Chapter 5: Strong, but not unbreakable

"Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste. I once was a man of dignity and grace."

—'Let Me Down Slowly' by Alec Benjamin

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A fact about Todoroki Touya: his fire did not always burn blue.

Once, they burned white. White, like the first snowfalls of winter. White as his mother's hair and as white as the feeling of comfort in his red tainted world.

It was only after the fateful incident of Touya's 17th year when his fire had raged and erupted into brilliant azure.

But that incident takes place at a time that is not now.

So no, Touya's fire did not always burn blue. Keep that in mind, readers. It'll be important later on.

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Third-degree burns, up and down his arms, legs, and half of his torso.

Of course, they didn't like that. So the solution was skin grafts, to cover up the mistakes.

Fire burns. It destroys.

He doesn't remember much. The whole infirmary stay, that is. The entire experience was a haze of drugs, too-clean white surfaces and the overwhelming smell of antiseptic.

He spent a little over seven weeks in the infirmary of the Hero Commission.

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After he was released from the infirmary a woman with orange hair introduced herself blandly as his Handler.

He didn't like her.

And yet he wasn't in a place to say anything.

She led him to a room with nothing but a bed, a small wooden desk and chair, and two sets of folded uniforms.

Did he mention that he really hated the uniforms? If they could even be called a uniform.

Plain, black t-shirts with the Commission emblem stitched on. Plain mesh shorts that reached to his knees. Grey socks and black shoes. All had their symbol printed, stitched or engraved somewhere.

Uniform? Maybe. But it did feel a whole lot like a fancy prison jumpsuit. (Not that Touya knew how a prison jumpsuit felt, much less a fancy one.)

This is your dorm room, she had said. I'll leave you to get settled.

If he wasn't so out of it, he probably would have snorted and rolled his eyes. Get settled? What a joke. He had nothing from home, not even the clothing on his back- they had been burned to ashes.

Get settled into what?

The so-called 'dorm room' was just another prison.

Well. He didn't plan on staying, screw what the Commission ordered him.

The dorm was only temporary, he told himself.

But hey, at least the beds were pretty decent.

Head down, stay low, escape, return to his siblings.

That was the plan.

Clear objectives, and simple in theory.

But the execution was another matter. It was anything but simple, he learned.

Not only did their training leave him passing out the moment he dragged himself into bed, but the entire building was also a twisting maze of an endless void.

Or at least, it seemed that way.

It didn't stop him from trying to go through with his escape plan, though.

Three days after he was released from the infirmary did Touya try to sneak out the first time.

It did not end well.

Meaning, he didn't last five minutes.

But really, it wasn't his fault, the hallways looked exactly the same.

And the Commission had security cameras everywhere.

After they dragged him back kicking and screaming, they injected an additional tracker in his arm.

Additional tracker, because Touya knew that there was already another somewhere in his body. His shoulder, maybe. Or his calf. He wasn't sure. They must have implanted it when he was healing from his burns.

But Touya was nothing if not stubborn, so he picked himself back up and prepared to try again.

The second time possibly went even worse than the first.

There was a two-week wait between the two attempts.

A restless wait, with many sleepless nights and days of burning alive and not quite dying, but a wait nonetheless.

The night of his escape attempt, he had sent a stream a fire through his veins, effectively rendering the tracking device useless. And giving himself second-maybe-third-he-didn't-check degree burns in the process, but ah well. Sacrifices had to be made.

He memorized the time of when the security people switched shifts. He timed it perfectly.

But despite everything, he only made it three minutes this time.

It didn't end well if anyone was asking.

(Did it even start well?)

Since you like your fire so much, his Handler said. I would suggest we increase the intensity of your training.

No, he wanted to say.

The Commission didn't let him speak. He had no choice, here.

He was theirs.

He was of the Government.

(Just like the rest of the kids here—)

They also slapped quirk suppression braces on his wrists and ankles.

We cannot trust you with your quirk, they said. You will be wearing these braces for 24 hours a day. Is that understood, Agent Nova?

He didn't have an option to say no.

(When did he ever in his life?)

So he trained longer. More intensely.

That wasn't by his choice, either.

The fire inside him still raged, screamed to be let out, but whenever he tried to let it loose, and just burn it all, burn it to the ground —nothing would happen.

Damn the suppression braces.

He trained.

He burned. His scars didn't seem to fade anymore.

(Since the event that landed him in the hands of the Government, his body always held a dull sort of numbness. He was under no illusion that his body had become resistant to his flames, it was more like… his brain stopped receiving the pain signals. That or the pain became such a daily thing he stopped noticing it. It definitely wasn't healthy or normal, but at least he couldn't really feel the pain of his fire anymore. That was a win in his books.)

Training, training, training.

Endless —

He continued to burn.

Can you control the temperature of the flames? How long until you feel the effects of the fire? Can you sense through your fire?

Still, even with all his setbacks, Touya did not let that waver in his will.

He would get back to his siblings. He would escape.

( He had to—)

The Commission must have known his thoughts as well, because merely two days after his last escape attempt, a white letter-sized envelope appeared on his unused wooden desk.

At risk, he didn't want to open it. It was from the Commission, and the Commission was no good.

But in the end, his curiosity got the best of him, and he carefully opened the letter late one night.

He regretted it the moment he caught sight of the contents.

He had stilled, feeling the world stop around him.

Eyes scanning over the single line of text printed on a scrap piece of paper.

Then reality caught up, and he had flinched back, so violently he ended tripping over his feet and tumbling to the ground, the letter's contents spilling out onto the table.

Good lord, he was panicking—

Breaths coming in short, almost nonexistent pants, Touya scrambled backwards until he could feel the wall pressed against his back.

It—He couldn't take his eyes off of the contents.

N-no.

He couldn't.

The room, it was—

He couldn't breathe, and it was—

He had to get away.

(Please—)

Not another second had passed until Touya had made a beeline for the door, racing for anywhere that wasn't here.

(But what exactly was in the envelope? readers ask.

Why. Are you sure you want to know?

Yes?

Ah. Alright then.

Spilled onto the desk, were two items.

Item number one was a scrap piece of paper with a single line of text.

Another attempt, and the consequences will be worse.

No, those words really wouldn't be that threatening, if not paired with the second item.

If not paired with the second item, Touya would have probably used the warning as fuel for his next escape attempt.

But it was paired with the second item.

And that just made all the difference.

The second item in the envelope was a clump of dual coloured hair, matted and still wet with bright, crimson blood .)

Touya ran.

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You are not to attempt more leaves of this premise. We will be notified if you do, were the words said to him.

You cannot escape, we're what the words translated to.

Is it understood, Agent Nova?

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream it in their faces, that he had a goddamn name, and it sure the hell wasn't Agent Nova. He wanted to let his quirk loose, and burn it all to the ground.

He wanted to burn the quirk suppressors on his wrists to ashes.

He wanted to claw out the tracker implanted in his skin.

He wanted to get back to his siblings.

Back to little Shou-chan, because how the hell did they get a lock of his brother's hair?!

He was crying, he knew. How pathetic he was, breaking down on the tiled floor of the boys' washroom.

He could almost hear Endeavour's voice sneering at him to get up.

But Endeavour wasn't here. He should be counting that as a blessing, but whenever he relished in the fact that the monster wasn't here to torment him, he was reminded of gentle smiles and mismatching eyes and loud happiness and how he isn't there for his siblings and no doubt little Shou-chan and Yumi and Natsu were hurting right now and I'm not there I'm supposed to be there it's the only thing I'm good for —

He shouldn't have tried to escape. What if Shou-chan was hurt? How did they even get close to him?

Whose blood was it?

( Touya was praying to all the gods and deities he was aware that the blood was not his baby brother's.)

PItiful, the monster had told him.

Told him, before he sold him.

Weak.

Do you understand, Agent Nova?

He dug his nails into his palms, nearly drawing blood. He was shaking, trembling like the useless child he was.

Why? Why was this happening to him?

He needed to get back to his siblings.

And yet—

Failure to comply will lead to punishment.

But little Shou-chan—

He had tried. The white walls and the too-quiet hallways were never-ending. They all looked the exact same.

Do you understand, Agent Nova?

I'm not Agent Nova! He wanted to shout. I have a name! Use it!

(And yet, he had always hated the name Todoroki. Todoroki meant the Number 2 Hero, fire and pain and mother crying and good lord he was burning make it stop please stop— )

There was a fire within him, under the coldness of his core. A fire that raged, that screamed, that had absolutely no mind for the state of others.

("I wish I had a quirk like yours, mother. Fire hurts and destroys. I don't like fire.")

A fire, that despite the quirk suppressants, still raged on inside of him, its screams filling his mind.

His sobs were silent. His screams never made a sound.

He wanted, no, needed to get back, he had to, there was no other choice—

"Hello?"

There was a voice, a voice that was kind and gentle but didn't belong, but it didn't matter because Touya couldn't breathe and it was choking, he was covered in his silent tears and he was a mess, and he was hearing voices that didn't exist and it hurt, it hurt so bad, and where is Shou-chan, where are my siblings —

"Hey!"

Yes, the voice. There was a voice, the voice he kept hearing that was gentle and kind but didn't belong. The voice was a bit more…worried? Yes, worried. The voice was a bit more worried now, but still gentle and kind but nonetheless he knew it didn't belong-

"Are you okay?"

Was he okay? Was he really? Well, wasn't that a golden question. He was okay, he knew, but at this point, he didn't really know if what he knew was right. Was he okay? Was he okay okay?

"Come on, look at me. They're gonna' come looking soon. You're having a panic attack, you gotta breathe, yea— uh, I mean, got it?"

Breath…? Oh. Right. Breathing. He wasn't doing that.

Right, breathe. Yes, he could do that.

"Breath with me. In, and out. In, out."

The voice was calming, just like how Mother's once was. Comforting, kind, gentle— it didn't belong.

But he didn't want to question why the voice was there, he knew it didn't belong. Breaking down meant weak, and weak meant punishment and punishment meant tears and flames and burns and badly suppressed sobs. Gentle, kind voices did not belong.

"It's okay. Just breathe."

And yet, the voice was still present.

For many long moments, it was just him and the voice. The voice was rambling nonsense now, something about the sky and chicken nuggets, but he didn't find it annoying, not one bit.

It took many more long moments before Touya really… realized his placement.

And when he did, he was suddenly hit with the realization that fuck, someone just saw me have a panic attack.

And he almost had another panic attack right then and there.

"You okay now?"

No, he wanted to say. No, I'm not.

He kept his mouth shut.

But Touya must have been much easier to read than he thought, because the next thing he knew, a pair of bright golden eyes were in front of his face, studying him with this intense sort of concentration.

"What's wrong?" The boy asked.

"I—" His mouth continued moving, and yet no sound came out. He swallowed, taking another breath. He was no use panicking. He needed his head back on straight. "I'm worried about my brother."

There. Vague, but enough so the guy would get off his back.

But apparently, he had no such plans, because his voice piped up again, this time hesitant. "...did the Commission hurt him?"

For a split second, Toiya was too shocked to speak because—Woah. How'd he…?

"They did, didn't they…?"

Touya didn't answer, only sparing a single glance his way.

But for gold-eyed, the glance was apparently as good as a response, because he continued on without missing a beat."Oh. Does the Commission own him too?"

Touya shook his head. He didn't know why he was having a one-side-silent conversation with some stranger that literally just watched him fall apart, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For now, his shame was safely buried under his hurricane of emotions.

The other boy brightened. "Then he'll be fine, I promise. If they don't own him, then they can't hurt him."

And at those words, Touya snapped.

"How do you know?!" Touya snapped. "It was covered in b-blood!"

(It was all his pent up frustration, his anger—he knew the boy in the front of him was innocent, having absolutely nothing to do with the situation, but Touya was just so angry. And the word just kept coming—he could stop, and it was just so much—)

The boy's eyes widened, surprised by his outburst. "No, I—"

"And how do you know that they wouldn't hurt him? They're supposed to be the backbone of Hero Society, the role-model, and yet here they are training in child soldiers ?!"

"No, the Commission wouldn't—"

"How can you defend them?!" Touya shouted, strangled and horse, face twisted in anguish. "You're like me, aren't you? The Commission has legal custody of us, they can literally do whatever they want, and you're defending them ?!"

And then suddenly, the boy stood up. He jolted so quickly Touya had to blink in surprise. "I'm very sorry for offending you," he said voice flat, leaving no room for more discussion. Curt. It was a complete 180 of the gentle voice earlier. (Touya decided he liked the gentle voice better.) "If you want any more answers I suggest you speak with your Handler. The blood probably was not even your brother's. Now please excuse me, but I'll be taking my leave now."

And with the short, curt and sudden response, the golden-eyed boy had sped past him and through the door. It had left Touya's anger suddenly drained and him still on the ground thinking what the hell just happened?

(Because he wouldn't admit it, but when the golden-eye boy's expression closed off, it felt like a punch to the gut.)

(He knew he was wrong. Good gods, the boy only wanted to help him, why the hell did he gotta yell? Why did he have to be so angry?)

(What was wrong with him ?)

Only when the door clicked shut did Touya tear his eyes away from the boy sporting a pair of bright red wings.

Only when the door clicked shut did Touya dimly realize he was feeling even more empty than before.

After a while, Touya went back to his room.

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In the end, Touya didn't try to escape again.

When he was calm, much, much calmer, he reasoned with himself that even though the Commission used disgustingly underhand tactics, they wouldn't dream of seriously hurting Endeavour's praised son.

His masterpiece.

Just how comforting the thought was absolutely disgusted him.

The perfect Government would not majorly hurt the younger brother of one of their child soldiers in the making because if they did, they might have a top soldier/domestic abuser after them.

He had no idea just how they managed to get a lock of his baby brother's hair and his blood, but Touya did not disillusion himself thinking they couldn't.

The sad thing was, despite how much he hated Endeavour, he knew the man had his limits.

Shouto was not Touya. His skin would not burn with the mere use of his quirk.

As the elder brother, Touya took immense solace in the fact.

(He ruthlessly crushed down the spark of jealousy.)

Endeavour would not break Shouto. No. He would not risk it.

As much as Touya loathed leaving his little siblings with a domestic abuser, he knew full well that the Commission would be much, much worse.

The Commission was ruthless. To them, their children were expendable.

Endeavour was not. Shouto was too precious (for all the wrong reasons) for him to lose.

If Touya acted out again, his siblings would pay the price.

It was a choice between rock and a hard place.

Good lord, he hated it. But he knew the alternative outcome could be so much worse.

He went to bed uneasy that night.

The next day, when they upped his training even more and the teachers were being more brutal than usual, he didn't complain. He didn't even question it.

Because between the monster and the god, he would much rather anger the monster.

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"The letter was a success. Agent Nova has made no further escape attempts or brash decisions these past three weeks"

"Excellent job, Handler Mari. You are dismissed."

"Understood, ma'am."

It was only when the Handler Mari was sitting on her bed in her room, sure she was not being watched, did she rub at her inner forearm.

She ran a hand through her orange hair and let out a quiet sigh. Hopefully, the cut won't scar that bad.

She didn't really know why she had done it. She didn't know why now of all times did she start questioning the Commission. After all, she shouldn't be. The Commission was always right.

They had raised her, saved her.

But watching young Nova break down in the bathroom upon seeing a lock of his brother's hair supposedly covered in his blood…

There was a feeling in Mari's chest, one she didn't really understand.

She rubbed her inner forearm, where she had cut herself and matted a four-year-old's hair with her own blood.

She didn't understand it, the feeling in her chest.

The feeling didn't go away.