invitation, suspicion fading away as she steps forward and into a quick bow.
“I’m Fuyumi,” she says. “We’ll try to make your stay as comfortable as possible. Is there anything you need?”
A drink and a plane ticket to Italy, Xanxus thinks, but he doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at the boy on the end.
There’s something about the Trash’s appearance that’s bothering him, and he can’t figure out what. His hair is long, definitely grown to hide his face, and he has the personality of a mouse judging from how much effort it takes to get him to raise it for more than a few moments. Every inch of his body is covered, from the turtle-neck down to the combat boots. Given that it’s not a cold day and everyone bar Xanxus is in shorts, it’s probably a style choice. But whenever he does look up, he’s grinning, and trying to hide it – between that and the earlier interaction, Xanxus makes his mind up rather quickly.
“How about a tour of this place?” Xanxus asks, and points at the teen. “Yo, Trash, show me where I’m allowed to go.”
That gets the boy’s head up. “W-what? Me?”
Fuyumi looks a little blind sided, as does Rei, while Natsuo is frowning, but Xanxus just nods.
“Yeah, you,” he says. “That a problem?”
“Touya?” Fuyumi asks, glancing at her other brother, but the teen – Touya, Xanxus tries to remember – just swallows and gives a shaky nod.
“Okay. I can do that,” he says, and gestures with his arm. “Follow me.”
Xanxus grins and does just that, passing the confused family and immediately tossing them out of his mind for now. When they enter the building, the boy risks looking up at him, agitation on his face for the first time.
“Why me?” he asks. “Fuyumi would have done it.”
“I didn’t want Fuyumi-Trash to do it,” Xanxus said. “You’re more interesting.”
Touya’s eyebrows furrow, and Xanxus smiles – the expression slipping off when Touya flinches.
“Your old man, he’s Trash, isn’t he?”
The teen at his side pauses as he walks down the hall.
“He…Endeavour is the Number 2 hero in Japan,” he replies.
“And my old man is one of the most powerful men in the world,” Xanxus counters. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a piss poor father”
Ah, there is is. Touya’s lips peel back in a wicked smile for a quick second, and Xanxus goes in for the kill.
“I picked you, because you’re the only one in this family not trying to hide it.”
Another flinch, and then the teen looks up at him, confusion in his eyes. Xanxus faces him head on.
“I saw the look you gave the baby brat, Trash,” he tells him. “Back when he learned he didn’t have to ‘train.’ I might have only gotten the media approved profiles, but I’ve seen this before.”
God has he ever seen it before. Resentment at a sibling, followed by guilt for feeling resentment, finished off with anger at the whole situation. He knows that look well. Before his brother’s died, when the Ninth chose them one after the other instead of him, he wore it on a daily basis.
Before he knew why, and resentment and guilt disintegrated into pure rage.
Touya almost looks guilty, and his eyes are getting wider by the second. Xanxus grins.
Looks like he’s found his entertainment.
“I’ve got three days here, Trash,” he says. “Quality can destroy worlds in one. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on in this house?”
