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ONE ||
He presses the home phone to his ear, hearing the dial tone ring and ring and ring. He blocks out all the exterior noises of Natsuo and Fuyumi arguing over their puzzle in the kitchen to hone in on the sound of the phone trying, and trying to make a connection to the other line.
Touya knew Dad had work today, that he wouldn't be off until later. But he had to make sure Dad remembered. Today would be the day that Touya would show him the skills he's practiced in secret. How his fire had now turned from a brilliant red to a magnificent blue.
Blue fire is hotter than red fire.
Or at least, that’s what he was taught in school, what he’s read in books, and what he has felt from first hand experience.
Dad should be proud that Touya’s fire has gotten so strong.
Dad will be proud of it.
He was sure.
The phone tries and tries to make a connection until finally the dial tone clicks.
**`The number of ‘Enji Todoroki,' is unable to be reached, please try again or leave a voicemail after the beep....beeeeeeeeep'**
But, that wouldn’t do.
So, he calls again.
And again.
And again.
Until he has called twelve times in a row.
Touya takes a shaking breath, and he can feel his heart sink, lower and lower, in his chest.
What if his dad was purposefully ignoring his calls?
He’d answer if Shouto called , he bitterly thinks.
One more time, he’ll try one more time.
So, he calls a thirteenth time.
The dial tone clicks again.
This time, he leaves a voice message.
"Hey Dad...just wanted to remind you about meeting me at Sekoto Peak...you remembered, right?" his fingers twirl around the phone chord, "you're going to be so happy when you see me out there, I promise! Just...please come....it's really important to me, I have something really exciting to show you. You won’t regret it, promise!" there’s a tense pause, like he’s expecting some sort of response even though he was leaving a voicemail. When one obviously doesn’t come, he swallows, and ends it with an awkward and clumsy, "Bye dad, see you soon."
He'll see.
Touya will show him how good his fire has gotten.
Who cares if he burns himself in the process?
TWO ||
Waking up was difficult. Even more difficult than trying to wake up at 5 am to get ready for school on a Monday. His head felt entirely of cotton. His body was stiff, and hard to move. Like how he sat weirdly and now his foot was asleep. Except, instead of it only being his foot, it was his whole body.
He squeezes his eyes open, blinking away the crust that gathers there. His re-awakening was quiet, he was allowed a moment to collect himself, to blink in the bright fluorescent lights, to take in the room, and the faces around him. Touya is all too familiar with the white walls, the strong smell of cleaner, and the cots.
He was in a hospital.
And judging by the cartoonish drawings covering the walls (that were too childish for someone like Touya).
He was in a children’s hospital.
Had he gotten hurt?
The pace of his heart quickens as he remembers the searing hot pain, the stench of burning flesh, and the consuming roar of the magnificent blue fire.
A machine he’s connected to starts to beep.
That’s right, he had an accident.
Dad must have saved him, and that’s why he was in the Children’s Hospital. He concludes, frantically looking around for the stocky man.
The beeping begins to pick up its pace.
Where was he?
As graceful as a newborn deer, he slips out of his hospital bed.
He wasn’t mad at Touya, was he?
That stupid machine’s beeping seems to be screaming, and he rips out all the wires and tubes connected to him.
Touya ignores the other people in the room. He ignores the little girl that squalls that the ‘sleepyhead’ was finally awake. He ignores when the weird sunflower nurse tries to push him back into bed. He ignores whatever that guy is trying to tell him.
This bozo doesn’t know his dad.
Dad would never forget him, Touya was too important to be forgotten.
Touya wants to go home.
He pushes and he fights, he fights past the pain- the aches and wails of his body wanting him to sit down, he fights past the doctors and hospital security, weaving in and out lighting the room ablaze, he fights that tiny little voice in the back of his head, that way saying, that maybe the doctor was right- his dad didn’t actually want to see him. Who would want to see him? He set the forest on fire, he probably caused his dad a headache with park authorities....he was an awful son.
And somehow, some way (Todoroki Stubbornness,he thinks he can hear his mom scoff), Touya is able to escape.
Everything about moving hurts.
The ache in his muscles.
The crack in his joints.
The way the asphalt tears at his feet.
Even breathing felt hard to do.
But he toughens through it, like any Todoroki man would. Because Todoroki men don’t give up.
He has no idea where he is. Wild eyed, he tries to read the signs, he tries to look for familiar buildings- anything that could be some sort of visual clue on the direction home.
That’s when he spots it- a payphone.
Something that was aging, rapidly being replaced by blackberrys and nokias.
But he doesn’t care about this rare find.
He just wants to go home.
Riding in cars sucks, they make Touya queasy, but even it would be better than walking and stumbling down the street.
And it would take less time too, he reasons.
He just wants his dad to pick him up.
Dad would send someone to pick him up, like he usually does; but, Touya didn’t want the nanny or one of the sidekicks to pick him up. He selfishly wants his Dad to. Even though Dad hates driving in the city and is probably too busy with work. He wants to sit in the passenger seat, he wants to hear the crackle of NPR flowing from the radio, he wants to hear the angry road rage spouted from his father at some loser who cut him off.
Touya wants his dad to take him home.
He picks up the phone, pressing it to his ear, and starts to dial his dad's phone number-- but just as he enters the last digit, the monotonous, robotic voice crackles from the other end of the line, ***' Please insert 100 yen to make your call '.***
The boy freezes, pats his pockets, peers around the pay phone station, and to his luck, no coin magically appears.
When he finally stumbles home, what little shard of hope he clung to, died. And he leaves the Todoroki estate without ever being seen.
THREE ||
The next time he tries to call his dad is in a moment of delirious weakness.
He doesn't know what he took, he probably should have asked.
But he was in so much pain, all the time. It was chronic, the aches, the heat- he couldn't take it anymore.
The pounding of the bass felt distant in his ears, like he was under water. The guy had said it'd make him feel good, but it wasn't feeling good.
Not at all.
Touya felt sick, clammy, cold, and steaming hot all at once. His brain feels like a jumbled mess of static, like a fm radio being tuned in and out of frequency to a station.
He just wants to go home.
Drunkenly, he stumbles out of the dance hall and into the gross, grimey alley, hands clutching at the worn brick wall for what little support it offers.
He just wants to go home, the word clings to his brain, and he doesn’t think about that little hovel he’s created in the corner of an abandoned gas station. Nor does he think about Giran’s place. No, he thinks about that old estate, that stupid star patterned blanket, Natsuo’s disgustingly snotty nose, Fuyumi’s annoying mother henning, and his dad sitting in the home office typing away on the computer.
He wants to call his dad.
He doesn't know how he gets there, how he can even coordinate his hands enough to slide the yen into the machine and type out that familiar phone number.
It takes a few rings.
"Hello? Who is this?” a gruff so familiar voice asks, and for a moment all he can do is breathe, he anchors himself to it. Dad’s voice was so different here than in the news reels. Less professional. More tired.
Way more tired.
Maybe he was just tired because it was two in the morning.
Touya giggles.
"Hello?" the voice repeats, clearly getting more and more annoyed the longer the conversation draws on for, "How did you get this number?"
And Touya laughs, there was something so funny about hearing that voice, that tone , again. He could imagine that twisted off expression his dad would make, the little vein that would bulge out of his forehead, he hasn't heard him in so long--
The line goes dead.
Dad hung up.
Touya didn’t have any more change.
He just wants to go home.
FOUR ||
Hot, so hot.
If he could sob, he would.
Bloodied tears streak down his face as he stumbles down the smoking alley, clothes torn and tattered.
Pants undone and he’s struggling to hold them up as his chest heaves and he wheezes.
He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to think about those damn meaty fingers grabbing his thighs.
Tries not to think about the guy's viscous laugh or his warbled moans.
He collapses on the wall, drawing his knees to his chest.
Touya just wants to go home.
He drags out his flip phone, typing that old familiar phone number.
"...Hello?"
He answered!
Touya's voice dies in his throat, and his heart squeezes his chest.
There's so much he wants to say but he doesn't know how.
"Hello?" the voice tries again.
Touya hangs up.
FIVE ||
He didn't recognize him.
Of course he didn't.
Why would he?
Touya was long dead.
But he looked at him!
-Stared him right in the eyes!
Dabi could hardly contain his excitement.
Endeavor may have gotten the Number One position by the default of All Might's retirement, but Dabi made him the Number One Hero today.
Not Shouto.
Not the golden child.
It was all Touya.
Touya gave Japan a number one hero they could get behind, that they could trust, that they could love.
He spins around the room, kicking his feet giddily.
And Dabi would take away that hero when the time was right.
Dabi laughs, enthusiastically. His brain feels like a puddle of sludge that has been electrified.
Enji Todoroki! The Number One Hero. Just like he wanted!
He should be awake right now, shouldn't he?
He picks up the phone, heart hammering in his chest and he shakily dials the number, his smile widening as the anxiety slips in.
***`This is Flame Hero Endeavor. I cannot come to the phone right now, leave a voicemail`***
He stutters a breath and he can't even say anything. Doesn't even know what he was planning on saying, really. What was he thinking? He anguishes. Dabi shakes, eyes dripping with blood. What the hell was he even going to say?
He’d taunt him, that’s for sure. Mock him, call him stupid for barely even living up to the task of being a Number One hero, probably even tell him he wants to come home.
No.
Wait.
Dabi’s heart stills. He quickly hits the end call button, and before he knows it, he is chucking the phone to the other side of the room until it clatters and breaks against the wall.
He has to deal with Hawks’ bitchy bird ass right now, he doesn’t have time to think about stupid things.
SIX ||
A lot of times, people he’s worked with would applaud his inability to feel. His indifference and aloofness to it all. So unbothered by everything around him. The media even writes headline after headline about how unfeeling and inhuman he is.
Dabi wishes it were true. He wishes he could take all of these feelings, bundle them up, and burn them so he doesn’t have to sit and dwell in his feelings. He didn’t want to feel. He doesn’t want to be this weak bitch laying on a couch weeping about his family.
It’s like he can’t stop getting hotter and hotter, he’s a kettle that’s been left on the stove too long. Screaming and screaming, begging anyone to turn off the heat and actually use him for his purpose.
He may have overdone it, hardly any good skin was left. Part of him just wants it all to end now. No more pain, no more feelings. But that would defeat the point of all his plans, he can't let his flame flicker out before his grand finale, now can he? His dad will finally see him, his dad will finally look him in the eye as snuffs Touya’s last flames out.
Dabi wipes a stray, bloodied tear, giggling to himself as he lays stretched out on the couch, with his hands resting on his stomach.
He wonders what his old man is doing now.
His career in shambles, Japan in ruins, his dead son revealed a murderer- oh, it was a wonderful combination.
He wonders how much his dad hates him.
He hopes dad hates him, hopes his blood pressure skyrockets at the mere mention of his failed experiment.
He wants it.
The High-End fight made him feel so alive, those teal eyes were so bright with scorn!
They were so much better than the disinterest his dad gave him back when he was Touya.
That look of indifference-- replaced by anger.
Anger takes a lot of energy, a lot of passion, a lot of feeling.
It was way better than the disengaged neglect his father had gifted him before.
If Touya couldn't have his love then Dabi wanted his hatred.
He laughs to himself, kicking his feet out.
Maybe he should call him?
Yeah, he should call him.
He feels for the phone, picking it up and thumbing that old memorized number, the dial tone sounds–
`The Number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.`
He drops his phone.
ONE ||
Recovery is hard.
But he’s doing it, because Todoroki men don’t give up, they are stubborn and pig-headed.
It was a miracle he even lived, the doctors had announced it to him like it was something special.
He’s been a walking miracle since he woke from the coma.
But,truth be told, Touya was surprised he was alive too.
Surely, he thought he would be dead by now. He never planned to make it this far. Either his body would give out or he’d finally get that murder-suicide he’s been dreaming of.
Neither happened, of course.
And now he was sitting in some prison hospital chained to a bed and hooked to so many different tubes and wires, he’s long given up counting all of them.
This hospital was different from the one he woke up in before, it didn’t have those stupid cartoon animals painted all over the walls.
It was just gray cinder block walls, not even a window to peak out of. Drab and dreary, just like Touya.
He hasn’t heard much from the staff, they’re all skirting around each question he asks. All he knows is that he was comatose for a while, and that they had applied new skin grafts to his body, and that he died at some point but was revived. They said it would take him a while to recover, but with good and healthy habits he should have a smooth recovery.
So, Touya plays a good patient.
He doesn’t know why.
He wants to die, he shouldn’t care about his recovery. But the last battle plays like one of Himiko’s tiktoks, repeating over and over again, until he’s committed the audio and imagery to memory.
Everything his dad had said to him.
About how much he misses him.
About how much he loves him.
His dad’s teal eyes weren’t lit in that fiery hatred he’d wanted.
They were soft.
Like he’s never seen them before.
Why were they fucking soft?
It bugs at him, nags at him.
It wasn’t the boastful adoring pride of his early years, nor was it the vacant indifference of his childhood, nor was it the hatred he had dreamed of.
It was entirely something else.
-
There’s a little table situated next to his bed, on it are a handful of Get Well Soon! Cards. Touya’s not allowed visitors yet, but people can send him cards, and some nurse was kind enough to set them up. He flips through them absentmindedly one morning, there’s one from Fuyumi and Natsuo, one from mom, one from Shouto and his classmates, there’s one even from Atsuhiro and Giran.
The last card is very plain and simple.
It’s not hand made like Fuyumi’s, it’s not filled to the brim with text like mom’s, nor does it have one of those sound chips like Shouto’s.
The front just has the text ‘get well soon’, in formal type face, and the inside contains only the simplest of messages:
If you need anything, I am available.
Love, Dad
And just under it was the scrawl of a phone number, but Touya focuses on the sign off.
Love.
-
Lawyers visit him. Apparently, a lot of reform has been implemented in Japan’s court system while he was out cold. Before, it was a given he would be licensed a death row sentence. Now they’ve gotten soft bellied, people like Touya were being considered for rehabilitation.
Hell, Himiko was already in the process of it.
He’s not sure if he can rehabilitate, he feels lost and clumsy, but it feels like the natural next step.
Bettering himself.
If all goes well, he could go home.
Home.
The word puzzles him for a moment, it conjures up images of the League, the Todoroki estate, and his family.
“Can I have the phone?” he asks the nurse, who hands him a phone corded to the wall, eying him skeptically like he’d call Machia or someone to destroy the place and make his escape.
He ignores her, his fingers jamming into the buttons to tap out the phone numbers.
Pressing enter, he holds his breath.
It connects immediately.
“Hello, this is Enji Todoroki.”
“Dad,” it barely comes out as more than a whisper.
“Touya?”
“I want to go home.”