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"Our time is almost up for today. Is there anything else that's come up for you in the last week? Nightmares? Outbursts?"
Touya scoffs, keeping his gaze focused on the wall instead of making eye contact with his therapist. It drives her nuts, he knows, but that's all the better for him. His Thursday therapy sessions are an exercise in futility at this point. Touya doesn't want to share and she doesn't seem particularly interested in figuring out what will work. "Don't know why you're asking. You're allowed to pick through my brain with your quirk if you want answers, right?"
She sighs. "I would only use my quirk if I believed your physical safety was in danger."
He grunts again. Even if he wanted to, what else could he possibly do to himself? His quirk was gone, burnt up in his mission to go supernova. He barely had the strength to walk most days— where would he find the strength for whatever they were so worried about? He knows she's only asking at the request of his family and the HPSC, not because she personally gives a shit what Touya chooses to do.
"No. Nothing weird. You wanna read my diary too or are we done here?"
She purses her lips, closing her notes and nodding that he's allowed to leave. "I'll see you next Thursday, Touya. Have a good week."
He doesn't return the sentiment, just continues staring at the wall as she stands to leave. He wants to get up to go to his room, but he knows he'll only get halfway there before Dad stops him to ask about the session and he doesn't want to waste the energy it would take to get up.
Sure enough, the front door has barely closed before Dad has wheeled his way into the living room. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he says curtly. "You can stop asking every time I have a session."
He knows he's only asking because he's afraid of what Touya will do if he stops. It's pity, maybe some guilt. He's too grown up now to pretend it's anything else.
Dad swallows and nods, clearly gearing himself up for another ill-timed speech. Did he talk as much before? "I know the transition has been difficult-"
Spare him. "I said I'm fine. Can I go?"
Another nod, this time with the tired, resigned eyes. "We do need to talk about something tonight, but I'll let you get some rest."
Panic rises in Touya's throat at the cryptic words. "Talk about what?"
Was he getting kicked out? Sent back to the hospital?
There had been some skepticism when Touya was ready to be released into the world. Physically, he needed somewhere accessible, and a lot of assistance while he adjusted to his "new circumstances". He wasn't supposed to call them limitations, which just made him roll his eyes. He got winded from walking two laps around the garden— was he just supposed to pretend that wasn't limiting because it made other people feel better? It only made sense then, for him to live with Enji, whose home was being renovated for his wheelchair.
Mentally, however, his various psychiatrists expressed a great deal of worry about Touya living with Enji. No matter how much his father expressed his guilt (and really, how much of it was guilt and how much of it was self-flaggelation), there was still no guarantee that they would be able to share a space, especially in a way that allowed Touya to recover.
Ultimately, his father had asked him what he wanted and the only thing Touya could say was "Don't leave me alone", and that was settled.
"Touya?"
He shakes himself back to the present. It was pretty common for him to get lost in his thought spirals, so it shouldn't be surprising.
"What?"
Enji shakes his head. "You're tired. We'll talk later."
"No. Tell me." Tell me or I'll spend the whole night imagining the worst.
Enji sighs. "Shouto is coming to dinner later this week."
The look that accompanies his words is wary, like he expects Touya to crack from them, or to turn back into the creature from their nightmares he became (that he still was.)
Touya nods slowly, unsure of how he feels about it. Whatever it is, he hates the pity more, so he shoves down his complicated feelings about Shouto down and shrugs.
"Whatever. S'not a big deal."
Enji raises his eyebrows. "You don't have to join us if you're not up to it."
"I said it's fine, didn't I?" he throws back. He's not a baby, he's not weak, he can handle a fucking dinner with the little twerp without going nuclear.
Enji nods, and Touya deflates. The guilty silences where he won't fight back are even worse than his clumsy attempts at words.
"Alright. If you change your mind—"
"Got it, can I go now?"
His dad sighs and relents and Touya hates the way it feels to win as he treks back to his room.
He never has to fight to get his way anymore.
—
The day of the dinner, he wakes with a renewed sense of purpose. He's going to prove that he can handle this, that seeing Shouto and his dad in the same room will not drive him into a breakdown. Fuck his therapist and everyone else looking at him like he was fragile.
His dad asks him no fewer than eight times if he's sure he's alright, until he finally decides to just stay in his room until Shouto got here, rather than staying around the unsettling shape Enji had become. Every time he said something that was supposed to be emotionally aware, Touya felt revulsion stir in him. He was supposed to be the strongest— wasn't he embarrassed to act like this?
Eventually, he hears low voices that signal Shouto must be here and his shitty heart leaps a little from nerves. Which is stupid. It's Shouto.
With a groan, he grabs onto his crutches, fixing them in place before beginning the short, yet annoying journey to the dining room.
He announces his presence with the thump of his crutch against the doorframe, hoping that Shouto will jump just a little. Instead, his face just settles into that annoying owlish "oh" of surprise.
"Hi Touya."
"…hey."
He rakes his eyes over the table, snorting when he sees the spread Shouto has brought. Dad sure as hell can't cook, and while Touya is supposed to as part of his occupational therapy, he isn't at a point where he's getting anywhere close to homemade soba. But Shouto must have made puppy dog eyes at Fuyumi until she agreed.
He should be happy to have his favorite food, but the knowledge that it's also Shouto's makes the thought sit wrong in his mind.
Shouto looks quietly pleased as he waits for Touya's reaction. "We haven't been able to have it together yet."
His words are so earnest Touya almost recoils at them, shrugging. "Yeah. They look, uh, good."
Shouto nods, seemingly not finding anything weird in Touya's response, and moves to finish setting everything out.
The three of them at the table is a mismatched set and he swallows back a laugh at what a sight they make. He and Dad don't really use the table— Touya runs to his room and Dad eats at the counter or something equally depressing— so he's forced to think about the fact that they've never actually been at a table together. His memory fills in the gaps where Fuyumi and Natsuo and Mom would be. They're not especially fond memories, but it's still strange folding Shouto into them.
He's able to avoid conversation for the first few minutes, everyone distracted by food. But rather than let the silence linger, Dad bullies through it, clearing his throat before asking Shouto, "How is school?"
Shouto glances Touya's way first before answering, clearly nervous about how he'll react to hero talk, so Touya just shoves a too large bite of soba into his mouth to avoid reacting.
"It's been fine. Busy. Our new work studies have been an adjustment."
He tries to let himself ignore the words, to pretend he's somewhere else long enough to get through dinner. But he can only hear about Shouto and his merry band of idiots for so long without snapping.
Touya makes a noise. "Isn't it dumb that they're acting like you still have anything to learn? You know, after the child soldier thing?"
"Touya," Dad admonishes and he sinks down.
Shouto just hums. "I don't know. I don't think I know everything. I think there were a lot of mistakes in our training that we're trying to correct."
"Excessive force bad now that people don't like heroes. That about it?"
"Touya."
"There is more focus on support than combat now. We didn't get a great deal of rescue training in our accelerated first year."
"Purse snatchers don't require lethal force, what a concept."
"You know I agree with you," Shouto says calmly, which just serves to inflame Touya's temper more.
"Just real villains, right?"
Shouto furrows his brow. "I don't understand what I said to upset you."
Of course he doesn't. He doesn't have any clue how him just sitting there sets Touya's stomach to a low boil, even as he knows it isn't Shouto's fault. That's the worst part, he thinks— he likes Shouto, and he still can't make himself be anything but a dick to him.
It's just that there is no way to talk to him, or his Dad, or anyone in this world without the conversation coming back to heroes and quirks. No one around has any normal hobbies. It's been his entire life and he is somehow the one that's wrong because no one else sees their own obsession, only his.
He slurps down another bite of dinner, ignoring the way his stomach protests. "Course you don't." He stands on only one crutch, determined to make it to the kitchen without needing help. "Can't eat much anymore. It was good. We should do this again."
"Touya—" Dad says and he whirls to face him.
"Do you know any other word?"
"Let me help you," Shouto says, hopping up as he senses the growing tension.
"I've got it." He pulls the plate out of his reach, his retreat hampered by the fact that he can only manage to awkwardly shuffle away, practically throwing the bowl into the sink.
His pride keeps him from going back for his other crutch, so by the time he makes it back to his room, he's exhausted, and cold dread starts to sink in.
Hadn't he said he could handle it? It had only taken a few minutes for him to completely lose it. So much for proving he wasn't a lost cause.
He just can't sit there as everyone moves on, when Touya is trapped here, alive as— what? A memento? A living reminder of his family's collective failures? He's part of them, but he's not. He can't pretend everything is fine. It's like he exists as a place for everyone else in the family to displace their anger onto. Why voice it when Touya will?
Worse, as he sits on his bed, leg pulled up to his chest, he keeps expecting to hear the sound of someone coming to find him, to pull him back into the fold. But the minutes tick by and they never do.
No one was coming for him. No one saw him as worth it. Again and again.
He curls in on himself, shoulders shaking as no tears come out and his breath becomes ragged. Was Dad going to send him away anyway? Decide he was better off in some hospital, out of sight and mind like Mom? Would anyway even care? They could pat themselves on the back and say they'd tried, while not having to actually deal with him.
He's pulled out of his spiral when he feels the futon dip beside him. When he glances up, it's Shouto, mirroring his posture.
"What do you want?" he mumbles into his arms, sounding far less cutting than he'd hoped he would.
"You just looked like you needed someone."
Touya grunts wetly. "Don't need a hero."
"Can I just want to sit with my brother?"
Touya looks up. "You are nauseating, you know that?"
Shouto tilts his head. "Did the soba make you sick?"
That startles a tired laugh out of Touya. "Fuck. No. Just— being fucking perfect all the time."
"I'm not perfect," Shouto says. "I don't want to be. Everyone thinks a lot better of me than they should, I think." Shouto hums. "Except you. You yell at me."
Touya shoots him a flat look. "Where ya going with this, kid?"
"Not a kid," he grumbles. "You don't treat me like a hero. The whole family acts like I did something to save them. But I don't want that. I want to be a person. You're honest. You don't walk on eggshells."
"Don't think I ever could."
"That was what made us fall apart before. If we need to yell at each other…" Shouto shrugs. "There are worse things."
The tight feeling in Touya's chest remains, but he uncurls from his ball and its easier. "What self help book did that come from?"
"Bakugou. He yells at people all the time and it seems to work for him."
"You need better bad influences."
"I don't think I can beat villain big brother for that."
Touya laughs roughly. "Fair enough." He lowers his voice. "Did Dad tell you to come in here?"
Shouto shakes his head. "No. He's trying to give you space."
"Who is he?"
"No idea," Shouto's lips quirk up.
It feels like it used to, like when he and Natsuo had a secret world, like when he and Fuyumi would sneak candy before dinner. The moments he remembers are fleeting but they're there, in the corners of his mind.
Maybe one day he and Shouto can be more than the family villain and hero.