Chapter Text
Time passes quite interestingly– like on days when hours feel like years and minutes like seconds. It was funny really, almost a month having passed since the fire user and high school woman joined the League. The two becoming more of a nuisance than any help. But time never felt long, despite the League growing in numbers, more people crowding the bar space, more troublesome days and irritating hours. He simply could not feel the hours stretching.
It made sense, of course. A lot can happen in a month, more so in a day. Not that Shigaraki was grateful for it, his mind is just rather nimble and quick to catch up however fast-paced things may seem. Maybe that was a good thing.
Nowadays, his head swarmed with more thoughts than usual, floating carelessly into the crowded space. Even then, putting two and two together doesn’t seem to be so difficult since the bothersome Stain graced his presence in the very same bar. It was easier, at least. To plan things, knowing what to do, who to use and how.
He must have not realize it again, time passing that is. With a pensive look, staring into nothing, atop the bar’s building amongst others, he had missed the sound of a door opening and footsteps drawing near.
“Penny for your thoughts?” A voiced had asked behind him, familiar, he recognized it.
His breath hitches, shoulders tensing at the sound of the intruder.
“Dabi?” stumbled his words, turning to face the breaker of silence and softening at the sight of the other villain– feeling a bit surprised and embittered for losing his train of thought. The near-autumn winds blew at the dark strands of the fire-user’s hair. They almost look smooth to touch.
“Hey,” The raven had greeted, a hand in one of the stitched pockets of the pyro’s dark and shabby coat, metal braces encasing the scars that decorate his arm.
“Hey yourself,” came Shigaraki’s reply, a playful smile drawn on his features, though obscured by the hands he’d call his father. He looks at the fire wielder, back now against the concrete railing where he had just faced moments ago, arms raised by his side and hands dangling in a rather clumsy fashion.
Dabi snorts, quite an unexpected reaction, making the younger shift in confusion. Was it something he had said? Or perhaps the way he had looked saying it. Whichever it was. He was about to retort when the pyro spoke.
“You brood here often, boss?” he snickers, little wisps of smoke emanating from the corners of the pyro’s lips. The younger wonders if that was a frequent occurrence or if amusement makes his quirk conspicuous. Or perhaps it’s the cold.
Shigaraki huffs, pulling his arms down to place in front of him, now limp and quite awkward in this position. He clasps his hands together.
“I do not brood,” he grunts as an answer, looking away from the other, the bottom of his lip puckered to a pout. How could he make such bold accusations?
Dabi must have thought it funny, for he had laughed– a rather annoying one too– pausing in front of him, a few feet apart from where the younger villain stood.
Shigaraki sighs, biting his tongue, feeling a shade of irritation with the pyro’s presence.
“What do you want?” he barks at Dabi, who stood before him, a hand clutched to his stomach, reeling from the fits of laughter that erupts from him in loud succession. Shiagraki couldn’t find reason for his mirth.
“Nothing!” Dabi defends, still bearing the hilarity of what he had said, chortles coming out of his mouth and threads of white smoke. “Nothing at all!”
“Then why come here?!” he fumes, arms flailing in both anger and confusion. If the fire user was to stay to make fun of him, he had no reason to stand here, no reason to idle away precious hours.
Dabi cackles a final time, hands raised in mock defense. “Calm down, boss–“he snorts. “Bar got too crowded down there. Figured I might come up for some fresh air–“
“You think the smell of city and piss is fresh?” Shiagraki quips, determined to feel offense.
“That’s not what I mean–“
They stare at each other, a moment of vague hostility– a beat of silence and then...
“Whatever,” the younger villain mutters, words barely heard, the sound trapped in the encasing of his beloved father.
“Right…well–” Dabi trails. “I got here long ago and you didn’t budge.” The pyro moved, striding next to him, standing a good distance away from where he leans. So he did have some decency in him– however little it may be. “I figured I’d wait for you to notice me, but you seem so deep in thought. Was wondering what that’s all about.”
Ah… Is that what this is? Shigaraki has half a mind to make fun of the pyro. He was sure the word “worry” was not in his vocabulary, but he supposes people do change, just as he had shown days ago. Still, there is not a single answer to why.
He studies the pyro, curious and careful. Now leaning on the banister, an unreadable expression decorates his visage. His gaze wanders far, not at him, no– never– but of the city and landscape– hardly beautiful but still amusing to watch. He looks peaceful like this, not like a villain.
Shigaraki considers his words with an uncharacteristic benevolence. It would have made Kurogiri proud and his master falter in disgust like he’d just done the most horrible thing imaginable– kindness in its purest.
As if that would happen, Shigaraki grimaces, removing the severed limb that clutch his face. It felt right at the moment, leaving his face bare and open for the world to see– or well, just Dabi. The cold wind caressed the skin of his face, gentle like a mother’s touch, making him shiver slightly.
“It’s been a month, hasn’t it?” He asks instead, giving the pyro a chance to converse– proper this time, not like the usual banter and meaningless insults– no, not like that. It would have been better than answering the arsonist’s question anyway. He isn’t sure what to say otherwise.
“Surprisingly,” Dabi answers, shuffling in his place to face him. His head lies comfortably on crossed arms that rest on the railings, shifted just right to meet the younger villain’s gaze.
Shigaraki could feel himself grow wary under the watchful eyes of the pyro, unclad and raw like a precious model of art, something to be examined. He almost regrets to have taken his father off. Almost. Without the shadow of a literal hand to block a portion of his view, he could see the arsonist as clear as glass.
He could see him– something about his look seems painful, a longing that could never be satiated. Like a thin thread, desperately trying to keep him grounded. And failing.
He wishes he knew its cause. Or whom the solemn mask is for.
But he wouldn’t say, dare ask the pyro–not quite yet– instead looking elsewhere– anywhere at all but the man beside him.
“And the room’s to your liking?” he questions him, curious of what the raven has to say, more specifically, what the pyro has to complain. After all, it has been his generous act, to let the new league members stay under the same roof as him, given access to all that he has– an internet connection, a couple of clothes, new gears, fake IDs and whatnot.
“You kidding me?” He began, startling the younger. He wonders if the pyro has something to complain in spite of everything. “I’ve never felt better!”
Oh–
“I’ve got a roof over my head, a room of my own! Hell, even showering here seems like a luxury.” The pyro now stood upright, unbelieving with his query, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing someone has asked of him. “It’s more than what I had a month ago.” He added, almost silent and Shiraraki barely caught it. Perhaps he had been insensitive to think of the other emotionless.
He ponders for a moment. Dabi, the rude selfish man he had met on a warm afternoon in the beginnings of July, had laid himself shorn before him. He still refuses to believe it.
“And what did you have?” He probes, the cold air biting at his skin. He’s suddenly reminded of how different things have been–how much time has slipped.
Dabi looks at him, again with that upset look, a longing too painful– one that he sees too often, in the mirror and those around him.
“Nothing.”
Shigaraki met Dabi’s gaze– fierce, unyielding, intense and everything unfamiliar. Void of Father’s ironclad hold on him, he would have never noticed how vividly blue Dabi’s eyes were. He watches the other fumble in his place, giving him the same look the pyro had given him– not just an art in display for everyone to see, but a precious possession only for his eyes and his eyes only. He takes a brave step forward, closer and closer than he has ever faced the fire user. Closer than they have ever stood.
Dabi does not move, watching the other walk with such grace and elegance– too noble for dirty villains like them.
“And now?” Shigaraki’s look bore holes in Dabi’s skull, the urge to pry answers too painful, gnawing at him, loud and forceful, shouting. He sees the pyro stare, as equally profound as his own. Too close, too close he stood before him.
“You,” the arsonist answers, a breath too short, as if the air around them withdrew.
They could have stayed like this, leaning against the balustrade of the bar building, a hair’s breadth away from each other. Close enough to break and build comfort, close enough to be something– far more than just this– neglected desire– whatever that may be.
They could have.
If Shigaraki’s phone had not rung.
“Shit!” He straightens, quickly turning around to pick up his phone. And doing quite a piss poor attempt at it, too. He had noticed Dabi lean back, maybe on instinct– or embarrassment. Probably both. He looked away from the younger villain, a shade too red, not quite like before.
“I- Sorry… Uhm...” The younger villain’s words trip, like a failed spring toy loose on a staircase. “I have to take this.”
“Yeah, sure– whatever, boss.” There was no mirth in his voice– not an ounce of regard. But his face betrayed all else. That was not a look of a disinterested man.
He ignored it in favor of answering. That would be a thought for another time.
With not a single thought of the fire user, he picked up the phone and answered, all fingers sans the pinky holding it.
“Can’t a guy relax in peace?” he fusses, more than greeted, strutting away from the fire user, his back now against him. Privacy maybe or just to forget the moment before.
“If he wasn’t so busy with the new shipments maybe,” came the phone’s reply.
“Giran?” he remarked, catching the attention of the fire user, who now watched him from his peripheral. “I thought it wouldn’t come until the agreed date.”
“Right– and today is…?” he trails. A cue for the other to answer.
Shigaraki stopped, wondering for a moment. What exactly is today’s date? He placed an attentive hand over the phone’s speaker and faced Dabi, who now lazily rests of the railings, his head propped up with marred hands, still watching him.
“Dabi… what’s the date today?” he whispers, loud enough for the pyro to hear, but hopefully not enough for the person behind his phone.
“Uhh… August 6? Wait– why?”
Oh– he wanted to say something back, but the answer had caught him off guard.
“Shit! Already?”
Time really does fly.
Uncovering the speaker, Shigaraki raised the phone closer to him, levelled just right where his lips are. He hopes his voice was clear.
“I’ll be there in a moment.”
A distorted sound came through– a chuckle, he had assumed.
“See you in 5 then.”
With a sigh, he pockets the phone, a single click ending the conversation. He picks up the lone hand that lies on the banister and debates if he should wear it. He did. Meticulous and careful fingers raised the severed limb and placed it delicately on his face– almost natural and not all unnerving.
Adjusting to the new sight, he raises his head and looks at Dabi, who peers at him with an odd face. Almost like a sad puppy after being rejected.
Amusement bubbled in him. He could feel himself snort at the expression the arsonist was making– sour and dramatic.
The light haired villain moved, walking towards the rust-filled door to go downstairs, where he assumes Giran is waiting– and also Kurogiri. He motioned for Dabi to follow, who steadies himself up to walk beside him.
“Giran’s asking for us. The new shipment of gears will be delivered today and I’m assuming that we’ll be leaving for inspection,” He explains to the other, hopefully providing an answer to an unvoiced question.
“We?”
“Yes, we. The new recruits will also be there. You’ve met them before– Magne, Compress and Spinner–”
“–sorry, who?”
Shigaraki grumbles. Of course, the idiot didn’t pay attention, his head always up in his ass.
“The tall woman, the masked man and mutant– in that order.”
“Ah! Them!” The pyro finally perks up, recognizing now the people he had mentioned. Even Shigaraki had the decency to remember their names, or at least, what they prefer to be called.
“Okay, but why we?”
“Backup, obviously. In case something happens. But I doubt that there will be. I’ve read their files and personally spoke to them not too long ago. We’ve went over the basics, yada yada and noted if there’s any specific upgrade they want in their current gears.” Shigaraki dawdles, a hand on the door’s metal knobs.
“And now, here we are,” he punctuates, opening the door, but not before a gust of wind swoops to torment his already numbing skin.
The young villain shivers, the hair of his skin standing. “Stupid cold–“ he cursed under his breath, rubbing the fabric of his arms with his thumbs raised, feeling the heat of the friction thaw the cold.
He was about to open the door again when a foreign warmth encases him, the feeling of something heavy lay on his shoulders.
“You’ve all that time to ensure the equipment are prepared, yet no plans on getting a coat?” Dabi teases, a mischievous smile plastered on his face.
Shigaraki scowls, an ugly feeling churning in him, only the autumn air standing in between him and stabbing Dabi’s ribs with his elbow.
“Shut up,” he grouses instead, and ironically enough, pulls the coat closer to him. Metal braces clinks as it hang loosely behind. “I have a coat. I just don’t use it often.”
“Sure you do,” Dabi grins, opening the door for him. A victory point in his favor.
Shigaraki rolls his eyes. Whatever. At least he’s not cold anymore.
Dabi was right. The bar is crowded.
“What’s all this?!” his voice thunders. Looking around, the room was decorated with newspapers and crumpled papers, scattered messily like trash. As if someone threw a party and didn’t bother cleaning. On the corner of the room, sits Toga and her empty vials, knives also cluttered with unknown papers.
In the center of it all stood Kurogiri and Giran, who stare at him, wide-eyed, caught like a toddler to a cookie jar. The young villain crosses his arm, index raised. Dabi’s coat shifts with the movement.
An explanation. He wanted an explanation.
“Shigaraki-san! Heyy!” The broker sang, adjusting his glasses to look at the other more… decently… and not unlike an uncouth. Too late, he had seen him crass and clumsy first.
Behind the young villain, Dabi snickers.
“Well..?” Shigaraki demanded, egging both older villains to provide him reason for the unexpected and somewhat suspicious chaos.
There was a silence, an unpleasant one too, as they stare at each other waiting for who to speak first. Toga had reclined in her seat, neither present nor aware in the conversation, living in a whole other world of mess.
Both Dabi and Shigaraki stood next to each other, still waiting.
Finally, Kurogiri sighs, opening his mouth– or whatever is the misty creature’s equivalent of a mouth.
“Young master,” he began, polite as he always was. “Giran has invited himself over, wanting to go over the plans for the shipment and retrieval of supplies.” Purple mist gathers around him, looking at the gauche man. “I have told him that you won’t return until later, however he insisted,” he continues.
Shigaraki raises an eyebrow. Nothing odd there about Giran– he has always been a stubborn bastard.
“Okay, and..?”
“He wants to go over possible routes to the expected meeting place– the abandoned warehouse by the shore not too far from here.”
“Did we not agree to take the exit across the intersection?” he retorts, impatient and rather puzzled with the implication of a last minute change of plans.
“Yes, but...” Kurogiri drags, to which Giran continues. “Word in the underground is that they’ve rescheduled some hero’s post, that means–“
“–the hero’s stationed there, is what you mean. Since when did that happen?”
“Since yesterday,” the broker exhales. “Talk about bad timing.”
“No shit! So if we proceed with the original plan, there’s a possibility that we’ll be spotted.”
He didn’t know if he should thank Giran for calling him or deck him for not calling sooner.
“It would be a no brainer to go after this some hero,” Dabi stresses.
Shigaraki had to agree, however the pyro was missing an obvious flaw “–point, but a thoughtless act might get us into more trouble.”
The light haired villain bit his lip, a finger raised to scratch an itch on his neck. He was thinking.
“How about the next lane in the junction? We’ll take the left side,” he suggests, pointing a finger to a lone newspaper where a map of the road is displayed. Huh, so this is what the mess is all about, he thought.
“Exactly, Shigaraki-san!” the broker explains, giddy like he had just solved some Sherlock-level problem.
Dabi huffs.
“Okay, yeah– sure... plan’s cool. Why don’t we just use that guy’s quirk to warp us all there?” He interjected, a thumb pointing at the misty creature, who narrows his eyes at him.
“Good question,” Shigaraki replies, though a bit stunned with the pyro’s display of interest. Nevertheless, he was happy to provide an answer.
“Our supplier did not specify their exact coordinates and they refuse to. Precautions and what not. They don’t entirely trust us,” he responded.
Giran nods. “It’s not unusual, and there’s also a possibility that we’ll be transported to another location upon arrival,” the broker lifts a finger to draw a line in another paper, one connecting their supposed location to an alleyway near the warehouse and then to another in a different map. “Heroes are everywhere. We can’t draw their attention. A diversion is usually created. Your guy over here–“ he points at the misty figure, whose eyes now look as if they were rolling in annoyance– he was in the same room after all, being talked about as if he wasn’t there, “–he can draw attention with his quirk. S’not every day you see a big purple cloud appear out of nowhere.”
“Really, it’s not a big deal. Besides, we need someone to stay at the bar,” Shigaraki shrugs as his coat slips, metal braces clashing. He pulls them closer to himself.
“Whatever,” the arsonist dismisses. “I think it’s still more convenient.”
“I thought you hate the portal?” Shigaraki muses. “Something about, Oh it makes me wanna hurl my guts out,” he mocks.
“I’m just saying,” he defends, crossing his arms, scars fully exposed up to his shoulders and collar.
Shigaraki grins, more than delighted to get under the fire-user’s skin. He was about to comment when the broker spoke.
“We better go. They're waiting,” he states, tapping something on his phone. Everyone looks at him, even Toga, who’s now apparently paying attention. “–and if you’re worried, I’ll be driving.”
“Oh, I’m worried alright,” Dabi comments, glum and low.
The young villain hums. “I’m concerned but for other reasons,” he says.
“Let me guess. Additional charges might apply?” the pyro finishes the thought for him. Shigaraki frowns. He was right.
The brokers says nothing, but winks.
With a long drawn out groan, they left, leaving Kurogiri and the mess behind.
Wherever Giran was getting intel, Shigaraki was more than grateful.
They were waiting, sat inside the van as the lights turn red. Shigaraki sits on the front passenger seat, with Dabi and Toga comfortably lounging at the back of the van. Watching the corner of the street, behind dark window tints, just across the intersection was the some hero, standing, crowded by a few civilians– fanatics maybe. Giran was right. He has never seen the hero before– at least, not here.
Shigaraki sneers. Both the crowd and hero were looking too disgraceful to his eyes. He wonders if it ever crosses their little minds of what they do. Have they not realize that they get in the way of the hero’s patrol? Moreover, how dare the hero indulge in their petty idolization and zeal? He scrunches his nose under the hand that covers his visage. Disgusting.
He wishes the lights turn green already. He hates being stuck in such a cramped space, watching the petty view before him.
Maybe luck was in his favor. Or the gods have blessed him. Whichever is better, because suddenly they were off.
The van moves with no notice, alarming everyone, sending them backward from the movement.
“Oi! Old geezer! A little warning, maybe?!” He hears Dabi shout from behind, metal banging from what he assumes was his fist.
Said old geezer only laughed, finding the pyro’s dismay amusing. Shigaraki did, too, but he wouldn’t let Dabi hear that, let alone see.
“Maybe if you don’t break my van, I would!” Giran teases.
There was laughter, from everyone but Dabi, who was only grumbling, muttering something about assholes and old people. For a moment, the young villain thought of them living mundane lives, driving like this, without a care for what’s to come next. For a moment, they were just people– not villains.
For a moment, they take a sharp right, and all thought of that life was gone.
The harsh turn must have irritated the pyro, because now he was peeking through the space between the front passenger seat and driver seat like an impatient child.
“How much longer are you gonna let this fucker drive, boss?” he seethes, a thread of white smoke swirling from the corners of his mismatched lips. It would have been mesmerizing if the pyro wasn’t pouting.
Shigaraki can’t help but snort as he watches him huff. Who would have thought that the only weakness that Dabi has is to put him in a car and let it loose. He briefly imagined what bringing the arsonist to a roller coaster would be like.
“A few more minutes, we’ll take a shortcut from here and drive down the alleyway,” he reassures him, humming in his thought. “It will be quick then. I assume we’ll be walking if they decide to relocate, so you can ease your worries if you think we’d take the van again.”
The pyro sighs, but still does not move from the space between. Shigaraki’s mind wanders.
They rode in relative silence and reached the docks sooner than expected. Opening the door, Shigaraki surveys the place. It wasn’t anything special, the warehouse was old and clearly showed signs of abandon. Nothing else stood beside it but old wrinkled papers and battered pieces of wood. Rust and torn metal decorate its outside walls. Dust-filled crates were scattered carelessly around it. The whole place was awful in every way possible.
He sighs. A particularly harsh breeze suddenly rushed in their direction, an offensive smell of copper and piss brought with it. Shigaraki was half thankful for his father’s hand and Dabi’s coat.
“Nice place you got here,” Dabi comments, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Giran snickers, pulling at the large metallic door, a violent crinkling sound of metal grinding echoes, almost deafening to their ears.
It would have made for a grand reveal, something dramatic like in video games where you encounter a boss right after a save point, but all’s behind is another mess of broken slabs as well as abandoned crates. And of course, the smell of rat piss.
He continues to survey the interior from the outside, not daring to enter quite yet. At the farthest point of it, sat a few masked people, clad in all black. Beside them were familiar faces– the new recruits, he had noticed. They must have heard them, because they all turned to look at entrance where the four of them stood. All eyes were now trained on him. Both unknown men and the league’s new blood.
Shigaraki stares back, contemplating what to do. Or what to even say.
He fiddles with the lapels of the coat, careful fingers clutching it tighter. With a sigh, he enters the spacious and stench-filled room.