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It turned out that coming back from the brink of death as a convicted murderer was about as shitty as you’d think.
Touya’s miraculous recovery had baffled the international team of doctors, scientists and other experts that Endeavour had hired for an indefinite time (and for a very high price), but he didn’t really care about how exactly he had managed to cheat death a second time.
Because he needed to be somewhere.
Not right now.
But later.
Thinking about the timeline that was laid out in front of him made him a bit sick. He’d woken up in late December after having spent about a year in that shitty fish tank and almost another year in that shitty designer room.
But at least he wasn’t too late yet. Shouto’s graduation would be in late March. If the police and the HPSC hadn’t figured out all the legal shit by then he would just book it out of here in some other way, consequences be damned. He didn’t know how he would get rid of the suppressor bracelets, he didn’t know how he would even make his body move, but he’d force it to endure Blueflame one last time, even if it killed him.
Okay, that was probably a really shitty idea. He didn’t think that Shouto would appreciate him showing up at his school as a crispy nuke propelled by the same blue fire that had already scarred their whole family forever.
Fuck, he’d have to make it there... normally.
Well, if he could even walk by then. The Team had presented Endeavour with a number of “therapy options” that were supposed to help his weak, mostly useless body recover, especially with the help of physical therapy.
Ugh.
They kept hammering home the fact that he would never be able to use Blueflame again since his body wouldn’t be able to endure it, not even once, not even the tiniest spark. His physical form was even weaker than before, which meant that, even if he managed to walk on his own again, he’d never be able to defend himself in a fight.
Or defend others.
Maybe he’d need to get his hands on a gun at some point.
The team also noted that he’d never be able to digest food or drinks again, but that didn’t surprise him in the least. After all, his body had already rejected almost everything in the years before his public identity reveal and the release of that video. He’d already had to spend some of his villainously earned funds on sketchy “doctors” that would hook him up to keep his body going for a little longer. At least Giran had eventually found someone reliable. He’d stay on parenteral nutrition for the rest of his life.
They considered his immune system to be surprisingly stable, but they recommended that he avoid public spaces and contact with other people (now that was something he could do). They also recommended wearing a mask in public, one that would filter the air as much as possible. Endeavour had already commissioned one of those as soon as he’d woken up.
They’d said all of this to his father, never to him.
Why?
Because Endeavour had been appointed his adult guardian until further notice. Touya had no agency over whatever would remain of his life, he had no money, he had no home (Dad had offered him a space in the family home, but he’d rather go back to selling his body than return there), he couldn’t open a bank account, he couldn’t sign contracts, he couldn’t work a regular job (not that he’d ever want to do that in the first place), he couldn’t even make his own medical decisions.
Yep, dear old Dad had already made some decisions for him as he’d wasted away in that shitty fish tank. Endeavour had poured millions of Yen into different medical research programs. He vaguely remembered Shouto telling him about the endless attempts that had been made to graft synthetic skin onto his body. They had obviously succeeded in certain areas, but others had been deemed too difficult to fix, mostly his joints, hands and the lower half of his face - areas where his body had continuously rejected the expensive, artificial material, resulting in weeks of inflammation, weakening his body even further.
But Endeavour had signed a contract that allowed the team free reign when it came to trying every drug or procedure that could possibly restore his son’s body. His own father had agreed that he could be used for every experiment imaginable in various fields.
That contract would remain in place for the foreseeable future. Nothing was off-limits as long as it wasn’t deemed detrimental to his long-term health.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
He felt… betrayed.
But he also knew that he’d have rotted away in some shitty prison hospital without Endeavour’s endless funding and Hawks’ involvement as the new head of the HPSC.
Hawks.
Fuck, he hated that guy.
He’d hated him when he’d pretended to join the League, but he hadn’t really cared about what the heroes or Shigaraki had been up to in the end. He’d never given a shit about All For One, the self-proclaimed “demon lord” who had tried to pocket him all those years ago, had tried to secure him as a replacement body (the fuck was up with that anyway?) or Nomu material.
That “demon lord” had apparently been killed by some brat from UA, the one that Shigaraki had wanted him to kidnap all those years ago.
Shigaraki had been killed by that other kid, All Might’s successor.
What a bunch of fucking clowns.
Unfortunately, no one had killed Hawks. He’d only been forced to retire as a hero.
And now Touya had to deal with that bastard since the HPSC and police were involved with his case. Apparently he was supposed to be grateful to that little shit because, for some fucking reason, the former Number Two kept poking his nose in their family’s business, kept pulling strings, kept information about him or his state from being leaked or being released to the public, kept the police off his back as much as possible.
Some hero that was, the commission’s former dog, a man who had probably killed more people than Dabi, but it was totally acceptable when a “hero” went on a murdering spree in the name of “peace”. Now Hawks had his own dogs to send and “make the world a better place” or whatever bullshit the commission stood for now. It made him want to hurl.
He vaguely remembered some rumour from the war, a rumour about the commission’s former poster child, someone who had been incarcerated in Tartarus until the great prison break. Someone who had finally gone rogue after having been forced to murder dozens of innocents for “the greater good”. That someone had ended up working for All For One, but had been taken down by the heroes in the end.
But he had to be grateful and listen calmly when that formerly feathered twat stood next to some high-ranking police officer whose name Touya didn’t bother to remember, a slight smile on his punchable face as the two of them listed off the endless conditions and regulations that he’d be placed under since he would now enter their “new and revised ‘HPSC Police Joint Villain Re-Socialisation Programme’”.
He’d never wanted to strangle someone more.
But he had to force himself to keep a straight face and listen to all that bullshit, knowing that he’d gotten lucky after all, knowing that most other murderers would never see the light of day again after their incarceration.
He’d have to wear a suppressor ankle bracelet for the foreseeable future, which came with a free GPS sensor, of course. His location would be monitored 24/7. Any attempts to remove the bracelet would lead to his immediate arrest.
Fine, he didn’t care.
He’d have to attend mandatory therapy four times a week. Any missed appointment would lead to his immediate arrest unless he could prove that there had been some sort of emergency or health issue.
Fuck, he didn’t want some shrink to pick his brain apart.
Fuck.
He knew that his brain wasn’t right, he wasn’t that delusional. He barely remembered the past two years. He didn’t even know which parts had been real. He could only recall bits and pieces, he remembered some words, sensations, dulled as they were, but he had no idea if it had all been in his head or not.
He wasn’t a complete loon like Toga Himiko had been, but he knew that he hadn’t been right in the head for a long time.
Maybe he hadn’t been right in the head since... since the start. Maybe it was all Endeavour’s fault. Maybe he’d just been born that way. He didn’t remember.
He’d probably be able to tell that therapist some lies, but obvious attempts at manipulating his therapy would lead to his immediate arrest.
Fuck. Whatever, he’d figure something out.
He wouldn’t be allowed to have a proper phone with internet access (or any device with internet access). Instead, the police would provide him with a shitty old phone where every activity would be closely monitored. He’d be able to text and call certain numbers. Any suspicious activity would lead to his immediate arrest.
Fine. As long as he could talk to Shouto and Fuyumi.
And Mum.
He knew that Endeavour’s number would be in there, but he didn’t know if he wanted to talk to the man outside of necessities.
He didn’t really remember the past two years. Had they talked then? Had he talked to anyone?
Fuck.
He didn’t know if he’d be able to contact Natsuo.
Thinking about the letters made his stomach flip. His brother had sent him one per week after he’d made it out of the shitty tank, he could tell from the dates and the amount of letters, but the things he’d written might as well have come from a complete stranger. Natsuo never mentioned his wife (that Fuyumi had told him about, accidentally), he never mentioned where he lived, what he was doing now, what he was really thinking. All he had sent were empty platitudes or straight up lies about his life.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
He felt… betrayed.
Right, he had to pay attention to Hawks’ and the police’s “wish list of shit”.
Suppressor GPS bracelet, therapy, shitty monitored phone, absolutely no devices with internet access (he might be able to negotiate a deal on that later), stay in Tokyo.
Fine.
He’d get a (monitored) bank account and a (monitored) credit card along with a monthly cash allowance of… 5000 Yen? He didn’t know anything about the current state of the economy, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to buy shit with that. Endeavour would provide the money, both his account and cash, but he’d have the final say on major purchases, being his adult guardian and all that.
Great. He’d have to ask his father for pocket money at the age of…
How old was he?
Twenty-six.
Peachy.
He could also ask Hawks instead since that shitty joint programme included some funding options.
Nah, he’d rather jump off the Rainbow Bridge.
The advantage of that shitty joint programme would be his relative freedom of movement. He wouldn’t be placed under house arrest, he’d have to find a place to stay in Tokyo and he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the city without permission from the police, the HPSC and Endeavour.
Fine, he didn’t care. He had nowhere to be anyway, not yet.
He just wanted to see Shouto.
He hadn’t been allowed to talk to anyone after waking up apart from his father, the nurses, the turbo team of overpaid doctors and now Hawks and that police officer.
He’d agree to all of their conditions, he’d wear the shitty bracelet, he’d attend therapy four fucking times a week, he’d make do with the shitty phone and he’d stay in Tokyo.
Signing the contract felt like a joke, knowing that his signature didn’t even hold any legal weight. He watched as Endeavour signed as well. He watched Hawks’ shitty little smile. He stared the bastard down.
One day he’d get to punch that face. One day.
But he needed to be somewhere first.
Not right now.
But later.
He had about three months.
It turned out that coming back from the brink of death as a convicted murderer was about as shitty as you’d think.
But he’d gotten a second chance.
A third chance, even.
He wasn’t going to waste this one.
Someone had asked him to live.
And live he would.