Archive of Our Own

Within these walls were ghosts and spirits, broken minds and hopeful souls. A silent garden, dark halls, and rooms left barren with only two inhabitants to walk these grounds. The Todorokis' estate was a traditional house, hiding mountains of mistakes unfathomable to many.

Heat, pain, and crimson flames. Screams of misery, fury, agony. Cries for help, for comfort, for acceptance. Desperation having turned bitter and sour, rotten over the humid air brought on by the clash of ice and fire. It was no wonder the bubble had burst eventually, for both mind and body.

When the war of ideologies between heroes and villains concluded, the country had all but shared a collective sigh of relief. It was a moment's respite, that illusion of victory, yet everyone knew that the difficult journey had only just begun.

Shouto had won. He had grown. The fledgling hero had stopped his corpse brother's rampage and saved his life. His victory had spurred his fellow heroes into one last push, a final wind, and with the end of that conflict came the wreckage they must now navigate.

Endeavor hadn't given anyone the chance to even protest his case, for he had claimed all responsibility for Dabi, for Touya—for his eldest son—to himself.

His statement had been brief, said loud and clear, once, and only once; whilst injured and worn beyond belief. 

"Dabi's very existence is solely due to my continued negligence. His fate and care shall rest on my shoulders, along with a select few who I personally trust. He will not harm anyone any further."

What better punishment was there? Or perhaps that term was insensitive. It could go both ways, divine and mortal, to either the father or his son. Endeavor's sudden retirement hadn't at all helped Japan during its desperate time of need, nor had it assured civilians that their way of being was ever to be reinstated even slightly. Maybe that was a good thing; or perhaps it wasn't. But whether the world beyond these haunted walls shall descend into chaos or ascend into order was out of his hand now.

There were people in the top tanks far more suited for the task than he could ever hope to be. He had done his part in the clash of ideals, and now he was setting his sights on the ghost of his eldest son.

He owed him that much, at the very least.

It wasn't easy, however. Far from it. Touya wasn't a docile lamb with skittish tendencies and a meek personality. No, he was fire incarnate, fierce and passionate and ever-burning. He was a hostile lich plagued with paranoia and fear. He had in his heart far too many emotions to bear, without any healthy way to express or relieve them.

All he knew to do was to unleash them.

No fire. No flames. No explosive, lethal rage. For his own safety—as well as Endeavor's sanity—Touya was kept sedated regularly, almost to the point it was excessive and cruel. What little quirk-suppressant technology there was in existence couldn't hope to contain his powerful blaze. Threats didn't work on a suicidal man, either, nor did compromises for someone in a near constant wild and frenzied panic. It was the best solution anyone could think of.

How else, after all, could they hope to keep such a person alive?

There were demons perched on Touya's shoulders, tormenting him with illusions of memories no one else seemed privy to. His days were spent either kicking and screaming, biting and laughing, or hiding and crying.

And Enji was the only one there to take it all.

His arm was littered with scratches and bite marks. Most of his clothes had been frayed and chewed out. His hair was a dishevelled mess. And if it weren't for Touya's stamina having been shot to a mere hour's burst at the worst, the retired hero would have surely resorted to restraining his son by now.

The calendar hung on the wall was scribbled with red ink. Half the days had already been crossed out, leaving a few appointments written in black soon to arrive. Winter was already here. The moon had claimed more and more of the sun's time in the sky. Snow was a lonely, brittle beauty not everyone could tolerate.

It was late into the night now. Enji had only just finished making dinner in the kitchen, and the ruckus of pots and pans must have woken his slumbering son up.

The ghost was out to play.

Thuds, slams, mumbles, pants. It was like a soul was creeping around without a care for stealth. The weary father knew this song and dance far too well by now. Touya must've had a nightmare.

The stove was turned off. The lights in the living room were flicked on. Through the wooden floors were the purposeful, creaking footsteps of a retired hero making his way down the hall. He paused only at his son's door, knocking twice to hear a sharp gasp on the other side.

"Touya, are you alright?" he asked, taking heed to be a little quiet.

If Touya recognised his voice, he didn't act on it. The mumblings cut themselves short, replaced by a suffocating silence weighing heavily on the father's shoulders.

Rather than waiting the eternity it might take for a response, however, Enji pressed on. "I heard some commotion earlier. Can I come in?"

"I... I have to go back. Everyone's probably—they're waiting for me, right? They have to be. Where am I? Who are you? What is all this? This isn't..." Touya was speaking far too quickly, far too fearfully. There was a shortness of breath in his tone, squeezing broken pieces of questions and sentences into half an exhale.

Still stuck in his nightmare, then. One of the more mysterious memories Enji had yet to decipher. He hadn't a clue on where Touya supposedly thought he was. There was always some doctor, or a bizarre flower, and other kids around his subjective age.

Nevertheless, the truth always helped, somewhat. Assurances, reminders, promises, honesty. "You're home, Touya. There's no one else here but us." These walls surrounding us are our prison, or our haven; call it what you will.

It must have been a long, long while before Enji heard a quiet hum from inside the room; or perhaps it was a grunt. Either way, he knocked once more before sliding the door open and stepping in. The sight of his son fresh out of a horrible nightmare was never short of harrowing.

The stars were cruel to this porcelain doll. They sang to listening ears a symphony to tango to whilst they yanked at its strings and smeared its painted smile.

A doll without control of its surroundings, purpose, or fate; without freedom or agency tied to its name. Its future lied solely in the hand of another—the very person whom it hated with all its fractured, brittle heart. Who could blame it for its wild emotions?

But now those memories were shoved away, replaced instead by the past—a different past. A little forward in time, after all the neglect had led to a deadly blaze of despondency.

The room was dark. The windows were shut. The curtains were drawn whilst the futon was pushed towards the far corner, arranged into the shape of a haphazard nest rather than laying flat like proper bedding. The pillows and blanket made up the rest, and in the midst of that cocoon was a pair of azure eyes practically glowing beneath a mop of long white hair. Tonight wasn't a moment of pure fury, but fear, it seemed.

Touya stared right into Enji, but he didn't recognise him.

Brilliant blue eyes. Bright, yet dull.

He was seeing someone else. The doctor, the flower, or those kids.

"I made dinner," Enji said regardless. "It's still warm if you want it."

"I don't want your dinner! I don't want to join your stupid, creepy family!"

That last part had come out of nowhere, but alright.

More staring, more waiting, more silence and haggard breaths and tense muscles coiled like springs set to snap.

A familiar song and dance.

When the fire was lit and the moon was high, there was little to do but wait it out. Enji wouldn't dare frighten his already petrified son. Touya didn't deserve that, nor did he deserve to be plagued by these horrible demons chipping away at what little sanity he had left. Every footstep, every heartbeat, every draw of breath was slow and steady, keeping calm amidst the storm because that's what Touya needed above all else; stability, assurances, and attention.

He still bit and struggled and fought, of course, but that was the new normal set between them. It was reflex for Touya, and there wasn't much anyone could do to ease it out of him. Once Enji was close enough, he had merely scooped his son out of his nest and brought him out to the kitchen.

Dinner had gone surprisingly smoothly.

The days trudged by slowly, but surely. Just like this; just like that. Routines helped to anchor them both to the outside world, trapped as they were with little opportunities to venture out these walls.

Wake up, freshen up, make breakfast, feed Touya, try and fail to bond with him, play games, stop Touya from biting the shogi pieces, watch the birds outside, watch a doctor-approved movie in the living room, watch him, then lunch, then more attempts, and more, some more, then rest, then dinner, and medicine, and finally bed. 

That, at least, was the script. But things rarely ever go according to plan, doesn't it?

Touya was vicious, volatile, and violent, even with strong sedatives flowing through his veins. It was both a horrifying thing to witness and an admirable trait, this unyielding, unflinching, undying flame. His stubbornness went far beyond what normal people could ever hope to possess. It fell right out of that threshold and sat comfortably on the worse-end of obsession.

It was cruel what the world had done to make him this way. It was cruel of Enji for igniting it.

He could understand. He really, truly could. Touya was well in his right to hate him, more so than his brothers did. Touya was in his right to be angry and hurt.

If only, however, he realised just how harmful his obsession was for himself. Enji could take the heat, the pain, the azure flames, but just the knowledge that this was further hurting Touya, too, was downright barbaric.

"Sorry for coming by on such short notice, Endeavor-san, but the Commission needs your advice on certain things."

Enji merely stared for a brief moment—or perhaps it was a couple of seconds? Hawks was standing at the door with a ghost of a smile on his face, dressed for the cold weather and carrying on one shoulder a bag that looked to be half-filled.

The retired hero had completely forgotten that he had asked to stop by, in all honesty.

"It's fine," he still said, stepping aside to let the wingless hero in. "I thought the Commission had been dissolved?"

"It was, but not entirely," came the idle explanation as Hawks took his shoes off at the genkan. "We're planning to restructure everything from the ground up. The country still needs heroes and the authorities to keep the peace, but we're leaving the top agencies to deal with different prefectures for now."

Down the hall and into the living room, the windows let in the gloomy morning light. The air was cold but it wasn't much of a bother, though a few cups had to be taken to the table to serve as paper weight.

"Is he awake?" Hawks asked, tipping a head towards the corridor leading further into the estate.

"I would hope not." That was all Enji could say. Having only slept a couple of hours this entire week was starting to drain him; and Touya only had a little more than that. "I've managed to calm him down enough to rest. Keep yourself quiet."

The wingless hero chirped an affirmative.

Whatever it was Hawks wanted from him, it was quick to resolve, at least. Something about his experience with the past system Enji had grown up and drowned himself in during his entire life and career, far more on the personal side than the legal. It was strange. What use did anyone have for that?

"Running an industry such as heroics based on popularity and rankings wasn't the smartest," Hawks remarked. "Back then, the president would always emphasise statistics and appearance over most other things. Senpai confirmed it, too. On the outside, our efficiency helped, but it was clear they favoured the superficial aspects of the job a bit more. Unless, of course, you had an undeniably high resolution rate, like you once did."

"Is that supposed to mean anything?"

"Just that we're doing away with all of that."

"And how's that going?"

A shrug, a pout, a glance to the side. "The heroics industry isn't the only thing we have to sort out. It's not even the most urgent. Rescue and evacuations are still ongoing, and people, both heroes and civilians, are helping to clear the rubble from populated areas. Lives have been destroyed, Endeavor-san. We need to work quickly, but we also can't afford any more mistakes."

No, of course not. People can only take so much before they break, after all. He would know. Destruction, chaos, uncertainty, fear, it simmered and boiled and exploded into anger at the nearest, most plausible target they could pin it all towards.

It was human nature to have emotions, to have fear, to be terrified of the unknown after a lifetime of peace as their normal.

"Do you know anything about Touya?" Enji asked suddenly after everything was settled. He would've offered tea as a silent invitation for Hawks to stay longer, but he knew better than to risk his son catching a familiar face.

The wingless hero looked up from the documents on the table. How strange. His eyes, while bright, were dull, too. Just like Touya. They both held in their hearts so much pain and suffering, yet their situations and outcomes were reversed. It was an interesting morsel of thought.

"Anything I know would be unreliable at best, Endeavor-san. I've only known Dabi strictly as a contact to the League for a couple of months, and even during then, he was always careful to keep a distance."

Elusive and mysterious, keeping everyone at arm's length so he could focus on his obsession, to the point he couldn't even form a healthy connection. How cruel.

"Anything at all, though." Enji had always wondered. Even a sliver of an idea on what his son was like when he had thought him long dead. Touya had been watching him for years within the shadows, while Enji hadn't been allowed to do the same in the supposed light.

Had he remained impulsive, emotional, passionate like a blaze? Did Dabi ever cry over his comrades or felt fury for their sake? The apathy, the distance, the brutal violence, it must have all been a facade, right? Some of it, at least.

The wingless hero was silent for a while, staring right at the papers in his hands whilst not at all perceiving them.

"He... liked messing with people, I suppose."

What did that even mean?

"He'd lie and change plans out of the blue," Hawks explained, scratching a finger under his chin. "He had a habit of looking up at the sky, too, whenever we had a meeting outside. He also refused any food or gifts; said he didn't want anyone's charity or pity, but I think it's just because he doesn't trust anyone enough to accept help. He didn't take anything even after the Paranormal Liberation Front was established."

Well, that could be attributed to lessons learned whilst living in the streets. It must have been difficult to discern kindness from malicious intent. Stars only knew the amount of times Touya had been burnt for taking an offered hand.

Despite that, however, from memory alone, Enji could still clearly recall Touya having always refused any sort of help, be it from him, from Rei, or from any of his siblings. He had always chalked it up to his son having inherited too much of his pride, another cruel trait perfectly mirrored back to the retired hero's face.

"What about the League? Was Touya close to anyone?"

A single shrug, plain and blunt.

Enji supposed he shouldn't be at all surprised.

Hawks had packed up long before Touya would wake up. Even without his wings, damaged as they were and more stumps than real, actual, fully sized wings, he seemed to carry a keen sense of what was around him still. It was as if he could feel the pulse of the ghost slumbering away just down the corridor, behind the third door on the left in its messy, haphazard nest, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"You don't have to call me that any more," Enji reminded for the umpteenth time, right at the front door where the wingless hero was slipping his shoes back on. "I'm retired now, Hawks. My hero name is better off left in the past."

"What's wrong with calling you that, anyway?" Hawks wondered. "You did a lot of good, Endeavor-san. Don't make it sound like you've only done wrong."

"My entire family would beg to differ." Natsuo mostly, and Touya; and probably Shouto, too.

"You're trying to change, at least. That's what matters."

"It still isn't necessary to use my hero name. The old Commission's gone, you don't need to follow their way of thinking any more. It won't hurt to have your own opinions."

"No."

That—

Was that a quip, or a genuine refusal?

He was gone long before nightfall, and with the sun setting on another winter day came the shadows who lurked the hallways.

Within the walls of the Todoroki estate, inhabited by a corpse and a memory, there was little to distract them from the dark. The creeping, eerie, haunting dark. Apart from stories, of course. Those... were often a coin toss on how Touya took them; good or bad, pretty or ugly, civil or violent. They filled the heavy silence, at least. They were an attempt to reach through Touya's insanity and find the boy underneath, as most activities were.

"My father passed long ago." The admission came like a realisation, like an iota of catharsis that helped to stitch together a broader picture. "He wasn't a hero. He hadn't even been involved with the industry in any capacity, but he'd always wanted to help everyone in any way he could."

If there were ever a time the sentiment that Enji was talking to a ghost was true, then this was it. No fury, no flames, no fear, just the exhaustion after all of that had sputtered to death. Touya was a dead star having burnt all his fuel, fighting for every shallow, shaky breath as he laid curled up in the corner of his room.

"He had a fire quirk, too," Enji carried on. "It's ironic that he died while trying to save a girl from a burning building. I saw his corpse being dug up from the wreckage and it... wasn't the best."

It hadn't been the best feeling, nor the best experience. He had only been a freshman at U.A. when it happened so suddenly on his way back home.

It was devastating and cruel, finding his own father killed in the very element that coursed through his blood. It was terrifying in ways that was impossible to describe, this fear of failure, of not being careful, festering into a fear of weakness that he couldn't shake off because the smell of ash and boiled up blood was branded to his memory.

It had been a while since Enji last thought back to it properly. He had thought he'd put it past him until Touya had died the exact same way.

Everything got so much worse after that, but it wasn't the fault of his eldest son.

A pair of azure eyes were narrowed thin, hidden under long white hair that spilled across the floor. Touya's voice was so weak, strained and hoarse and awfully parched.

"That... is s-so... stupid."

Well, Enji had nothing to say to that.

It still hurt, however, like an ignited arrow through his heart.

Aside from the depressing stories sullying what little happiness there was, there often came the unexpected phone call or two between the hours of dusk to dawn. Not everyday, but not once a week. Very few had the retired hero's number, and fewer still were those who willingly kept in contact with him despite his unofficial imprisonment in this haunted estate.

Most of those calls came from his only daughter, the kindest of his children. She would ask all the common questions like it was a checklist to go through. How have you been? How's Touya? Have you been eating? Has he hurt himself?

Just the typical, everyday questions.

Other times, though a little more rarely, it would be Rei on the other end. She was far more reserved than their daughter, keeping her questions and sentences carefully short.

On a cold afternoon, out in the garden where snow was falling gently, Enji was staring into the empty yard where his children once played.

"He's asleep right now. He'd been up all night after another nightmare," he said.

There was static through the line, a sigh undoubtedly colder than the air around here. 

"You've barely gotten much sleep, too, have you?"

Was it that obvious?

"I'm fine." Touya's health was of greater concern, anyway.

"I'd rather not hear any more lies," Rei said. Her tone was awfully flat, though it still carried an iota of emotion. Enji just wasn't sure what. "I wish I could see him. Natsuo wants to as well, so does Fuyumi and Shouto, but the doctors have all advised against it."

"They said he's unstable even while sedated." Enji had been there to hear the news for himself. They couldn't risk overwhelming him and stirring a panic. They had all suffered enough. No one needed any more fire.

"Is he taking his medication, at least? Has he been eating?"

"No." Touya hadn't taken a single bite of food last night, nor had he drank any water. The sedatives were enough of a challenge as they were, no matter through needle or pill, and Touya always saved enough energy to at least bite or scratch or kick beforehand. "He's not making it easy for anyone. He doesn't even care for his own life." 

"And that's a matter we have to tackle together," Rei insisted. "Touya doesn't deserve to be ignored any further, nor does he deserve to be separated from us all. I know it's not the right time, but eventually we'll have to give him closure on his demons, just for his peace of mind."

The question remained if Touya will survive long enough to finally be at peace, but... Enji had his hopes up, if only for the sake of his eldest son. The stars were cruel, but he prayed for them to grant Touya enough mercy to finally rest one day.

Until then, it was up to him to care for the shards of porcelain.

The weeks slipped by, day in, day out, bleeding into months that mirrored the last. The estate had become monotonous over the passage of time, with the windows letting in sunlight for twelve hours everyday, fading into night when the moon phased into different shapes. The sky was often an array of colours, filled with clouds, and either bright or gloomy depending on the weather. 

As the seasons changed, nothing changed. As the air shifted from crisp and dry to warm and fresh, the ghost remained a statue resistant to the tides. In fact, Enji was certain Touya had only gotten worse. More violent, more tired, more... emotional. His grasp of reality was slipping ever further, leaving little to keep him tethered to what's real and what's not.

It was driving Enji insane.

He couldn't deny it. He couldn't complain about it. He knew what he'd been signing up for when he had taken his son's care into his own hand. He knew he deserved it—Touya, with his life of heat and pain and blazing flames, and Enji himself, with all the neglect he'd done—but he was still human. Touya was, too.

It was silly, stupid, senseless, but completely expected. Humans needed enough sleep to function, they needed ample food to live, they also needed peace and calm lest paranoia ate away at their rationale.

It was fine.

Whenever Touya would lash out and bite and scratch and scream, Enji was there to either let him run his fire out or hold him down so he wouldn't hurt himself too much.

Whenever Touya would wake up from a horrible, frightening nightmare, Enji was there for him to focus his hatred towards.

Whenever Touya would destroy and burn and tear to shreds any and every attempt to dig him out of hell, Enji was there to reap his continued failures.

It was all Touya knew to do, to lash out, to cry out, to burn.

It was all his father's fault for drilling into his mind one single purpose to fulfil, then pulling it away the moment his quirk wouldn't suffice.

In Enji's eyes, it had all been for Touya's own good. 

But in Touya's eyes, it must have been abandonment.

Presently, horribly, Touya was delusional. He was insane. His mind had been fractured the first time and crumbled the second. He thinks a mirror would reflect nothing back not because he had some fascination with vampires, but because his unjust upbringing and insanity had stitched together an unbending reality that he wasn't real, that he didn't matter, that his entire existence was just a lie and he wasn't anything or anyone.

It was awfully cruel. Agonising, even. If only Enji had known just how much his son was hurting all those years ago.

His efforts were futile—reality never failed to remind him of that—but stars, did he still try. The name Endeavor wasn't one to be taken by a person without conviction. Enji had already failed too many times, and even if this was sure to end in another painful tragedy, he at least wanted to stitch together something.

A scrap of humanity. A shard of dignity. Anything.

"Let go!"

He can't do that.

The thrashing, the screaming, the palpable malice. It had all been typical—expected, even. The same song and dance in a fiery hell. What was different now were the awful instances when Touya simply couldn't grasp what was happening around him.

"Out. Let me out!" the ghost pleaded, a painful, guttural snarl.

With his only arm busy with keeping Touya off the ground, Enji struggled to think of what to do. He had a fistful of Touya's shirt keeping him dangling in the air like the scruff of some feral street cat. He had only intended to check upon him. He hadn't thought waking his son up to his own face would strike such an explosive match.

Streaks of blood ran down Touya's cheeks, his skin a ghostly pallor standing out in the dark. The colour of crimson stained his hair, his eyes, his shirt, painting an ugly picture that did little to ease the panic.

He was burning, literally. Even without touching bare skin, Enji could feel the heat radiating off of Touya without any fire being sparked.

"You need to calm down, Touya!"

"To hell with that!" the frantic ghost yelled, flailing around even harder as he tried, and failed, to claw at anything vital. "Let go, you fucking bitch! Fight me like a real hero!"

No, he won't do that.

"Your quirk's going out of control," the retired hero hissed. It wasn't hot enough to hurt—far from it—but the steam rising out the corners of Touya's mouth was alarming.

The spiteful cackle his son let out was bone-chilling, full of empty mirth and with an even duller pair of blazing blue eyes. "Just kill me already. Come on! You know you want to!"

"No!"

A split second of shock was all it took for chaos to break loose. Tackled to the ground and suddenly blinded by blistering azure flames, it was as if a piece of the sun had fallen down.

Clawing away at him was a shattered doll with cracks leading down to its heart and ice sprouting out of its chest. The cackles became a horrible mixture of blood-curdling screams and wild, frenzied anger.

Time was a myth within these four walls.

The seasons change, but nothing changed.

Touya calmed down, immediately, eventually.

Enji refused to elaborate how.

The wreckage had left him with a burnt sleeve, a body lying limp on the burnt tatami floor, and a haunted look in his own eyes. The sudden silence, while such a sweet relief, was more a great torment, a memory, a nightmare revived and relived once again.

He couldn't run away from this.

The smell of burnt wood was heavy in the air. The smoke was dense. The stench of iron ran the father's blood ice cold. Touya was breathing still; Enji had checked. He had merely scooped the ghost's body up and carried him out of the forest fire on two shaky legs and a haze of guilt clouding his awfully weary mind.

It hurt. Everything hurt, both on the inside and the outside. His eyes stung, his heart ached, and his burns had probably blistered and split in ways only Touya's flame's could damage him.

Panic, impulse, fear, and rage. Heat, pain, and anguished flames. The same old song and dance in a fiery hell for those born with his cursed quirk. Nothing's changed. Not one bit.

"I'm sorry, Touya." That was all he could say. A single apology for a mountain of mistakes.

Laid down onto the soft couch in the living room, Touya looked eerily peaceful. His face wasn't twisted to a vicious snarl with bared teeth and soulfire eyes. No, he looked more like an actual, living corpse, one prepared for a funeral viewing before the actual cremation.

Enji couldn't get that damned sentiment out of his head. Touya needed only a shroud, a stretcher, and a scarring scene. The retired hero wouldn't be able to tell the difference then.

Shaking his head, he set about the kitchen to pull out the burn cream and bandages; the first drawer closest to the entrance. 

Exhaustion didn't even begin to describe the weight of his bones being yanked down by gravity. They were heavier than the mountains, the sun, the entire ocean itself. Memories of the past being dragged back to the present certainly didn't help with keeping a level head, either.

It felt like his soul had been ripped right out.

The seasons changed. They changed a lot. The leaves went from a luscious green to a vibrant red, dulling to brown before falling off to sleep through winter and restarting the cycle year after year. The days, the weeks, the months that went by were often a blur thinking back to them. 

Within these walls were ghosts and spirits, broken minds and dejected souls. A silent garden, dark halls, and rooms left barren were kept awfully, dolefully quiet. The Todorokis' estate was a traditional house, hiding horrors and torture unfathomable to most.

Things changed—so many, too many—but worst of all was the gradual, palpable decline of Touya's mental state.

The thrashing, the screaming, it all made sense, at the very least. At least Enji could tell who the supposed target of that blaze was, who caused it, what worsened it, and how to avoid it. And no matter how hard he tried to help, there was nothing he could do to stop the descent. It was no different to sand slipping through his fingers.

"I won't fucking stop, you hear me? So long as one of us is still alive, I won't rest until I win." The last bit was cut off by a terrifying laugh, almost genuine with the ear-to-ear grin Touya had worn for hours.

Enji knew, however, through the blood staining his son's cheeks, that he was crying.

Those words, too, were paralysing. Perhaps the father now knew what his wife had felt when Touya had insulted her decades past. A threat, a promise, a curse upon his own life, the details mattered not. It was merely that blazing conviction that instilled such a bone-chilling fear.

Enji knew himself well. He was aware of his own stubbornness, his pride, his indomitable will. Hellflame was a dangerous quirk fueled by emotions and heart. And no one took it to such an extreme like Touya does. It was a vicious cycle—some cruel metaphor the stars found amusement in—and there was nothing anyone could do to douse the inferno without also putting out the corpse that burnt within.

Sometimes, on the colder, gloomier days, Enji realised he would see the visage of a younger Touya before his very eyes, rather than the shattered doll possessed by a corpse he lived with. He would hear ringing, joyous laughter rather than a piercing cackle. He could also swear he once saw patches of red in his son's hair.

He was definitely starting to lose it.

How fitting. How tragic. How deserved it was, to fall into the same fate as half his family did. First Touya, then Rei, and maybe even Shouto, too. Not a single Todoroki was perfectly sane by any means, but true insanity had all been brought by nothing but heat and pain and crimson flames.

It was all his fault.

"W-what the hell's wrong with you?" A tremor, a shake, a shiver through a broken, burned, and battered body. A smile had seemed to permanently etch itself onto Touya's face one random day, and Enji wasn't sure if that was intentional or not, if it was permanent or not. "Are you crazy, hero? What's got you looking so weird?"

What? Had Touya never seen his father cry before?

That... was plausible.

"Just sleep, please." That was all the retired hero could muster up. He had been trying to dry Touya's long—and white—hair after a shower for literal hours now. The image of a spectre growling at him the entire time hadn't been pleasant for the mind.

He was used to it, he expected it, but it still hurt. Exhaustion had long worn his bones out and made every waking hour a struggle for consciousness. His ears now carried a dull ringing in them, too, from the endless shouting over the years. And that wasn't to ignore the shallowness of his breath as time slugged by the harsher, crueller days.

The injuries on his skin, bite marks and bruises and gashes and all. They were recent in comparison to the life Enji once lived outside these walls, and yet they remained no less of an impact than the huge scar on his face.

When Touya fell asleep at last—not without another dose of sleeping pills and sedatives and thirty minutes spent chewing holes through his sleeve—Enji could only let out a silent sigh, heavy and dense and filled with heat. He turned away from the slumbering ghost, ever heedful of its vulnerability.

It was times like these, alone and quiet, though still so rare, when the retired hero could remember what all this was for. The agony, the anguish, the flames, the fury. It was all for the near-naught chance of Touya finally learning to rest.

His fate and life sat squarely on Enji's shoulders. It was what his son deserved. It was what Enji deserved. He shouldn't be allowed to ignore him any further.

But it still hurts.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, and most definitely psychologically. There wasn't a single day that passed without Enji noticing a sliver of his sanity starting to slip, like sand, like mist, like Touya's corpse long ago. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but he was almost certain he was seeing things now, just a wisp or a trick of the light, never a real body. His paranoia concern over his son certainly didn't help to ease the tension in his muscles.

He had to be cautious around him, for Touya's insanity had dragged him down to relive memories of... unspeakable horrors. Not the flower or the kids or the creepy doctor, but thugs and villains deciding to go after a young and vulnerable teenager.

Enji knew it was different when he snapped awake to his son narrowly driving a pair of scissors through his chest.

He never found it easy to fall asleep after that.

Aside from the outbursts, the resistance, the brief, violent threats, Touya's grasp of reality had become a rarity to witness. A habit had started out of nowhere one day, where he would suddenly burst into laughter in complete silence, as if his own mind had told him a hilarious joke. Touya had taken to mumbling, too, mostly to himself—always to himself.

"Look—"

"Look at me."

"M' sorry, Twice..."

"Where's... mom?"

Enji could do little to help. He knew by now, that disturbing the mourning star would strike a blaze.

He still tried, however. Stars, did he try.

He was patient, and caring, and barring the extremes, he never raised a fist to his son on anything petty or trivial. He never gave up on him. He never abandoned him.

Even when Touya started to look a lot like Rei.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

Even when Touya started to look a lot like Shouto.

"I hate you... I hate you. IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou—!"

Even when Touya started to look like him.

"You don't understand. You don't fucking get it. Why don't you get it?"

Her hair, his eyes, their expression. They mirrored each other in such a haunting, distressing way. The same fear. The same rage. The same, exact reflection directed at Enji.

And it... terrified him.

It helped him, too, in some morbid, crazy way. The same song and dance repeated twice now, both of whom had crawled themselves out of the hellish pit and were now living a life relatively happy whilst still healing.

It was the fuel that kept the old flame burning, this yearning hope wishing nothing more than to atone for irreparable mistakes. It was all he wanted, to fix something for once; to fix someone, no matter the torture.

Perhaps this wish, this plea, this delusion of a happy ending was the key to sanity.